jitarossun

[jitarossun]

Smoke and Sparks

CHAPTER SEVEN

Summary : Salo has invited you to look at the stars, and, with your stomach in knots, you head for his mansion and it would be a lie to say you weren't impatient for this evening.

TW : use of y/n

Pairing : Salo x fem!reader

Words count : 6.7k

A/N : Sorry for the wait, I haven't given up on Smoke and Sparks, I have lots of ideas for the sequel, I just need to organize them and write it all down. Enjoy this chapter!

The week had flown by, almost without you realizing it. Workshop work had absorbed all your attention, between projects to be finalized, meticulous machine adjustments and countless tests, each day seemed to slip into the next without respite.

Yet, despite all this external turmoil, an invisible weight clung to you, something you hadn't shared with anyone. You'd kept to yourself everything that had happened with Salo, that strange day in the park, the emotions you'd felt, the inner turmoil that never ceased to surprise you.

You'd rather keep this story quiet, let this secret lie buried in a corner of your mind, than risk talking about it and having to face what it might awaken. So you concentrated on your work, on the noise of the tools and the grinding of the gears, as if to drown this uncertainty in concreteness.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments between tasks, you'd catch your mind returning to him, to the look in his eyes, to the bittersweet tension that had floated between you. And despite everything, you still didn't know how you were going to deal with what had just been born, or what the future might hold.

Even though the week had flown by, you'd still spent several days on a choice far less urgent than the workshop tasks, your outfit for the evening ahead. Every morning, between two speeches, you spent a few moments thinking about what you were going to wear, mentally turning over different options, hesitating between something simple and comfortable or, on the contrary, a little more polished, as if to mark the importance of this appointment.

But that wasn't all, because you were also wondering what you could offer. You wanted to offer something fair and sincere, but neither too grand nor banal. After much hesitation, you finally settled on a bouquet of amaryllis flowers, a classic gesture, but one that was full of meaning. You had carefully selected each flower, hoping that this simple gift would be enough to show that you wanted to make a good impression, while leaving a part of yourself in the gift.

And here you were, walking through the streets of Piltover towards Salo's mansion. Finally, you'd chosen an elegant yet slightly daring outfit that reflected your personality.

The top is a white shirt with fine vertical stripes, whose open collar and rolled-up sleeves give it a casual yet neat air. Over it, a structured black corset emphasizes your silhouette, adding a modern, corseted touch that blends classicism with contemporary style.

For bottoms, you wear high-waisted black pants, perfectly fitted at the hips before flaring out into a wide flare from the knees, bringing a certain vintage elegance and a play of proportions that elongates the silhouette.

On the feet, black patent loafers complete the ensemble with a sober, chic note, while remaining comfortable for the evening.

Finally, a simple pearl necklace punctuates the ensemble, adding a touch of timeless femininity, discreet yet refined.

The heels of your moccasins clicked against the cobblestones beneath your footsteps, echoing a little in the streets of Piltover as you approached the imposing mansion. Salo's mansion stood before you, certainly imposing but strangely modern. Wide, clear glass facades reflected the city's golden lights, while finely crafted metal structures emphasized its clean lines. Geometric stained-glass windows adorned the lobby, most likely projecting bursts of colored light onto the interior walls on sunny days.

The tall, brushed steel doors were engraved with intricate, almost mechanical patterns, interlaced with gold filigree, a reminder of Piltover's exceptional craftsmanship. Lampposts cast your shadow on the clean cobblestones you walked on, your shadow following you like an eternal sidekick.

The bouquet you held in your hands released a light perfume, a mixture of fresh herbs and delicate flowers, but you couldn't ignore the absence of amaryllis, those scarlet flowers he seemed to appreciate more than any other. After all, the florist didn't have any, which disappointed you a little.

You stopped in front of the imposing black iron gate, separating the world from the advisors or high-ranking people who owned this kind of house.

When you'd wandered around with Jayce, you'd seen the magnificent and majestic Kiramman house, as breathtaking as it was opulent.

Salo was no exception, his mansion was just as imposing, somewhere between progressive, modern Piltover and traditional architecture built by his family years, if not centuries, ago.

It wasn't the first time you'd come face to face with him, but this place, this mansion steeped in his family's history, seemed to amplify the strange tension between you, making it more palpable, almost suffocating, but at the same time intimate, creating loops in your stomach.

As you approached, you caught sight of a motionless figure near the entrance gates. A guard, or perhaps a servant, stood there in a dark uniform with a certain impassive air. He seemed to be a silent extension of the manor itself, almost invisible, but his presence clearly marked the boundary between the outside world and the privacy of the Salo estate.

His eyes rested briefly on you, but he made no move, waiting without a word, as if this scene were part of a habit he'd been taught and which was ingrained in his behavior, the scene being almost ritualistic.

You cleared your throat and began to speak, hoping for the best.

"Please? I've been invited by Councillor Salo for tonight, I'm (Y/N)."

The guard, silent and imposing, lifted himself from the wall and strode towards one of the large metal doors. With a fluid gesture, he operated the concealed mechanism and the door opened with a soft creak. He gave you an almost imperceptible nod, inviting you to enter. His features were hard and his uniform, black and gold, impeccably tailored. He seemed neither curious nor malevolent, simply there to ensure that everything went smoothly.

Without a word, he guided you inside the mansion. The subdued light from the chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings created an almost unreal atmosphere, accentuated by the reflections of the geometric stained-glass windows that diffused colored sparkles on the dark wooden walls. The air was filled with a subtle fragrance, a blend of ancient woodwork and rare essences.

The guard stopped just inside the entrance, leaving you standing there with your back to the massive wooden doors, before slipping away down a dark corridor to find Salo.

At that moment, you took the time to admire the place. The hall seemed a perfect fusion of past and future. Ancient marble statues stood alongside modern metal sculptures. The soft lighting caressed the walls, accentuating the shadows dancing on the elegant columns. A few exotic plants in pots brought a touch of life to the hall, contrasting with the cold marble of the imposing statues. The overall impression was one of grandeur and serenity, but also one of strangeness, as if every object in the room told secret stories accumulated over centuries. Despite its resolutely modern appearance, the mansion retained an ancient aura, as if every corridor, every room still bore the imprint of previous generations.

As your eyes rested on a series of portraits hanging along the walls, serious, imposing faces with piercing stares, a faint echo of footsteps echoed through the hall. The steady thump of heels on the marble steps drew you from your thoughts.

You looked up to see Salo descending the elegant spiral staircase that dominated the entrance. His slim, angular silhouette stood out against the pale walls, his impeccable white, red and gold advisor's robes glinting under the subdued lights. He paused on one of the last steps, his green eyes glinting calculatingly, and gave you a wry smile.

“You're early.”

His voice echoed through the hall, as sharp as the clean lines of his mansion.

“Were you looking forward to seeing me that much?”

He descended the last step with a wry smile, then approached you, his gaze never leaving you, an amused gleam in his green eyes.

“Very funny, no I figured the earlier I came the earlier I'd leave and get rid of this date.”

“Oh, because it's a date?”

“You're the one who said that when we were in the park.”

“Mh... No absolutely not.”

He crossed his arms before continuing.

“I only asked you if you wanted to see me again, I never used the word ‘date’.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, a blush betraying your embarrassment at his smirk. You tried to look away, but his burst of laughter immediately brought you back to him. The sound was rare, almost unexpected, resonating pleasantly in the vastness of the hall, like an echo of the lighter Salo he never showed in public.

He let his gaze slide slowly to the bouquet you held in your hands, his green eyes crinkling slightly, an amused smile still hanging on his lips.

“And who are these flowers for?”

He asked, the question making you roll your eyes. Wasn't it obvious?

"Who do you think? Idiot."

You then handed him the bouquet, which he took gingerly, cracking a smirk at you.

“Well, should I rather say then on what occasion am I entitled to such an offering?”

And that's when, for once, you agreed with him, remaining silent for a moment, wondering yourself why you'd offered flowers to an idiot like him. And this was your answer, taking care to look him up and down.

“Even I wonder.”

His laugh embellished the hall again as he took the time to finally look at the bouquet and analyze it.

“Not even amaryllis, so was our walk for nothing?”

Of course he was going to point that out. You didn't even reply, it was so pointless. You'd already made the effort to dress up and bring back a little present, while he stayed in his usual counsellor's clothes.

“Oh please, don't make that face, I'm kidding, I invited you, not the flowers.”

Salo, bouquet still in hand, turned his head slightly and snapped his fingers. Almost immediately, a butler appeared, standing out from the shadows of the adjacent corridor as if he'd been waiting for nothing more than this signal. The man, dressed in an impeccable black suit, almost similar to the guard who had entered you, bowed slightly in Salo's direction before resting his eyes on the bouquet.

“Put this in a vase, please, and place it on the table where we'll dine tonight.”

Salo ordered in a perfectly controlled voice, a slight smile still floating on his lips.

The butler took the bouquet with measured care, as if it were a precious artifact, then turned to walk away. Before he disappeared completely into the corridor, Salo added in a slightly louder tone, perfectly calculated for you to hear.

"And make sure it's arranged with care. After all, it would be a shame if our guest wasn't impressed."

You rolled your eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping you despite yourself, as you crossed your arms, you already knew what you were going to retort.

“It's okay, I'm not a Piltover advisor, I'm not going to judge the quality of your crockery and floral arrangements.”

Salo sketched a slight smile, his green eyes still riveted on you.

“Perhaps, but you're harder to impress than any advisor.”

His words, though imbued with his usual arrogance, had a more personal, almost sincere touch, and this unsettled you for a moment. It was rare for him to admit, even if implicitly, that he cared about your opinion. You looked away slightly, refusing to let this rare frankness disturb you.

Silence stretched out between you for a moment, disturbed only by the gentle murmur of the butler as he carried the bouquet away. But it was your own belly that broke this precarious truce, emitting an embarrassing gurgle that you could not have foreseen. Your cheeks flushed again, and you glanced furtively at Salo, hoping he hadn't noticed.

Of course he had. An amused twinkle crossed his green eyes, and he tilted his head slightly to one side, his lips twisting into a half-smile. The amused glint turned into a mocking gleam, his tone taking on a false seriousness.

“I suppose we should go straight to the table in that case.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you weren't as hungry as he thought you were, but stopped yourself as you realized the idea wasn't so bad. Still, you couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed. You'd imagine that he might give you a tour of his mansion, show you the rooms you'd never seen before, and give you a glimpse into his private life.

Perhaps he had noticed your hesitation, for he added, his eyes fixed on you with an almost disconcerting intensity. His tone was somewhere between provocative and sincere.

“You'll just have to come back here to see more”.

You swallowed, surprised by this answer, before following his lead as he invited you with a fluid gesture to move towards the dining room.

You hesitated for a moment, disconcerted by this veiled invitation, but quickly recovered, refusing to allow him the pleasure of seeing you troubled. You simply lifted your chin and followed his confident footsteps across the vast hall.

Salo led you through a corridor illuminated by chased copper wall sconces, their delicate patterns casting elegant shadows on the walls, occasionally replaced by simple candelabras hung on the wall, again giving that atmosphere trapped between past and present.

The butler reappeared as if by magic, holding the door to a large dining room with a measured gesture. The room, both imposing and sophisticated, was dominated by a long, dark wooden table, probably hand-carved by Piltovian craftsmen of centuries past. It was already set, polished silver cutlery gleaming under the subdued light of crystal chandeliers.

In the center, the bouquet you'd brought sat in a finely chased vase, its colorful flowers a striking contrast to the austere elegance of the room.

Salo stopped in front of one of the chairs, resting his hand briefly on the back before turning his head towards you.

“I hope you enjoy this meal as much as you enjoyed our last walk.”

His slight smile floated across his lips as he pointed to the chair opposite his.

You raised an eyebrow slightly, a smirk stretching your lips as you walked over to the chair he'd designated for you.

“Who said I liked it?”

Your fingers glided lightly over the back of your chair before you sat down in it with deliberate grace, almost imitating his own theatrical movements, as much to mock as to show him you were paying attention to his moves.

Salo paused, a gleam of amusement briefly passing into his green eyes before he too sat down, impeccably straightening the flaps of his jacket as he settled in.

“Ah, forgive me...”

He crossed his arms on the table, leaning forward slightly to plant his gaze in yours.

"I thought your silence was a form of appreciation... Perhaps I'm mistaken?"

He paused briefly, his smile widening slightly, his eyes still fixed on you with calculated intensity.

“Or maybe you simply preferred to avoid flattering me.”

The butler gently uncorked the bottle, the little pop echoing in the hushed silence of the manor. He poured a little wine into your glass, which you took between your fingers, a little hesitantly.

You squinted, awkwardly sniffing the red liquid, then glanced at Salo, a little embarrassed.

“Honestly, I don't know much about wine...”

You admitted with a shrug, the last time you'd drunk wine was at Hoskel's gala, and although you'd enjoyed some of the ones you'd tasted, it was impossible to say you knew even a little.

Salo stared at you for a moment, an amused gleam in his green eyes.

“Ah, don't worry, it's not a test of knowledge, just an excuse to enjoy the moment.”

He raised his glass to his lips elegantly, inviting you with a gesture to do the same.

Salo gently raised his glass to his lips, tasting the wine with disconcerting, almost mechanical ease. His face betrayed no emotion, as if he'd drunk hundreds of glasses without ever being impressed or even bored.

For your part, you watched the scene, a little bewildered. You weren't sure how to react to his imperturbable calm. You bit your lower lip lightly, hesitating to raise your glass in turn.

Finally, you took a sip, a little awkwardly, trying not to wince. The taste was strong, fruity, but not what you'd expected.

Salo gave you an amused, almost indulgent look, as if your reaction reminded his of a distant memory.

“It's not poison, you'll survive.”

You let out a light, almost soothing sigh as your eyes met Salo's. An unusual calm floated between you. An unusual calm floated between you, suspended in the soft, subdued light of the mansion.

"There's something... different."

Your murmurs, as much intended for yourself as for Salo, reached his ears. He sketched a thin smile, the kind that said nothing, but promised much.

“Like tonight.”

“Are you planning to tease me like that all evening?”

"Why not? You're fun to tease."

“I shouldn't have come.”

Salo sets his glass down on the table, the soft sound of crystal on nape fills the room before he speaks again, legs crossed, elbows on the table and hands interlaced as he leans in a little.

“You couldn't have helped yourself.”

Touché.

The butler reappeared with the calculated slowness of someone who has perfectly mastered the art of being noticed, without ever being heard.

In his hands was a large silver tray on which rested two refined plates. On each, a row of perfectly opened oysters, their shiny mother-of-pearl contrasting with the deep black of the small caviar dishes in the center. Lemon wedges lay like a golden glitter on the rim, and crushed ice shimmered in the subdued light.

He placed the tray in the center of the table, then slid your plate in front of you, before doing the same with Salo.

The latter took a slow breath, as if to savor the moment, and delicately grabbed one of the small silver forks.

“I thought it would be a nice change from your meals... more...”

He paused, his green eyes sparkling with restrained mischief.

“...rustic.”

You arched an eyebrow, piqued, but too proud to give him the satisfaction of an immediate retort. You grabbed your fork in turn, imitating him almost deliberately in his precise gestures.

“And I suppose that's supposed to impress me?”

You replied, biting into a grain of caviar that you brought to your lips with a certain slowness, as this dish had never really attracted you too much.

Salo shrugged imperceptibly, his smirk widening.

“Sort of.”

He picked up an oyster, poured in a drizzle of lemon, then slid it in with an elegant gesture, as if it were routine.

“But I like to see your reaction.”

You rolled your eyes slightly, but a smile, despite yourself, came to betray your amusement. You leaned over your plate, grabbed an oyster, and brought it to your lips. The rich, iodized taste exploded in your mouth, and you took a few seconds to chew slowly, before huffing.

“... Not bad.”

“Not bad?”

Salo laughed lightly, almost indignantly.

“This is the best selection from the Piltover Coast and you're telling me... not bad?”

“I said not bad, not bad.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, glass in hand, detailing you as if trying to crack a secret code.

“You're impossible to flatter.”

“You're doing it wrong.”

The butler, impassive, discreetly served another glass, but this time of white wine, specially chosen to accompany the seafood. The light, fresh scent wafted between you for a moment.

You grabbed another oyster, trying to hide the slight tension you felt as you took another bite. The iodine and slippery texture weren't really to your taste, and the caviar, for all its prestige, left you with an overly salty, almost nauseating impression. But you kept your face impassive, content to take a sip of white wine to wash away the taste.

Salo, on the other hand, tasted with the precision and fluidity of someone who'd grown up on this kind of meal. Every gesture seemed studied, every movement of fork or cut choreographed.

“You don’t speak anymore...”

Salo set his glass down and tilted his head to the side. His green eyes detailed your plate, where more than half the oysters and almost all the caviar remained.

“Should I be worried?”

You looked up at him, feigning nonchalance.

“I'm enjoying it.”

A smirk stretched his lips.

“Or enduring.”

You frowned slightly, but didn't answer, preferring to bite off a grain of caviar and eat it to prove you weren't impressed. This was a bad idea, as the taste became even stronger, and you had to stop yourself from wincing.

Salo let out a small, contained laugh, shaking his head.

“You could say it, you know.”

He leaned slightly toward you, his elbows resting on the table, his tone lowering as if he were sharing a secret.

“There are worse things than not liking what you eat.”

You raised an eyebrow, stung by the remark.

“And you're the one saying that?”

“Oh, I have my paradoxes, just like everyone else.”

He twirled his glass between his fingers, his eyes sliding over your plate before returning to you.

“Don't finish if you don't like it.”

You finally put down your fork, silently admitting defeat to the oysters and caviar.

Salo made no further comment, merely lifting another sip of wine to his lips, looking vaguely amused.

The butler reappeared almost immediately, gliding into the room with the fluidity of a ghost. In his hands was a large silver platter on which rested two plates with sleek white outlines, highlighting the vibrant colors of what they contained. He placed yours in front of you with a precise gesture, before announcing in a calm voice, with almost mechanical intonations.

"Oven-roasted sea bass, cherry tomato confit, fresh citrus, and snipped chives. Accompanied by vegetables, broccoli, white and yellow cauliflower, carrot, zucchini, and chervil."

You looked down at the plate, and the pearly flesh of the fish stood out in thin strips under the light, sprinkled with little green slivers of chives and touches of gold and pink from the citrus fruits. The vegetables, arranged like a carefully considered tableau, added a summery vivacity to the whole.

You took your fork and carefully removed a piece of the fillet. The flesh almost detached itself, melting on contact with your teeth. The sweetness of the sea bass blended with the sparkling acidity of the lemon and the light bitterness of the grapefruit, each bite awakened by the discreet warmth of the chives. The candied tomatoes brought a sweet depth that blended perfectly with the fresh notes, and the vegetables, tender but still crunchy, seemed to retain in every fiber the fragrant steam that had cooked them.

It was not only pleasant, but balanced and controlled. A striking contrast to the raw richness of the starter. You looked up slightly at Salo, aware that he was watching for your reaction.

You rested your fork gently, a slight smile on your lips.

"I like it. More than the appetizer, at least."

An amused twinkle crossed Salo's green eyes. He straightened his head slightly, as if this confession were a personal victory.

“That's reassuring...”

He slid his finger along his glass, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“I was afraid you'd leave before the main course.”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, before taking another bite from the bar.

“Too bad for you, after all you've put me through, I need more to run away from.”

“Oh, I'm sure you do...”

His tone was halfway between admiration and provocation. He stuck his fork into a piece of fish, tasting it with that almost annoying elegance he applied to everything.

“But I suppose I can impress you in better ways.”

The rest of the meal passed in a rather strange silence punctuated only by the discreet clinking of cutlery and the muffled sounds of the city outside. It wasn't a heavy silence, however; everyone was simply enjoying the moment.

When the butler removed the plates, Salo refilled his glass with that early-meal red wine, which caught the light of the candlesticks.

To your surprise, he got up to pour you a glass as well; you were definitely more and more astonished this evening, but you didn't raise your eyebrows, too surprised by the gesture to react.

“Thank you...”

You raised it to your lips, savoring the fruity sweetness that mingled with it, before setting it back down on the immaculate tablecloth as he returned to his seat.

He looked at you, his elbow resting on the armrest, a smile softer than usual.

“I'm glad you agreed to come.”

The sincerity in his eyes took you by surprise, and you felt as if you saw, for a moment, a radiance that few people must have known.

“To be honest, I thought you'd leave the other day, in the park... after what I said.”

You arched an eyebrow, letting a mischievous smile stretch your lips.

“And if I'd gone... would you have let me go?”

He laughed lightly, low and contained, shaking his head.

“No.”

A quiet silence fell again, broken only by the slight clink of glasses as they rested on the table and the muffled murmur of flames in the fireplace. The golden light from the candlesticks reflected off the buttons of his jacket, drawing moving flashes on the fabric.

You could feel him watching you, his gaze perhaps trying to divine your thoughts.

"Do you like the sky? The stars?"

His deep voice gently broke the stillness, like a warm note in the middle of the silence.

You raised your head slightly, surprised by his question. You remained for a moment without answering, as if gathering memories you hadn't evoked in a long time.

“There was a time, yes... Well, I still like it, but...”

Your fingers mechanically brushed the stem of your glass as your gaze detached from it to lose itself somewhere beyond the room.

"I often spent my evenings on the bridge, where Piltover and Zaun meet. Not the most beautiful place in the world, but there was something about it. The air was different, fresher at night, and when the fog lifted a little, you could see the sky."

A slight smile stretched your lips, but it was tinged with gentleness and a hint of melancholy.

"I used to stay there, sometimes until the first light of morning came. Looking at the stars, making up stories... dreaming."

Your voice had lowered, as if you were speaking as much for yourself as for him. You didn't even realize it, but your eyes shone with a different light, the light of memories we cherish despite their distance.

Salo didn't say anything right away. He just watched you, elbows resting lightly on the table, as if this image of you, frozen between two worlds, gave him a glimpse he'd never had before.

"Then I went there less and less as I progressed in my studies and research. I peek in from time to time, but it's been a long time since I've really had a good look at it the way I used to."

Salo straightened slightly, and an almost imperceptible twinkle crossed his eyes.

“So... it's the perfect time to start again.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he gently pushed back his chair and stood up, placing his napkin on the table.

“Follow me.”

You blinked in surprise, but ended up standing up in turn, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Ah... no dessert at rich people's?”

The shadow of a smile stretched his own lips, as if the pique amused him more than he wanted to admit.

But he didn't answer, just turned away and headed for the stairs.

You followed him through a hushed corridor, where the carpet muffled your footsteps and the walls led you to a place still unknown to you.

The staircase, massive and darkly varnished, unfurled like a ribbon, each step emitting a discreet creak beneath your footsteps. The air was slightly fresher, carrying that subtle fragrance you were beginning to associate with Salo, a discreet blend of waxed wood and spices.

He stopped in front of a tall door with finely wrought iron fittings. The handle turned without a sound, and you discovered his bedroom.

The room was spacious, but not ostentatious. A large bed, with a headboard carved from dark wood, sat in the center, covered with impeccably smoothed ivory sheets. To the right, a perfectly-ordered ebony desk housed a golden-light lamp, an inkwell and a few neatly stacked sheets of paper. Against one wall, a low bookcase housed a few leather-bound books and carefully arranged objects, including a crystal paperweight, an old compass and a pocket watch. The walls, painted in warm tones, were punctuated with small decorative touches, and a thick hanging of midnight-blue velvet fell along a wide bay window.

Salo moved the curtain aside with a fluid gesture and invited you to step forward.

Beyond, a spacious balcony opened onto the night. The metal of the railing, finely crafted, drew elegant arabesques. A small round table and two wrought-iron chairs occupied one corner, but your gaze was immediately caught by the imposing silhouette of a telescope, with its finely chiselled frames, turned towards the horizon. The moon cast silvery reflections on it, and the fresh air, carried by the height, brushed against your skin.

In the background, the distant murmur of Piltover mingled with the lower echoes of Zaun, like two different voices singing in unison from above.

Salo stepped up to the telescope, his fingers mechanically brushing the mount's adjustments as if checking that everything was perfectly in place.

“Come here.”

You took the few steps that separated you, your footsteps cushioned by the indoor carpet giving way to the light click of your soles on the cold flagstones of the balcony. The crisper air made you shiver slightly, but this was quickly eclipsed by curiosity.

Salo shifted just enough to let you pass to his right, his shoulder brushing yours.

"This is a model I had specially flown in from Bandle. Hand-polished lenses, stabilized frame to compensate for city movements..."

His voice had that low timbre that seemed to absorb the space around it. He touched a small lever, then adjusted the angle with meticulous precision.

“You can see more than the naked eye could possibly imagine.”

He stepped back slightly, nodding at you.

“Take a look.”

You leaned toward the eyepiece, the coldness of the metal contrasting with the warmth that remained inside. There, in the perfect circle, the stars unfurled like a veil of ink flecked with silver, far sharper and more numerous than from the ground. Some pulsed slightly, others seemed to form discreet paths, almost drawn to guide the eye.

As you lingered on a brighter glow than the others, muffled footsteps were heard behind you. You lifted your head slightly and caught sight of the butler, still impeccable, silver tray in hand. He stepped forward with the same precision as a well-oiled gear, then placed it on the small balcony table.

On the tray rested an elegant iron box decorated with golden motifs, which he opened to reveal macaroons in delicate colors such as ivory, pale green, soft pink and deep chocolate. Beside them, two steaming cups of black tea diffused a woody, slightly malty fragrance.

“See? There's also a dessert among the rich as you say.”

He smiled at you as he settled himself at the table, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable, before grabbing the thin handle of a porcelain mug with one hand. He blew gently on the steaming liquid, the steam brushing his face.

“Keep watching.”

He grinned, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Enjoy. And just come and steal a macaroon now and then."

You caught yourself looking at him out of the corner of your eye, sitting there, cup in hand, looking more relaxed than you'd ever seen him. This image contrasted so sharply with the more stern and aloof one he usually displayed that you almost felt you were catching a glimpse of another side of him, carefully hidden from the others. Strangely enough, this vision didn't make you feel uncomfortable; on the contrary, a part of you felt strangely at home here, in this suspended atmosphere, half immersed in the stars and half aware of his quiet presence behind you.

Finally pulling yourself away from the telescope, you sat down opposite him, drawn as much by the sweet aroma of the macaroons as by the comforting warmth emanating from the steaming cup. You took one, bit into it, and let the sweetness and light texture mingle with the delicate bitterness of the tea you then drank. Your shoulders had relaxed almost in spite of yourself, and, in a breath, you blurted out.

“Thank you... for this evening.”

The words were simple, but their sincerity shone through. You hadn't tried to hide your expression this time, a part of you had let your guard down, if only a little, under the constellated sky and Salo's calm presence.

Salo didn't answer right away, simply observing you for a moment, as if engraving the scene in his memory. Then a corner of his lips turned up.

“It's me who should be thanking you.”

His voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was no playfulness in his eyes this time, just that rare frankness that unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.

He took another sip of tea, his gesture measured, before continuing.

“I hope it won't be the last.”

You smirked slightly, playing mechanically with the handle of your cup so as not to hold his gaze too closely.

“Who knows...”

He raises an eyebrow slightly, as if amused by your answer.

“” Who knows?" That's one way to answer when you want to keep the upper hand."

You tilt your head, falsely innocent.

“Oh, I thought it was you who always had the advantage.”

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, shaking his head gently.

“I do, most of the time.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was that gleam in his, a mixture of provocation and quiet assurance, that made you want to retort.

“You know, that slightly condescending tone...”

He cuts you off before you can continue, his tone perfectly serious.

“...part of my charm?”

You laugh a little before continuing.

“Or part of what's going to annoy me in the end.”

He tilted his head, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“As long as it keeps you here a little longer, that's fine with me.”

A beat missed in your chest, as if his words had found a loophole you didn't think you'd left for him.

You didn't reply, preferring to raise your cup to your lips to mask the heat that had risen to your cheeks. The woody taste of tea filled your mouth, but you weren't really staring at the drink any more, your gaze slipping to the deep black of the sky, anywhere but at him.

Salo, clearly unaware of the effect he had just produced, rose quietly to his feet. He took a few steps towards the telescope and tilted slightly to adjust the position of the eyepiece.

"Have you seen the moon yet?”

“No, not yet.”

You still feel a little confused, your eyes still turned towards the dark horizon.

Salo raises an eyebrow, a slight smirk on his face, as if amused by your answer.

“Then you're missing something important.”

He straightened, resting a hand on the rim of the telescope.

"Come back, I'll show you how to find it. The moon has its secrets, and it would be a shame if you didn't discover them tonight."

He gave you a look of almost rare sincerity, an invitation to prolong this suspended moment.

You rose slowly, leaving the warmth of your cup behind you, and moved towards the telescope with some trepidation.

Your fingers grazed the cold knobs, which you turned carefully, trying to adjust the position of the tube towards the night sky. You tried to follow the silent instructions you'd memorized, but the device seemed far more complex than you'd imagined.

The stars in the sky seemed to mock you, motionless and distant, as you groped around, raising and lowering the lens, moving the angle, without quite finding what you were looking for.

Salo came up behind you, his breath almost imperceptible in the still night. His voice, poised and slightly amused, broke the silence.

“So, how are you getting on?”

You gave him a look that was half annoyed, half amused, sketching a smile that betrayed your determination to succeed in spite of everything. There was something in his tone that encouraged you without even meaning to, and you straightened up, regaining your confidence.

“Not yet, but I'm not giving up.”

He nodded, still smiling, giving you time and space to go on, while you strived to find that famous moon in the starry immensity.

Salo placed a light but firm hand on your waist, gently inviting you to take a step back. His voice, calm and almost gentle, came to you with a note of encouragement.

“Move over a little, let me do it.”

So you stepped aside, your heart beating a little faster than expected. He then leaned towards the telescope, his precise, confident gestures contrasting with your previous awkwardness. The warmth of his hand against your skin subtly electrified you, and you felt a slight flush of red rise to your cheeks.

As Salo carefully adjusted the telescope lens, your breathing suddenly quickened, as if a dull ball of anguish had risen up inside you without warning. A strange mixture of nervousness and urgency overwhelmed you, forcing you to look away. You felt your heart racing, and despite yourself, an invisible weight crushed your chest.

You lowered your head, trying to control the feeling that overwhelmed you, but nothing helped.

In an almost strangled voice, you finally stammered.

“I... I have to go.”

Without waiting for an answer, you hurried to your feet, your legs a little shaky. You could feel Salo's eyes on you, full of questioning, but you couldn't stay. The need to flee was too strong, too visceral.

You turned your back on the starry night, breathless, and hurried down the stairs, leaving Salo motionless, frozen in the subdued glow of the lanterns, with an expression of surprise and concern on his face.

Salo let out a slight sigh as he watched your silhouette disappear into the shadows of the corridor. He fell back slowly into the chair, his fingers mechanically brushing the rim of his now cooled teacup.

His gaze was lost in the wisps of steam that had dissipated, reflecting the confusion and subtle sadness that had settled over him. He hadn't understood what had just happened, nor what had suddenly caused this presence he was beginning to appreciate to flee.

The silence on the balcony suddenly seemed heavier, as if the star he'd just glimpsed had eclipsed.

You rush down the stairs, almost running, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the mansion. Your breath is short, your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's going to explode in your chest. A maelstrom of emotions swirls inside you, confusion, fear, and that strange warmth you refuse to admit.

Every step brings you closer to the exit, away from that balcony, that room, Salo. A lump forms in your throat, a mixture of excitement and anxiety that tightens your stomach.

As you reach the front door, you stop for a moment, your fingers clenching on the handle. Your mind spins in a loop, and suddenly the truth hits you: you're falling in love with him.

Without a backward glance, you open the door and step out into the night, leaving behind the warmth of the manor and the tumult of your emotions.

What are you doing? What are you going to do?

[jitarossun]

HIHIHI HELLO!!! I love your dating killmulator fics SO MUCH and I think your writing is sososo lovely 😋😋 could you maybe do another florian fic where the reader is very touchy/cuddly? Always wanting to hold hands and just in general be physically close, no matter their relationship status. LOVE U SO MUCH TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!!!

Hold me closer

Summary : Florian and you are getting closer, and when you go out together at the mall, every occasion seems to mark an opportunity to get even closer.

Pairing : Florian x reader

TW : none!

Words count : 5.5k

A/N : Thanks a lot for your message your request <3, this, is one of the two ideas I had for your request, gonna write it and post it as soon as possible! during that time, enjoy! (AND TAKE CARE TOO!!)

Heading for the mall, you glance at your phone screen.

3:06 pm.

Six minutes late.

Your steps are quicker, almost hurried, as if making up for lost minutes could erase the fact that you're already past the hour.

It wasn't entirely your fault. Sugarball had decided that the front door was his territory today. Every time you moved him, he trotted back to lie right on the front doorstep to prevent you from closing it, looking satisfied. We had to negotiate, meaning you had to open the packet of kibble and pour  an indecent amount into his bowl before he finally agreed to give way.

The idea for this outing came from Florian. He had some shopping to do, and had asked you to accompany him “to spend some time together”. Lately, you've been getting closer. Your insomnia was getting longer as you exchanged messages and downloaded games.

The latest? A quiz application to download together. Technically designed for couples, but so what? It's not as if the word “couple” had a monopoly on the game. You could very well play it as “friends”, even if some of the more spicy questions made you blush as soon as they popped up on the screen.

Of course, you both decided to ignore those. Well, except that one time, late at night, when fatigue had short-circuited your brain and made you answer one of them before you'd even thought about it. The memory still burns your cheeks. The pure shame of seeing Florian's answer appear on your screen, a simple "?".

But instead of mocking you or reacting strangely, he'd just laughed. Then he spent the next night reassuring you, even slipping in his answer to a similar question in the course of a conversation.

“That way, we're even.”

3:15 pm.

The mall finally appears in your field of vision. You take a deep breath, hoping deep down that Florian won't be too upset about the delay.

You spot him almost immediately.

You slow down as you approach the glass entrance, your breath still slightly quickened by your brisk walk.

The summer heat hangs in the air, thick but not unbearable, with that mix of heated asphalt smells and overly sweet perfume wafting from the doughnut store next door.

Leaning against a post near the automatic doors, arms crossed as if that were his default position, he absent-mindedly observed the comings and goings of passers-by. His silhouette stood out clearly in the afternoon light.

Purple turtleneck despite the heat, straight shoulders, looking perfectly at home among the hurrying crowd. His almost silver hair caught the light, and his bright pink eyes seemed to scan the world with calculated slowness.

When his gaze finally caught yours, he didn't wave or call out. Only a very slight movement of the head, as if to say “I've seen you”.

You hurried on, your breath a little shorter from your little run.

“Thirteen minutes.”

You open your mouth to apologize, but he raises his hand slightly, as if to cut short any justification.

“Just relax. I'd have waited for you for hours if I had to.”

You feel a small weight drop from your chest at this sentence. You shrug, unable to hold back a smile.

He glances at the mall door.

“What do you think? Bookstore first? Or do you want something to drink first?”

The heat lightly sticks your shirt to your skin, and the idea of a cool drink crosses your mind, but the enthusiasm of starting with the bookstore wins out.

“Bookstore. And then we'll see.”

“Perfect.”

He detaches himself from the pole and walks beside you toward the entrance.

As he walks, your shoulder brushes his, deliberately, as if to test his reaction a little as a mischievous little smile appears on your lips.

Florian doesn't comment. But you see, out of the corner of your eye, the slight movement of his head. The kind that means “I noticed that”, without needing to say it.

You can't help justifying your delay, your voice sorry and sincere.

“My cat's been... a pain.”

"Don't worry, I have a hard time with cats sometimes. They get hair on my clothes even though they're cute. I like cats, but not in my house."

The automatic doors open in a cool breeze that sweeps away the sticky heat outside. The air conditioning brushes the back of your neck, and you let out a quiet, almost relieved sigh.

“After the bookshop, we could settle down at the café.”

“All right, sounds good.”

"And then... clothing store. I need to find a light jacket. Mine's starting to have a loose seam."

You smile at the thought of him choosing his perfect jacket.

"All right, mission jacket after coffee. What's next?"

He shrugs slightly.

“Then... we'll improvise.”

You walk down the center aisle, the artificial light reflecting off the shiny tiled floor. Between the hubbub of discussions, the music blasting from the stores and the constant hum of the air conditioning, the place vibrates with an almost stifling, but not unpleasant, life.

With every step, you feel your arm brush against his at times, as if the crowd were forcing you to stay close, when you could be walking just fine with a little more space.

In the distance, the bookshop sign begins to take shape, its large windows full of colorful posters.

The glass door opens with a gentle tinkle, and the familiar smell of new paper and fresh ink immediately envelops you. The air here is more subdued than in the rest of the center, as if the outside rumor were dissolving between the shelves.

You take a few steps forward, then turn your head towards him.

“By the way... what exactly are we doing here?”

He follows you with his gaze, touching the edge of a novel at the head of the gondola.

“A new notebook for my notes.”

His fingers glide over the cover, then loosen.

"A Théodule Ribot book, if I can find it. And... eventually, a little pleasure."

“Such as?”

“A new fountain pen.”

He says this in an even tone, but you guess from the slight tilt of his lips that this is the kind of “eventuality” that's very likely to come true.

You enter the aisle dedicated to literature, in the psychology section.

You stop in front of a display rack, grab a book whose cover has caught your eye, and move closer to show it to him.

He glances at the title you hand him, but doesn't comment, too busy flipping through another book he's already holding.

Curiosity prompts you to lean in, your chin almost touching his shoulder. The subtle scent of his perfume mingles with that of the paper.

“Are you planning to read over my shoulder all the way?”

His tone is ironic, but he doesn't back down.

He gently closes the book he was flipping through and puts it back in its place, before branching off towards the stationery aisle.

His steps are measured, but you stay right behind, as if magnetized by him.

“Aren't you going to take it?”

“It's not the one I'm looking for, I'll order it.”

He slowly goes through the lined-up notebooks, looking at them one by one until he finds one that suits him. He's strangely silent today.

You watch at an angle, amused by the seriousness he puts into this choice.

“Would you like me to help you choose?”

A slight shake of the head, and a barely audible exhale, a small smile on your lips.

“Why not.”

He takes a step back to give you some space. You walk past him, your eyes gliding over the hues, the textures, the bindings.

You take one in your hands, midnight blue hardcover, smooth pages.

“This one?”

He grabs it, flips through it quickly, then tilts his head.

“You have good taste.”

A small smirk spreads across the pale complexion of his face.

“Eh, you should have known that a long time ago.”

You tap his arm as if to back up your words and he lets out a soft laugh that echoes in the quiet of the bookshop.

You resume your walk towards the checkout, your gaze hooked on the notebook he still holds firmly in his hand.

But halfway there, he slows down. His step pauses before a display of fountain pens neatly lined up in transparent cases.

You see him cross his arms, then bend slightly, his eyes following every detail, the lacquered body, the fine engravings, the color of ink indicated on the labels.

“And here's the ‘little pleasure’.”

“I didn't promise anything, I'll have you know.”

His fingers are already resting on one of the models, testing its balance in your hand.

You get close enough to see the metallic sheen running along the pen, he's watching it to determine if it's THE pen for him.

"This one suits you. It's got your... aura."

He arches an eyebrow, looking at you with confusion.

“My aura?”

“Yes. Chic, precise, and a little intimidating.”

An amused breath escapes him, discreet, and he doesn't comment as he puts the pen down to try another, with a dark purple body and silver nib.

He remains silent for a moment, then slips it into the little velvet box as if the choice had already been made.

“Are we going to pay?”

You nod in agreement, and this time you head for the cash register.

The cashier quickly registers the notebook and pen, slipping everything into a small, thick paper bag.

Florian pays without a word, his wallet sliding open and shut with the precision of a gesture he's repeated a thousand times.

You exit the bookshop, the soft, slightly sweet warmth of the mall's air conditioning enveloping you once more.

“Coffee?”

“Coffee.”

You walk side by side towards one of the mall's cafés. The scent of pastries wafts in from a nearby stand, mingling with the fuller aroma of approaching coffee.

The small queue stretches out in front of the counter. A light silence settles between you. Something had been strange all day, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

So you looked at Florian, who was staring off into space, and that's when it hit you.

Florian.

He was the problem, you had just realized that he was quite distant today, as if lost in thought.

You take his arm and hold it against you as you raise your head to look at him, on his side, he lowers my head slightly, a little surprised that you've taken his arm, but he says nothing, doesn't step back, doesn't withdraw it.

His gaze in yours, he silently asks you what's wrong, and in a hesitant voice, you finally speak.

“Florian, tell me, sincerely, are you... Are you well today?”

Florian stares at you for a moment, his bright pink eyes slightly crinkled, as if trying to read between your words.

A silence stretches out, dense but not cold. Then, in a low, measured voice, he asks for an explanation.

“Why are you asking me this, all of a sudden?”

You hesitate for a second, but his eyes don't leave yours.

"I don't know... I just don't feel you like you usually do. Like you've been somewhere else since earlier."

He blinks slowly, an almost imperceptible breath escaping his lips. His muscles relax slightly under your hand still holding his arm.

"...I was just thinking about some things. Nothing to do with you."

His tone is neutral, but he doesn't look away right away. And in this absence of retreat, in the fact that he doesn't withdraw his arm, you perceive more response than in his words.

The line moves on. You soon reach the counter, and he asks you simply, as if to close the parenthesis.

“What'll you have?”

You swallow, not entirely satisfied with Florian's answer, but you try to ignore it.

“Just a lemonade please...”

Florian nods and lets a little breath escape from his mouth again, he sensed that he'd upset you or that you were worried about him, and it bothered him that he'd made you uncomfortable.

While you're deep in thought, Florian orders himself a cappuccino and you a lemonade. You didn't even notice, but he paid for both of you-as a little gesture to make up for it.

In turn, he puts a hand on your own arm still wrapped around his and starts walking slowly so as not to rush you and knock you over.

"Come, let's sit down."

You follow him without a word, staring a little at the floor, for some reason you don't know you feel guilty, as if you were the reason why he was different today.

Florian guides you to a bench in the café and you sit down, waiting for someone to bring you drinks.

A slight silence settles in, disturbed only by the constant murmur of conversation around you and the clinking of cups behind the counter.

Florian settles back a little better against the backrest, his shoulders relaxed, then turns his head towards you.

He passes his arm behind you, hesitating for a moment as if weighing the gesture, then comes to rest on your forearm opposite him. His fingers, cold at first because of the air conditioning, quickly warm up against your skin. He makes a slow, almost circular gesture, fingertips gliding as if to erase the tension he still feels.

His eyes seek yours, staring into your face with calm, reassuring attention.

"I assure you there's nothing wrong with you. And if you must know, I'm glad to be with you right now, because you're helping me take my mind off things, and I've been looking forward to this outing."

You just lift your eyes to look at him, trying to detect any hint of dishonesty in his gaze, but you don't see any. And after a short hesitation, you finally decide to speak.

"I was just afraid of... I don't know, actually... Taking the day off when you could have been resting."

“I need everything but rest right now, and spending time with you might be just what I need, because right now, I feel good, you understand?”

Silence settles again between the two of you, for a long moment, Florian gives you time to accept his words and after a few moments, he speaks again.

“Feeling a little better?”

His voice is low, deliberately poised, as if he wants every syllable to remain between the two of you.

You nod vaguely, but instead of answering, you slide frankly against him, wedging yourself into the space between his arm and his side. Your sides now touch along the entire length, from shoulder to hip, and he doesn't move. On the contrary, he adjusts his arm to wrap it more comfortably around you, his fingers resuming that slow, anchored movement, as if to keep you there.

The warmth of his body penetrates the fabric, constant and reassuring, contrasting with the coolness of the air-conditioned café. His breathing, regular, almost mingles with yours in this suspended silence. Then you move your leg closer, shifting it towards his until your thighs touch.

Just then, a waitress approaches, tray in hand. She places a large frosted lemonade in front of you, beads of condensation sliding down the glass, then a steaming cappuccino in front of Florian, its foam decorated with a neat swan motif.

You both thank her, and she walks away in a light scent of coffee and hot sugar.

Florian picks up his cup, twirling it between his fingers to observe the design, and you think you catch, in the corner of his lips, that thin, discreet smile he thinks he can hide behind the porcelain.

You pick up your glass of lemonade and raise it to your lips. The sharp chill of the liquid sends a slight shiver down your spine, cutting through the clammy heat of your walk and making your brain feel like it's frozen.

Florian, on the other hand, remains unperturbed, holding his steaming mug between his fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him for a moment, a corner of a smile on your lips.

"Seriously? A cappuccino, in the middle of summer?"

He looks up at you, one eyebrow arched.

“So what?”

"So... it's thirty degrees outside, Florian. Aren't you afraid of melting?"

An amused gasp escapes him, more frank this time, as he brings the cup to his lips.

“Hot coffee is timeless.”

“Timeless... or suicidal.”

He rests the cup calmly, his eyes shining with a gleam that you can't quite describe as a smile, but looks very much like one.

“And you, do you think the ice in your drink is going to save you from the heat?”

“Yes. And at least I don't sweat when I drink.”

Florian shakes his head slightly, but you sense that the atmosphere has softened, as if this exchange has dropped some of the silent weight he's been carrying all day.

You reach for your straw to stir some of the melted ice into your lemonade, and your gaze falls on the ticket lying beside the tray.

A small line at the bottom catches your eye. “Total paid”, you immediately look up at him.

“Wait... you paid for both of us?”

Florian keeps his cup in his hand, casually watching the smoke escape.

"Hm mh. Yes. "

“You shouldn't have...”

"It's all right. It's my pleasure."

You stare at him, a discreet smile at the corner of your lips.

“Well... I'll make it up to you.”

He finally looks up at you, his expression calm and amused.

“I'll remember that.”

You shake your head, laughing softly, but you sense that, behind his detached way of saying things, there's this little deliberate gesture. Not just out of politeness, but that there's something deeper in his gestures, something he perhaps didn't dare tell you.

You finish your drinks in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by a few exchanged glances and the slight sound of Florian's spoon against the china.

He's the first to get up, picking up his mug and your empty glass.

“I'll put this on the counter, you stay there.”

You watch him walk away, tray in hand, his calm, confident gait in stark contrast to the bustle around him. He exchanges a few brief words with the waiter before turning back to you.

“Shall we go?”

You nod and resume your walk down the mall aisles.

The air conditioning still envelops you, but the bright light from the shop windows and the smells of perfume, new fabric and food draw you back in.

“Clothing store, then?”

"That's right. Light jacket. And then... we'll see, if you have an idea in mind, that'll be your moment."

At the end of the aisle, the store sign appears, large bay windows and mannequins displaying the new collections.

As soon as you enter, the smell of new fabric and industrial detergent grazes your nostrils. The hangers glide gently over the rods as you run your hand through the racks.

Florian moves towards a corner where several jackets and coats are lined up, all in dark shades. You follow him, touching a few garments with your fingertips, smelling the different materials as you go, cotton, linen, fine wool.

He scans the selection attentively, stopping on some pieces, pushing others aside with an almost brusque gesture when he’s not satisfied.

Then his fingers close on a long black coat, straight-cut, falling almost to the knees. He slides it off the rack to observe it, the supple fabric rippling slightly.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk on your face.

"This? Is this ‘light’ for you?"

Florian tilts his head toward you, his eyes shining with a twinkle halfway between amusement and defiance.

“Light... is a relative concept.”

He chuckles before taking the coat off the hanger and trying it on.

“More seriously, no, but I had a crush on it, winter's not so long away after all.”

“It won't be cold for at least another four or five months, Florian.”

"So what? At least I won't have to buy it later. And there's nothing to stop me taking a jacket as well."

He looks at himself in the mirror before turning to you.

"What do you think? Do you like it?"

You look at Florian for a moment, up and down. The coat falls perfectly, emphasizing his build without weighing him down.

A step brings you closer to him. You reach out and adjust the collar slightly, straightening the line so that it sits better on the back of his neck.

Your fingers then slide over his arms, as if testing the texture of the fabric, but you feel the warmth of his body filtering through. Florian doesn't move, following your hands with his gaze before refocusing on your eyes.

“Perfect, it suits you... really well.”

A small smile widens his mouth, almost invisible but enough to betray that he appreciates the remark.

“I'll take it, then.”

He takes off the coat and puts it back on the hanger, you take him by the arm, as at the café, but in a firmer way to lead him back to the jackets, it surprises him, and despite the fact that it's happened before, this time has surprised him and a blush runs up his cheeks.

He says nothing, content to follow you, still slightly surprised, the discreet red coloring his cheekbones betraying more than his words.

“Concentrate here.”

You order him gently, stopping in front of a rack where several light jackets are lined up.

Florian rolls his eyes, pretending to be exasperated by your attitude, but he actually looks amused, then complies. He scans the models with an attentive gaze, his fingers gliding over the fabrics with the same precision as before. Finally, he settles on a mid-season jacket with a slim fit and a deep gray, almost bluish sheen.

He unhooks it and slips it on with measured slowness, mechanically smoothing the sleeves before turning to you.

“What about this one?”

He stands up straight, hands tucked into pockets, watching you over the slightly raised neckline. In his eyes, there's that silent “So?” question.

You watch him for a moment, tilting your head slightly to one side.

"It's... okay. It suits you."

Florian doesn't comment, contenting himself with a brief nod before carefully removing the jacket.

He folds it over his arm and grabs the black coat left on its hanger.

“We'll pay.”

You walk together through the store's aisles to the checkouts, the steady sound of hangers and the hushed murmur of other customers accompanying your steps.

The sales assistant scans the items, wrapping them in a large Kraft bag which Florian grabs with one hand, putting the bookstore bag into the clothing store bag. A simple “thank you” is exchanged, and you're back in the bright light of the mall's central aisle.

You slow down as you exit the store, the mall crowd seeming denser than when you first arrived.

Florian is still holding the kraft bag in one hand, the other tucked into his trouser pocket.

“Well... what do we do now?”

He shrug slightly.

“No idea.”

"Maybe we could go upstairs and have a look? Maybe we'll find something that tempts us."

“Upstairs it is then.”

You head for the escalator. The neon light reflects off the metal of the steps as they descend and ascend relentlessly. Florian puts one foot on the first step up, bag propped against his leg.

You, just behind him, hesitate for a second before stepping forward. Then, taking advantage of the reduced space and proximity, you slowly slip your hand into his, taking it in and out of his close grasp.

He jolts almost reflexively, his fingers stiffening at first at the contact. His gaze leaves the upper floors to turn to you, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes.

“What the-”

He doesn't finish his sentence. A slight stammer escapes him, then after a slight hesitation, after a very apparent blush, he gently squeezes your fingers, as if he's pulling himself together.

He pulls your hand slightly towards him, narrowing the space between you until your arms brush against each other.

He says nothing more, but doesn't let go of your hand. His palm is warm, the contact firm, almost protective, and the steady movement of the escalator seems to accentuate the silent bubble that has formed around you.

The escalator deposits you on the top floor, and your steps resume, still linked by the simple gesture of his hand in yours.

The contact is firm without being stifling, his long fingers enveloping yours with a warmth that doesn't falter. It's strange how such an insignificant gesture can seem so full of meaning, or maybe it's just you who's giving it too much importance.

The crowd gradually dissolves as you move along, and there are fewer people upstairs as many of the stores are closed, leaving your footsteps to echo more clearly on the tiled floor. You feel, at regular intervals, that light pressure he exerts on your hand, as if he's making sure you're there, as if letting go would be almost inappropriate, disrespectful.

You don't know if he realizes how much this gesture disturbs you. Your heart is beating a little too fast for a simple stroll through a shopping mall, and yet you pretend to concentrate on the shop windows.

For his part, he keeps his gaze still, scanning the signs as if nothing were happening, but you notice the way his thumb sometimes mechanically brushes the back of your hand.

The shop windows scroll by, decoration, sports, jewelry, nothing seems to hold your attention. But you don't want to break the invisible thread that connects you through your intertwined fingers.

Each step is a silent compromise not to hasten the end of this moment.

After a few minutes, Florian stops, his gaze catching a vacant bench near a bay window.

“You wanna take a break?”

“Good idea.”

You sit side by side. The slightly warm metal of the bench contrasts with the coolness of the surrounding air. His hand remains in yours for a few more seconds, before he releases it to settle in comfortably.

He leans back slightly, crossing his legs as usual.

The silence that settles in isn't awkward, on the contrary, it's quite comfortable, especially with someone you used to feel at ease with in the constant hum of the mall.

Florian turns his head towards you, his eyes riveted on yours.

“So... How did you find the day?”

His voice is poised, devoid of any false lightness, as if he really wanted to know. Not just to fill the air between you.

He looks at you, attentive, waiting for your answer, the bag of his purchases carefully wedged between his feet.

You can still feel the warm trace of his hand in yours, and this simple memory is enough to make your heart beat a little faster before you speak.

"Honestly... it was great. Thanks for suggesting it, Florian."

He observes you without saying anything, but his gaze fixes on you with that calm intensity that's characteristic of him, then you continue to speak, in a small voice.

“We should do that again.”

A slight, barely perceptible nod of his head confirms that he's heard you, and that he's not against the idea.

“Why not?”

He answers simply, but his voice has lost some of its neutrality, as if he's trying to mask a certain feeling.

Silence falls again for a few seconds, soft and unforced.

You feel the diffused warmth of his presence, and you want to prolong the moment. You let yourself slide to your side, until your head rests on his shoulder.

On your side, you immediately feel the reassuring solidity of his body, but also that little irregular breath of his since you put your head down. And that smell, that familiar scent you've come to associate with him. It's comfortable and strangely intimate.

Florian's hand remains motionless for a fraction of a second, surprised by the frankness of the gesture. Then he imperceptibly adjusts his posture, as if to offer you better support. You perceive this small movement as a silent approval, and a breath of relief escapes from your nose.

You feel good with him, and you have the feeling that the feeling is mutual.

The minutes drag on, carried by the distant murmur of the mall.

Neither of you speaks. Your breaths settle into one another, as if your bodies have found their common rhythm.

Florian finally closes his eyes, his shoulders drooping in a rare relaxation. His head tilts ever so slightly towards yours, just enough for you to feel a little more of his weight against yours, a little shiver running through your body at the closeness.

You observe this detail out of the corner of your eye, and a discreet smile comes to rest on your lips. It's not a bright smile, but the kind you keep to yourself, the kind that comes when you feel you're in the right place.

On his face, that same faint smile appears, as if he were unaware that he was betraying himself a little.

You stay like this, glued together, letting time stretch on, not trying to fill the silence. Just enjoying it.

Without moving his head, Florian opens his eyes slightly, as if to check that you're still there, and of course you are.

His voice gently breaks the silence, poised but tinged with a light nuance that doesn't escape him.

“Are you planning to stay glued to me all day?”

You look up at him, already ready to answer, but what makes you hesitate is that tone, not really mocking, not really serious either. Almost tender.

You reply with a shrug.

“Maybe so, it doesn't seem to bother you either.”

He lets out an amused breath, closing his eyes as if to savor a few more seconds of this contact.

And the discreet smile he keeps at the corner of his lips confirms that he doesn't really mind you staying there.

But after a few moments, you open your eyes and murmur with that red crackling in your cheeks.

“Maybe even more than today.”

Florian immediately opens his eyes again, wide, as if your words have just taken his breath away.

For a split second, he freezes, unable to think of anything to say. You can tell by the way his breathing suspends that his heart has just taken a leap. And, almost in spite of yourself, yours follows suit.

His gaze fixes on you, more intense, as if he's trying to confirm that he's heard correctly. His lips part, but no words come out.

He finally looks away slightly, as if to regain his composure, even if the slight twitch of his fingers on his biceps betrays that he's not there yet.

Silence settles in, not heavy, but charged with a new tension, different from before.

And, despite his silence, you sense that he's keeping every word you've said somewhere in the back of his mind, nice and warm.

Then, in a light whisper equal to yours, he speaks.

“With pleasure.”

Your heart misses a beat. The answer is simple, almost innocuous in its words, but the way he says it, low and measured, hits you hard.

You slowly raise your head, as if your gestures were afraid to break this fragile moment. Your gaze meets his, and you rediscover the intensity of a few seconds ago, but softened, as if a veil had been lifted.

Florian doesn't look away this time. His breathing is even, but you notice the slight tension in his jaw, as if he's trying to contain something. His pink irises catch the light, and he says nothing more, simply letting you immerse yourself in the silence that speaks for him.

In this suspended moment, there's neither the noise of the mall nor the harsh neon light, just him, you, and that sentence that keeps echoing in your head, as if everything around it has disappeared.

You're about to rest your head on his shoulder, regaining that quiet cocoon, but his movement cuts you off.

The warmth of his palm comes to rest against your cheek, his fingers brushing your skin with an almost hesitant gentleness.

Your breath stops for good. He's looking at you, and this time he's not trying to hide anything. His eyes are anchored in yours as if he wants to read every last thought.

Then he leans in and places his lips on yours in a light, cautious touch. An unhurried kiss that carries everything you haven't said.

You close your eyes, letting yourself be carried away by this familiar warmth that seems to chase away all the distance between you at the start of the day.

When he steps back, he says nothing. His hand remains on your cheek for a moment, as if to prolong the contact, caressing your soft skin with his thumb.

And you stand there, immobilized, as if frozen by his kiss, your heart beating a little too fast, knowing that this kiss won't be your last.

[jitarossun]

Haiiiii

Sorry if it's a bad timing

Can l request another Abel fanfic, this one was really good and am craving more Abel fluff

Thanks for your time, hope your doin good:3

The house always win

Summary : your first time at the casino, who else to go with but abel?

Pairing : Abel x fem!reader

TW : suggestive at the end and well, it's casino, so? everything that goes along, betting, a bit of alcohol, slight verbal aggression.

Words count : 11.4k

A/N : Thank you for your request! Hope you're doing well too :3, I think honestly it's my best work so far, hope you'll enjoy read it as much as I enjoyed write it!

You descend the steps slowly, the red fabric of your dress brushing your legs with every step. The light from the ceiling catches the satin sheen of the fabric, making your outfit sparkle as if it had been sewn with evening sparkles. Your fingers slide along the railing, just enough to feel the polished wood under your palm, while the light perfume you've chosen floats behind you like an invisible shadow.

In the living room, your father is slumped on the sofa, one arm resting casually on the armrest, the other busy stroking, or rather trying to stroke Sugarball.

The cat, curled up against his thigh, tolerates the attention with the blasé air of a monarch deigning to accept the company of his subjects. His ears twitch slightly at the sound of your footsteps on the wood, but he doesn't even raise his head.

Your father, on the other hand, doesn't pretend. His gaze rises to you as soon as you reach the halfway point on the steps, and you see his eyebrows raise slightly, a discreet mixture of surprise and silent appraisal.

Finally, after a second of thought and judgment, he decides to speak.

“Well, looks like someone decided to dress up.”

Sugarball, as if to punctuate the sentence, emits a lazy little mewl without opening his eyes, before rolling onto his side to better occupy the space.

You finish your descent, the muffled sound of your heels on the carpet covering the last few steps contrasting with the TV on in the background.

You reach the bottom of the stairs, the fall of your dress settling naturally around your legs. You mechanically tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, aware of the gaze your father continues to cast on you.

He says nothing for a few seconds, as if weighing his words, then a discreet smile softens his features.

“You look lovely.”

The tone is simple, without emphasis, but you know he means it. And coming from him, that always touches you.

Sugarball, still slumped against him, lets out a sonorous sigh as if to signify that he hasn't been consulted in this evaluation, but your father continues to look at you with that discreet little pride in his eyes.

“Thanks, dad.”

“So you're waiting for Abel?”

You nod, standing so as not to wrinkle your beautiful dress and to keep Sugarball's hair from getting on the fabric.

“He's a good kid, he's funny, it's good you're going with him.”

Your father settles back a little further into the sofa, a vaguely wistful look in his eyes.

"You know, I set foot in a casino too, once. I was young... about your age."

Sugarball, as if to mark the importance of the moment, lazily stretches his paws before curling up again.

"We'd gone off with a group of friends, all convinced we were going to come home rich as princes. I had a jacket that was too big, shoes that squeaked, and... a self-confidence that could have moved a mountain."

You smile, imagining the scene very well.

“So?”

He nods earnestly, his tone suddenly very solemn.

"I won... three times in a row at roulette. Three times in a row. People started looking at me like I was a prodigy. I was sure this was my night, that I was going to win it all."

He pauses, leaving the suspense hanging.

“And?”

A slight smile escapes him, one of those that smacks more of resignation than pride.

"And... I lost everything on the next shot. Absolutely everything. Even the money we'd budgeted for the cab home."

You laugh softly, shaking your head.

“I guess that's why you never took me gambling.”

He shrugs, falsely relaxed.

“Let's just say I'd rather spare you the big humiliating lesson that in the casino, you sometimes win... but the house always wins.”

He points at you with his chin, a more tender smile at the corner of his lips.

“But you, tonight, you're just going to go for the first time and enjoy it quietly, but don't do as I did when in doubt...”

“I wasn't counting on it.”

You reply with a small smile.

Your father laughs softly, a frank outburst that relaxes the atmosphere a little more. But soon his face becomes more serious, and he straightens slightly on the sofa.

"More seriously... if there's ever a problem, anything, you call me. Okay?"

You nod, a little tenderized by this sudden burst of protectiveness.

“I promise.”

He returns your gaze for a few seconds, as if to make sure you've understood.

Then a familiar sound breaks the conversation.

The doorbell rings, echoing softly in the hallway.

Sugarball perks up his ears, his eyes following your movement as you turn towards the door. Your father smirks.

“I think your knight has arrived.”

Your heart skips a beat. You cross the hallway, aware of every step, the fluidity of your red dress gently brushing your legs, and that slight smile already settling on your lips.

You open the door, and Abel is there.

Perfectly tailored black tuxedo, impeccable white shirt, carefully tied bow tie. His blond hair is pulled back, but a few wisps are deliberately let loose to soften it.

In his left hand, a bouquet of bright red roses, held in place by a satin ribbon.

His blue eyes slide slowly from your head to the bottom of your dress, then back up again, a smile of both surprise and satisfaction forming on his lips.

“Wow... I knew you were going to be beautiful... but now you've just redefined the word.”

You take a step forward and reach for the bouquet.

“Thank you, Abel, they're beautiful-”

“Oh!”

Abel suddenly gasps, pulling the bouquet out of your reach, looking outraged as if you've just committed sacrilege.

“No, no, no, darling... it's not for you.”

You freeze, one eyebrow raised, as he moves around you with the grace of an actor on stage. He steps into the living room and, without the slightest hesitation, hands the bouquet to your father.

“For the man who raised this marvel.”

His tone is serious, almost ceremonial, making you roll your eyes.

Your father chuckles, clearly delighted, and takes the roses as if they were the most natural thing in the world.

“Well, Abel, you sure know how to talk to people, don't you.”

Abel replies with a little wink, clearly complicit with your father.

“It's a question of tact and manners.”

And then, as if you'd suddenly disappeared from the room, the two start chatting with surprising ease. Your father asks him where the roses come from, Abel tells an abracadabra story involving an Italian florist who only sells bouquets “worthy of an opera” not far from here. The two laugh, exchange quick retorts, and you realize they understand each other a little too well for your taste.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, you watch them. After a few seconds of this comedy in which you seem relegated to the role of spectator, you clear your throat, loud enough to cover your father's laughter.

Both turn to you, almost at the same time, looking innocent. Abel, on the other hand, still has that smile that clearly says he knows exactly what he's doing; he takes on an air of surprise, astonishment.

“Oh, you're still here?”

You roll your eyes again and, exasperated but amused, you imitate them in a deliberately nasal voice.

“Oh, Abel, you know how to talk to people... Oh, thanks for the roses... Mimimimi...”

Your father and Abel stop laughing, like two children caught red-handed. Abel turns his head towards him with a widening smile, then gives him a knowing nudge, as if to say “she's jealous”. Your father stifles a laugh and raises his hands in surrender. As for Abel, he bellows with a falsely solemn air.

“I'll stop if we can't make any more new friends...” 

He steps towards you and, with a confident gesture, places a hand on your waist. The warmth of his palm cuts through the fabric of your dress, and before you have time to protest, he gently pulls you toward the entrance.

“Come on, lady, enough jealousy, let's go this time.”

Arriving at the door, you turn to your father one last time.

“Have a good evening, dad.”

“Have fun, and no mischief.”

Abel answers before you can.

“Promise.”

You nod and your father responds with the same sign, and Sugarball, still on the couch, just blinks slowly as if in approval.

Abel opens the door, walking you outside with his hand on your waist, and closes it behind you before whispering in your ear.

“Anyway, we'll see about the mischief.”

Even though you can't see him, you can hear the smirk on his face. A shiver runs through your body, and a tinge of red soaks into your cheeks.

He leads you down the aisle, his hand still on your waist as if he's afraid you'll slip away before he reaches the car. The limousine awaits you, black and shiny, lit by a discreet halo of light from inside.

Giuseppe immediately gets out and opens the rear door, letting you into the soft, perfumed interior.

“Good evening (Y/N), You look beautiful.”

You smile back at Giuseppe.

“Thank you Giuseppe.”

Abel invites you to get in with an elegant gesture, then follows close behind, closing the door behind him with a muffled click.

Inside, the soft light highlights the black leather and impeccable finishes. Abel leans over to the integrated refrigerated compartment and pulls out an already chilled bottle of champagne. The little pop of the cork echoes in the enclosed space, followed by the golden gurgling of the liquid, which he pours into two slender flutes.

"To your first night at the casino! We're going to make it a night to remember."

Abel raises his glass, earning you a charming smile.

You raise an amused eyebrow, but accept, the light bubbles of the moment mingling with the effervescence of the champagne. Your flutes clink together in a clear little tinkle, then he continues talking, his gaze still locked on yours.

“We're going to have so much fun.”

You take a sip, the sparkling taste sliding over your tongue, and in his eyes shines that silent promise, that he intends to keep his word and that nothing about this night will be ordinary.

The road stretches on, calm, everything going perfectly. Through the tinted window, the city lights glide by in moving streams, occasionally interrupted by the shadow of a building or the glint of a neon sign. The cabin still smells of the fruity perfume of champagne and the light warmth of the limousine.

Abel, relaxed, plays absent-mindedly with the stem of his flute, one elbow resting on the armrest, while you savor a sip that bursts into fresh bubbles on your tongue.

Your laughter mingles at times, for no particular reason, just because the air is light and with him there's always a gap between the elegance of the situation and his perfectly absurd retorts. He sometimes watches you over the rim of his glass, with that half-smile that suggests he's already preparing a new dig.

You stare at him for a moment, then drop in a falsely serious tone.

“You know, I'm almost disappointed... I thought you'd wear a dress too.”

He turns his head toward you, eyebrows slightly raised.

“A dress?”

"Yes. Something sparkly. Maybe even brighter than mine."

He takes a dramatic breath, his gaze lost in vagueness like a tragic hero.

“Just think, I was this close to putting on a long, shiny black dress... and bunny ears.”

You burst out laughing, surprised by the mental image.

“Bunny ears?!”

"But of course! But... that would have made Cain way too horny."

You shake your head and laugh loudly, amused, while he takes a sip, giving you a falsely innocent look.

"So, to avoid drama, I chose the tuxedo. Personal sacrifice."

He rests his flute on the armrest, chin lifted slightly, as if about to reveal a universal truth.

“But you know... I'm sure you would have loved to see me in a dress.”

His voice is low, almost confidential, and his blue eyes sparkle with a provocative gleam, and you roll your eyes, unable to hide your smile.

“I'm not sure ‘adored’ is the right word.”

“Come on, now, just to see your reaction, it would have been worth every second.”

He winks at you before picking up his flute again and taking a sip, clearly very pleased with the image he's just put in your head.

The limousine slows before coming to a perfect stop in front of the casino entrance. The glass doors, framed by luminous columns, reflect the gleaming gold of the signs and the comings and goings of an elegant clientele. A red carpet stretches out to the sidewalk, trodden by patent heels and polished shoes that sparkle under the spotlights.

Giuseppe steps down from his seat and opens the door with a discreet smile. Abel steps out first, then extends his hand to help you down, the gesture fluid.

“Here you go, ma’am.”

He keeps your hand in his, letting you regain your balance on the floor.

Giuseppe gently closes the door, then slips his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Enjoy your evening. I'm going for a walk on the beach in the meantime."

With a discreet whisper, like a slightly shameful, unmentionable secret, he continues to speak.

“I hope the ice cream man still has the raspberry taste...”

He straightens his head and gives you a little nod, his eyes sparkling with quiet complicity.

"Good evening to you both.”

“Thanks, Giuseppe, but don't get too jealous at the beach.”

The driver laughs softly before pulling away, leaving behind the salty scent of the sea breeze seeping between the casino's gilded columns.

You've only taken a few steps onto the red carpet when an imposing security guard, broad-shouldered and cut like an ice-cream cabinet, strides towards you. His dark suit is perfectly tailored, but it doesn't hide the muscular mass that gives the impression that the columns behind him might bend before he does.

“Good evening, your identity cards, please.”

His deep voice seems to vibrate to the ground.

Abel pulls out a different card from his ID with a perfectly controlled smile, you raise an eyebrow but don't question him for the moment. You, on the other hand, quickly rummage through the small bag you've packed with the bare necessities before handing it to him.

The man takes the two cards and examines them with almost military seriousness, his gaze going from the plastic to your faces, as if to make sure you're not two look-alikes coming to rob the roulette wheel.

A few seconds stretch by, then he looks at you, before looking at your bag.

"Please open your bag, madam.”

He looks into your bag, which you open wide with both hands, then returns your cards and steps aside with measured steps, opening a passage to the glass doors.

“All right, have a good evening.”

Abel, true to form, gives him a small smile and puts his hand on your waist, guiding you inside.

“Thank you, my good man.”

And at last you step through the doors, leaving behind the murmur of the waves to plunge into the golden light and vibrant buzz of the casino.

As soon as you step through the doors, a flood of light and sound envelops you. The metallic clink of slot machines mingles with the muffled rustle of conversation, and the subtle scent of expensive perfume wafts through the air. The thick carpets cushion your footsteps, while the glittering chandeliers reflect off the gilded walls.

You take a few steps forward, already caught up in the bright colors of the gaming tables, but Abel gently holds your hand.

“Wait a minute, lady, you can't just walk up to the cash register.”

With sure steps, he escorts you to a marble counter to the right of the entrance hall, behind which stands an elegantly dressed hostess. Abel then pulls from the inside pocket of his tuxedo a small, stiff card, the one he showed the security guard.

It looks like an ID card, but more sober, with his photo, full name, a few engraved numbers and a discreet hologram.

"Here's the key to the kingdom. This is the casino card."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Mandatory?”

"Absolutely. Without it, you can't enter here freely, let alone play the slots or tables. It's like... your official passport to vice and fortune."

He gestures to the counter.

"Tonight, we'll make you one. You'll see, they'll take your picture, ask you a couple of things, and then... beep, you're part of the house. All you had to do was put some money on it with the machine right there."

The machine looks like a high-end vending machine, only bigger. The touch screen takes up most of the front, framed in polished chrome that reflects the golden light of the hall. To the side, a card reader and a small numeric keypad wait patiently for a few bills or a bank card to be inserted. Further down, a slot with a green light border is used to swipe the casino card, with a small light flashing softly, as if inviting you to play.

"This is where you'll put money on your card. You swipe the card, choose how much you want to put in, and then the machines love you."

His eyes sparkle with a mischief you're beginning to know by heart, and he's still smirking, as if amused to see you enter a new world.

"But be careful, it's like feeding a wild animal. Once it's had a taste, it wants more."

“Are you talking about addiction here?”

“Exactly.”

The hostess steps forward with a professional smile, interrupting the conversation in a polite tone. Abel steps aside slightly, leaving you to face the counter. You provide the requested information, the hostess tapping rapidly on her keyboard, her fingernails producing a light, regular clicking sound.

A small photo booth is built into the counter. You sit down on the stool, mechanically adjust your posture and stare at the flashing lens before capturing your image. The screen immediately displays your portrait, sober but clear, along with the data the hostess has just entered.

A few seconds later, a compact printer swallows a thin plastic plate and spits it out, marked with a discreet hologram. The hostess picks it up, checks it with a watchful eye, then places it on the counter.

It's the same as Abel's, with a rigid format, photo on the right, full name, numbers engraved in relief and a metallic sheen that catches the light on the left. A sober card, but full of promise.

Abel collects your new card before you can, and leads you to the terminal.

“Come on, first baptism.”

He slides the card into the lighted slot, and the touch screen lights up, displaying a clear menu. You're about to pull out your wallet, but he gives you a sidelong glance and scoffs.

“Put that away.”

“Abel, I can very well-”

"Shut up. Tonight, it's on me."

He inserts his credit card into the reader, types in an amount without showing it to you, then retrieves your card from the casino to reinsert it. The discreet beep that follows and the message “credit added” appear on the screen.

He hands it to you, his eyes sparkling with pride.

"There you go. Your first official step into decadence with 200 dollars."

“What if I lose it all?”

He sketches a smirk.

"Then I'll forgive you. Consider me your sponsor... but only if you promise to smile for the camera when you win and mention my name eight times, minimum, in your future interview."

You shake your head with a laugh, slipping the card into your bag.

“Promise.”

As he escorts you toward the main room, Abel leans slightly toward you, as if to slip you a final confidence.

"Ah, last bit of info before we start introducing you to the real joys of the casino. Some games won't take your card directly, so you'll have to go through the tokens."

You look at him, intrigued.

“Tokens?”

“Right, like for poker, for example.”

He points with his chin to a counter right next to the one you were at earlier.

"You give your casino card, they withdraw the amount you want and exchange that for tokens. Simple."

He gives you an amused smile, almost as if he's just entrusted you with a secret code.

“And trust me... it's always more stylish to push tokens across a table than to press a button.”

You nod, mentally registering all the information Abel has just given you, as if you were taking a crash course in the art of the casino. Then, guided by the hand he gently places behind your back, you begin to make your way into the main room.

The space opens up before you like a grandiose theater. The high, richly decorated ceiling is adorned with gilded frescoes and crystal chandeliers whose hundreds of facets scatter light in warm flashes across the soft carpets. To your left, a long row of slot machines sparkles, each flashing with its own colors and emitting a different chime, like an improvised electronic orchestra.

Further on, the gaming tables line up in a perfectly studied order, blackjack, poker, roulette, each with its own immaculate green carpet, neatly arranged stacks of tokens, and croupier s in black and red jackets whose precise gestures are reminiscent of a well-honed choreography. Concentrated players lean in, some in tense silence, others punctuating their bets with laughter and exclamations.

On the upper floor, which you can make out by looking up, an interior balcony lined with elaborate balustrades overlooks the room. Elegant silhouettes move about on it, observing the scene below with their glasses in hand. All around you, the air is charged with a subtle blend of perfume, leather and a hint of discreet tobacco.

The whole casino seems to vibrate with a constant energy, a mixture of adrenalin, anticipation and controlled luxury.

You keep walking, your eyes still caught by the multitude of details, when your gaze stops on a row of slot machines straight out of a hypnotic dream. The lights dance like a permanent spectacle, and the saturated colors contrast with the dark velvet of the armchairs in front of each one.

You slow your pace, intrigued. You're not sure where to start in a place like this. The gaming tables still seem intimidating, and the rules too vague to risk. So, instinctively, you think the slot machines might be the simplest option, the perfect entry point into this world.

“I think... I'll try that.”

You look at Abel and point to one of the machines.

The electronic chime that escapes punctuates your decision as if to encourage you. The reels scroll across the screen, displaying fruit, numbers and golden symbols in a hypnotic ballet. The flashing animation promises a jackpot you know is unlikely, but the atmosphere makes you want to believe.

You settle down on the chair, smooth and slightly worn by hundreds of players before you, and run your hand over the reader where you'll have to insert your casino card, glancing at Abel as if to make sure you're not already doing something stupid with a sheepish little smile.

Abel remains standing beside you, arms crossed, watching your every move with undisguised amusement.

"This is a historic moment. Your very first official interaction with a slot machine."

You slide your casino card into the slot provided, and the screen flashes, greeting you with a glowing message.

"Oh, look at that. She recognizes you already... This is the beginning of a great love story."

You roll your eyes, focused on the options that pop up.

“You're an idiot, Abel Conti.”

"Every round is a life choice. Are you going to hit the jackpot... or burn it all down in a few shots for glory?"

“You're stressing me out more than anything else.”

He straightens up a little, as if to give his words more weight, but his smile betrays that he's taking more pleasure in teasing you than really advising you.

“You know, if you win, I'll claim 50% just for bringing you luck and then anyway, I'm your sponsor.”

You start the game, the reels scroll by in a blaze of lights and electronic sounds. They stop abruptly... And nothing. Not a single winning line-up. A small sigh escapes you, quickly stifled by the surrounding hubbub.

You immediately retry, inserting a new bet. The symbols resume their hypnotic course, but the result is the same, another empty combination. You feel a discreet smile forming on Abel's lips, still standing next to you, as if he's watching a show whose end he already knows.

A third attempt. Same outcome. The rolls almost seem to mock you, lining up cruelly imperfectly with each turn. The credits slowly but surely drop, and you begin to think that the machine has something against you.

Abel finally breaks the silence, his voice poised, almost as a matter of course.

“The house always wins.”

You turn your head and lift it a little toward him to meet his gaze.

“My father told me the same thing.”

“And rightly so.”

You restart the machine, the rollers once again shaking in a cacophony of electronic sounds, but you already know that the result won't be miraculous. Without looking away from the screen, you start talking to Abel again.

“Aren't you playing?”

He shakes his head slightly, one corner of his mouth turned up.

"No. I'm not interested in slot machines."

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled, then ask him for an explanation.

“Why not?”

“Because it's a lot more fun to play against real people.”

He grazes your elbow, inviting you to stand up and move away from the row of machines. You quickly pick up your card and follow him.

Guided by his pleasantly warm hand on your back, you follow him through the room, between the clatter of voices, the clatter of tokens and the ambient chill.

He finally stops in front of a table with impeccable green mats, where a croupier  in a black jacket deals cards with surgical precision. Tokens pile up in front of a few concentrated players, the rustle of cards sliding across the felt punctuated by clattering bets.

“Blackjack.”

Abel murmurs with an almost carnivorous smile.

“My favorite game.”

Abel adjusts the cuffs of his tuxedo, his gaze going for a moment from the croupier  to the stacks of tokens, then back to you. A wry smile plays across his lips, the kind that always precedes a proposal he knows will be hard to refuse.

“Want to play the next game?”

His tone is calm, but his eyes shine with an amused, almost provocative gleam, as if he's silently challenging you. Behind him, the croupier shuffles the cards with hypnotic fluidity, and the faint scent of leather, felt and adrenaline wafts around the table.

You answer with a slight hesitation.

"I've never played before. I'm not even sure I know the rules."

You pause for a second, memories flooding back.

“Actually, when I was little I had a DS game called Clubhouse Games or something and it had blackjack on it...”

You glance down at the table where the players, staring at their cards, are calculating every possibility with feverish concentration, hoping to rake in as many tokens as possible.

“But it doesn't look anything like that...”

Abel moves closer, coming to stand right next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. His eyes leave your face for a moment to settle on the table, where the croupier deals the cards with a precise gesture.

“Look, I'll give you a quick summary.”

He points to one of the players around the table.

"Each person receives two cards, and so does the croupier . The aim is simple, to beat the croupier  to a total as close as possible to twenty-one, without ever exceeding it."

His fingers point to the cards on the table.

"Figures are worth ten points, aces are worth one or eleven, depending on what suits you, and the other cards have their value. You can ask for an extra card, then you say ‘hit’ or make a hand gesture, or stay on your current score, and there you say, ‘stand.’"

He glances at you knowingly, as if to make sure you're following.

"If you beat the croupier  without going over twenty-one, you win. But if you go over..."

He mimes a sharp little gesture at his neck.

“It's over.”

On the table, the next player asks for a card. Abel inclines his head slightly towards you.

"You see, he takes a risk. Sometimes it pays off. Sometimes it doesn't."

He punctuates his sentence with a wry smile, his eyes twinkling, as if he's waiting to see if you're ready to take the plunge.

You raise an eyebrow, a slight smile at the corner of your lips.

“Is that all?”

Abel shakes his head gently, looking falsely serious.

"Well, not exactly. There are special options too."

He points to the table with his chin.

"For example, you can double your bet after seeing your first two cards, but you'll only get one extra card. Or split your hand if you have two identical cards, and then you play two hands at the same time."

He pauses, giving you time to take it all in.

"But be careful, it also depends on what the casino allows. Some limit doubles on certain cards, others prohibit splitting aces more than once. In short, you have to know the house you're playing in."

He glances at you mischievously.

“And anyway, I'm here, so all you have to do is give me a look or two like ‘help, I don't know what to do’ and I'll try to help you however I can.”

You remain silent for a moment, your eyes fixed on the cards sliding across the felt, still digesting all those rules. The idea of taking the plunge makes you hesitate. Part of you just wants to keep watching, but the other part can already feel the adrenalin rush that this kind of game promises.

As for Abel, he doesn't say anything more, just looks at you with that slight smirk that almost gives you the impression he already knows what your answer will be.

Finally, you inhale discreetly and nod.

“Okay.”

Abel's smile widens, but instead of sitting down immediately, he leans toward you.

"Perfect. You keep watching for a while, and I'll go and get something to play with."

He points to the table surrounded by concentrated players, then strides away to the exchange counter. You follow his gaze for a moment, watching his silhouette make its way among the tables, before turning your attention back to the game in progress.

The croupier deals the cards with a fluid gesture, and the players respond in turn with a precise hand signal or words, asking for a new card or standing on their score. Tokens clatter against the felt, pile up, disappear, reappear. You linger over their expressions, some masking everything, others allowing a shadow of frustration or a furtive burst of satisfaction to filter through.

A few minutes pass in this way, punctuated by the crinkling of cards and the discreet murmur of money circulating, until Abel reappears, a small tray of neatly stacked tokens in his hands.

He returns to you and, with a nod, silently asks you to follow him. He places it on the edge of the vacant table he's spotted, then pulls out the chair to invite you to sit down.

You take your places side by side, the leather seats sagging slightly under your weight. The other players, already seated, cast a quick glance in your direction before returning to their cards. The croupier bows his head in welcome and begins to shuffle the deck with that almost hypnotic precision you'd already noticed.

Abel takes the time to divide the tokens, sliding them toward you in two equal piles, the dry sound of plastic on felt marking each movement.

"Half for you. That way, we can see who's handling it better."

The bright colors of the tokens contrast with the deep green of the carpet, and just having them in front of you already makes you feel part of the game.

The croupier  announces the start of the game and collects previous bets. The players each slide one or more tokens in front of them, their colored plastic clinking gently on the felt. You imitate their gesture, placing your first bet with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.

The freshly shuffled pack passes into the hands of the croupier, who begins to deal two cards to each player, face up, and one card face down for himself. The rectangles slide across the carpet with a dry crinkle, stopping perfectly aligned in front of each participant.

To your left, a player taps his finger on the edge of the table to request an additional card. The croupier  hands it to him with a sure gesture. Farther away, a woman shakes her head, preferring to stay on her total. The game moves on, the rhythm punctuated by the crinkling of cards and the sound of shifting tokens.

Then it's your turn.

Your two cards lie in front of you, an eight of diamonds and a seven of clubs. The total is clearly displayed in your head, fifteen, but you know enough to understand that this is a tricky hand. Too low to stay, too risky to draw a card without coming close to twenty-one.

You hesitate, your fingers brushing the edge of the table. The croupier 's silence gives you all the time you need, but not enough to ease the slight tension that's building. Your eyes finally leave the cards and seek out Abel, as if his expression alone could tell you what to do.

Abel meets your gaze and, without a word, tilts his head slightly to one side, a gesture barely perceptible but clear enough for you. He keeps his hands clasped in front of him, thumbs brushing absentmindedly, as if he didn't want to influence the game too visibly.

You inhale softly and tap your fingertips on the felt, imitating the gesture you've seen other players make. The croupier  nods and draws a new card, which he slides over to you.

A six of spades.

Your total climbs to twenty-one. Almost too perfect to be true. A slight smile spreads across your lips as you remove your hand from the mat, deciding to obviously stop here.

Next to you, Abel flashes a knowing smile, but says nothing, letting the tension fall naturally as the turn passes to the next player. The steady clatter of cards and tokens resumes, as if nothing unusual had happened, but you still feel a little shiver of satisfaction run down the back of your neck.

The croupier deals Abel a jack of spades and a nine of hearts. Nineteen. A solid hand.

Abel barely glances at his cards before straightening in his seat, as if already amused by the result. He taps the edge of the table with his fingertips, a measured gesture, then shakes his head slightly.

“Stand.”

His voice is poised, almost detached, but you can tell from the way he wedges himself against the backrest that he's already satisfied with his hand. The croupier  nods, passes to the next player, and the game continues, the crinkling of cards and the clatter of tokens punctuating each decision.

You glance at Abel, who keeps smiling, as if waiting to see if you, too, will make it to the end of the round.

After Abel announces that he's staying, the croupier goes straight to his own deck. He turns over his face-down card with a seven of diamonds, adding to his already visible five. Twelve.

Without hesitation, he draws another card, an eight of spades. His total comes to twenty.

A slight shiver of anticipation runs through the table. Some players let out a quiet sigh, others put on a neutral expression, but you remain fixed on your cards. Your twenty-one puts you in the clear and earns you a small pile of extra tokens, which the croupier  pushes towards you.

Abel, with his nineteen, loses the round, but his wry smile doesn't budge. He slides an amused glance in your direction, as if to acknowledge your victory without a word.

The croupier gathers the cards, lines them up in a neat gesture, then starts shuffling the deck for the next deal.

One round follows another and, as you watch, you begin to anticipate the right moves a little better. But despite this, you still often look to Abel before making your decision. It's become almost instinctive.

As the croupier deals a new hand, a player seated to your right, a stocky man with a face flushed with annoyance, lets out a loud sigh. He's just lost another big bet. This time, he slams his cards on the carpet, slams his fist on the table and turns to you with a curt gesture.

"Seriously, are you going to keep looking at your boyfriend every time?! I don't like it! We're here to play, not watch your little act!"

The tension at the table rises suddenly, the noise of the tokens stops. You freeze, surprised by the violence of the tone, but Abel reacts immediately. He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, and stares the man straight in the eye.

“Let me be very clear.”

Abel pauses, it was rare, but you could see that emotion in his eyes you rarely saw, anger.

"If you're a bad sport, that's your problem. But if you open your mouth again to talk to her like that, it's going to become mine."

The player stared at him for a few seconds, jaw clenched, before sitting back down heavily, mumbling something inaudible.

The croupier, who hasn't lost a crumb of the exchange, keeps his expression neutral but intervenes in a firm, measured voice.

"Gentlemen, let's settle down, please. The game continues, and everyone is welcome at this table as long as we remain respectful."

His hands immediately resume their precise gestures, shuffling and dealing cards with the same fluidity as usual. This imposed professionalism acts like a lid on the tension, stifling a little of the simmering storm. The other players lower their eyes to their cards, and the atmosphere, though still charged, regains a semblance of normalcy.

Abel settles back into his chair, his gaze still hard for a few seconds before softening and settling on you.

The game resumes, but you can't really concentrate on your cards. Your fingers play mechanically with a chip while you still feel the echo of the player's aggressive voice. The hushed atmosphere of the casino suddenly seems more oppressive, as if every chip clatter or card crinkle becomes heavier.

You don't like the feeling of not being welcome, you hate it.

When the round ends, you gently push your chair back and look at Abel to silently tell him that you're stopping here.

Without waiting for a reaction, you get up and walk away from the table, crossing the room with measured but quick steps, just enough to put some distance between you and the table.

The bright lights and electronic music of the slot machines encircle you again, giving you the perfect excuse to avoid meeting the eyes of the table.

Behind you, you hear the slight rustle of Abel's seat as he rises to his feet. He says nothing immediately, letting you take a few steps forward before catching up. Leaving his tokens on the table, he gives up his seat without a backward glance, allowing another player to slip in if the mood strikes him.

“Hey, take it easy... We're not going to let some asshole ruin your evening.”

His voice is softer, deliberately light, and he sketches a small smile in your direction.

“Come on, let's find something more fun that might be simpler and more fun.”

You look at him, pausing for a second.

“You could stay if you wanted to, I know how much you love this game.”

“And how much do I love this game?”

“So much that you talked to me about it every day after you offered me the exit.”

Abel lets out a small laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah... that sounds like me.”

He slips his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo and gives you a smirk.

"But that was just to make sure you understood. You know, kind of like subliminal messages... but that aren't subliminal at all."

His tone is halfway between amused confession and assumed joke, as if he's mocking himself for the insistent way he'd prepared you for this evening and he'd finally managed to wring that smile he'd been looking for.

He keeps his smirk, but his gaze becomes a little softer.

“And to be honest, I didn't hate it when that guy thought I was your boyfriend.”

You immediately feel the heat rise to your cheeks, your fingers tightening slightly on the fabric of your dress. Abel, on the other hand, just looks away for a second, as if he'd just said that in all simplicity, not realizing the effect it's having on you.

“Shut up, Abel...”

His smile widens imperceptibly, satisfied that he's gotten exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

Abel doesn't pick up on your remark, as if it's been lost in the ambient noise of the casino. Instead, he naturally places his hand on your waist, his gesture sure but unhurried, inviting you to resume walking.

"Come on, let's go upstairs. There's a bar upstairs, and the bartender makes great drinks."

His hand remains light against yours, guiding your steps toward the spiral staircase that leads upstairs, where the light is dimmer and the hubbub of the machines gradually fades.

“What about our tokens anyway?”

Abel shrugs, looking perfectly relaxed.

“Oh, it'll please the players after us.”

He gives you a knowing, almost mischievous look.

“I'm feeling generous today.”

Without slowing down, he accompanies you towards the bar, as if leaving behind a handful of tokens were an unimportant detail, just a whim of the evening.

At the top of the stairs, the atmosphere changes immediately. The light is softer, golden, filtered through brass sconces that radiate a hushed warmth. The din of slot machines and gaming tables becomes more distant, as if muffled, replaced by a discreet jazz background.

A long varnished wooden railing runs along the edge of the floor, offering a bird's-eye view of the main room below. From here, you can see the rows of flashing machines, the poker and blackjack tables bathed in their halos of light, and the silhouettes hunched over their game, each absorbed in their own bubble.

In the center, suspended high from the ceiling, several immense crystal chandeliers project a shower of luminous sparkles onto the floor below. Their tassels catch the light and reflect it back in golden and silver flashes, adding to the feeling of luxury that pervades the place.

Abel leads you to the bar, a dark wooden counter polished by time, behind which an elegant bartender is arranging glasses. He barely looks up as you approach, waiting for you to order.

“So, what would you like?”

He sits down at a stool and invites you to do the same.

“Rather sweet and fruity, or something with a little more character?”

After a moment's thought, you finally decide.

“Sweet and fruity, but not too heavy.”

Abel turns to the bartender.

"For her, a Bellini. And for me... an Old Fashioned."

The bartender simply nods and immediately gets to work. The clatter of ice cubes and the scent of citrus quickly mingle with the soft music in the air.

The bartender places the two glasses in front of you with precision, the Bellini releasing a delicate scent of peach and champagne, and the Old Fashioned diffusing its deep notes of orange and whisky.

Abel quietly pulls a blue card from the inside pocket of his tuxedo and hands it to the bartender, as if nothing had happened. But your gaze freezes on it.

The name printed in capital letters leaves no doubt.

Cain Montgomery.

You look up at Abel, a silent question in your gaze, but he just gives you a small, impassive smile, as if this detail were completely unimportant. The bartender passes you the menu without comment, before wishing you a good tasting and walking away.

Abel grabs his glass and raises it slightly, as if to toast, before answering the silent question you didn't even ask him.

“He didn't hesitate for a second when I told him I was coming here with you.”

His tone doesn't let you guess whether this is a way of reassuring you, teasing you, or simply stating a fact. The sweet aroma of your Bellini rises to you, you in turn grab your glass and toast with it.

Abel keeps his glass raised and stares at you with that little smile that never completely leaves his lips.

“To OUR evening.”

The clear clink of glasses echoes softly, then you each take a sip.

The Bellini slides against your lips in effervescent smoothness. The bubbles burst in a light tingle on your tongue before releasing the round, sweet flavor of white peach. The champagne, crisp and light, balances it all with a subtle hint of bitterness, leaving a fruity note that lingers pleasantly in the back of your mouth.

You put your glass back down with a slight smile.

“I feel a bit like I'm in a James Bond movie right now.”

Abel arches an eyebrow, his expression oscillating between curiosity, confusion and amusement.

“Have you ever seen a James Bond movie?”

You mark a short silence, absentmindedly playing with the stem of your glass.

“... No.”

Abel stares at you for a second, then frankly bursts into laughter, the kind of frank, uncontrolled laughter that draws a few curious glances around you.

"I thought so. I figured you'd come up with it out of nowhere."

He shakes his head, still amused, before taking another sip of his Old Fashioned, as if this revelation had just illuminated a little personal mystery for him.

After a few moments, with another amused smile, Abel sets his glass down on the counter and turns his head slightly towards you.

“We could watch it together, one of these days.”

His eyes catch yours, and there's a sincere twinkle in his gaze, an unexpected gentleness that contrasts with the noise and bustle of the casino below. This is no idle proposition, and you sense it.

“Yes, with pleasure.”

The atmosphere immediately relaxes, as if this little exchange has swept away the tensions of earlier. The muffled jazz, the subdued lighting, the light warmth of the alcohol, everything blends together to create a tranquil moment just for the two of you. Your gestures, your smiles, even your silences become more tender, almost complicit, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist for a few moments.

You stay there for a while, enjoying the relative quiet of the upstairs. The conversation becomes softer, almost nonchalant, slipping from one subject to another with no precise goal in mind. Sometimes it's an anecdote that elicits a smile, sometimes a simple exchange of glances is enough to fill the silence. The Bellini retains its fruity, sparkling freshness to the last sip, while Abel's Old Fashioned exudes an amber warmth that seems to meld with the timbre of his voice.

When you finally set your empty glass on the counter, Abel leans slightly against the edge of the stool, as if preparing to move.

"I think I'm going to take a walk over to the poker tables. Wanna come?"

You shake your head gently, an amused little smile on your lips.

“No thanks... Blackjack was hard enough for me to keep up with, so poker...”

Abel lets out a slight laugh, but you raise a hand before he can speak.

"I think I'd rather hang around the slot machines for a while. It's less pressure, and maybe this time the house won't always win."

Your tone is half-serious, half-teasing, and Abel responds with a knowing glance before standing up completely.

“See you then, darling.”

Abel flashes you a charming smile and leaves, heading for the stairs back down to where all the games are played.

You stand motionless at the counter for a moment after he leaves, the empty glass in front of you. Your fingers slip into your bag to pull out the casino card. You hold it in your hands, spinning it gently in the dim light. The plastic gleams faintly, and you stare at your name printed on it as if for the first time.

The hushed silence of the upstairs still envelops you, but eventually you stand up and take your turn on the stairs. The now-familiar atmosphere of the games immediately greets you, brighter and more vivid as you descend.

Without thinking, you walk over to a free slot machine and take a seat. You insert your card, the screen lights up in bright colors, and your fingers engage the first spins. The reels scroll, the symbols line up, but you hardly look at the result.

Your thoughts are elsewhere, away from the noise and lights, floating around Abel's smile, the warmth of his hand on your waist, and the way his eyes had sparkled earlier. A light shiver runs through you, and you realize that, more than the game, it's those butterflies in your stomach that really occupy you tonight.

Your fingers continue to throw the turns mechanically, but your mind drifts even further away from the luminous screen in front of you. The butterflies in your stomach, pleasant at first, gradually mingle with the dense heat inside the casino. The air, laden with perfume, alcohol and the almost metallic smell of tokens, becomes heavy.

You feel slightly dizzy. It's not violent, but it's enough to make you frown and brace yourself against the back of your seat. Your stomach tightens, as if all this excitement, the flashing lights, the repeated sounds, the incessant thoughts revolving around Abel, is beginning to oppress you.

You inhale slowly, trying to chase away this strange mixture of nervousness and warmth that leaves you slightly sore, torn between wanting to stay and looking for a quieter corner.

You don't even know how long you've been standing there, spinning the reels without really looking, lost between the stifling heat of the casino and this mixture of nervousness that still agitates you. The noises melted into a constant, almost hypnotic murmur, and time lost all consistency.

Then, like a silhouette emerging from the fog, Abel appears beside you. He's carrying a small, transparent plastic bucket, heavily filled with tokens that clatter with every step. A quiet smile spreads across his face, that of a man clearly satisfied with his game.

He places the bucket on the edge of the machine. The metallic clatter catches your eye, bringing you back into the present moment.

“I think I was luckier than you.”

Your eyes widen at the amount of tokens almost overflowing the bucket.

“But... how did you get all this?”

Abel leans nonchalantly against the machine, a smirk on his face.

“I robbed people at poker.”

He says this with disarming calm, as if he's simply announcing that he's found a bill on the floor. The metallic clink of the tokens seems to underscore his words, and you're not sure whether to be impressed or a little concerned at the ease with which he says it.

The clink of tokens in Abel's bucket mingles with the surrounding hubbub, and suddenly you're aware of everything around you at once. The casino vibrates all around you, between the rising and falling voices, the bursts of laughter, the incessant clatter of the machines, the bright, flashing colors seem to assault your retina. The air, heavy and circulation-free, still carries that oppressive heat. And you realize that there are no windows here, except upstairs on the bar floor, as if the outside world had ceased to exist.

A wave of dizziness passes through you, your stomach protests slightly.

Abel, already watching you out of the corner of his eye, frowns.

"Hey... you don't look well. Everything okay?"

His voice cuts through the continuous hum of the casino, like a hand held out in the cacophony.

You shake your head slightly, your voice a little low.

“I... I don't feel very well.”

Abel reacts immediately. Without another word, he removes your casino card from the machine, slips it into his pocket, then grabs your bag lying next to you. The bucket full of tokens just sits there, abandoned on the ledge as if it didn't matter anymore, his focus and priority being you and no one else.

“Come.”

He runs a firm but gentle hand over your arm to help you up. Your legs are a little heavy, and the heat doesn't help, but he stays close to you, ready to support you if need be.

“We'll go to the bathroom, just in case.”

Abel keeps his voice deliberately calm, almost low, as if not to add to the buzz that's already assailing you.

His footsteps lead you through the casino aisles, guiding you to a quieter spot.

The toilet doors open onto a surprisingly quiet space, cut off from the hustle and bustle of the casino. The light marble floor reflects the warm light from the wall sconces, and large, impeccable mirrors give the room a feeling of spaciousness. The air is fresher, with the discreet scent of white flowers.

You slowly approach one of the porcelain sinks and turn on the tap. The cool water runs over your hands before you bring it to your face, letting small drops slide down your skin and soothe the heat that was crushing you.

Behind you, Abel stays close, one hand resting on the small of your back. His gesture is light, almost absent, but it anchors you in the present moment. His fingers make reassuring little movements, as if to remind you that he's there and won't let go until you're better.

As you sit up slightly, letting the water drip from your fingers, Abel tilts his head towards you.

“Do you need anything?”

You look at him through the mirror, still a little pale but more lucid.

"What about you? How are you feeling?"

He blinks, surprised by the question.

“Me?”

A shadow of confusion crosses his gaze, as if he doesn't understand why you're diverting attention from yourself to him. His fingers stop moving over your back for a moment, frozen in astonishment.

You straighten up completely, inhaling a little more deeply. The butterflies in your stomach, instead of calming down, seem to have intensified when your eyes met, mingling with the heat and that slight dizziness that persists.

Without saying a word, you move away from the sink and towards a large cabin at the back, spacious enough to comfortably accommodate two people. It's more a precaution than an immediate necessity, but the idea of isolating yourself for a few moments reassures you.

Abel, noticing your condition and remembering that you've been drinking, doesn't let you go alone. He closes the door behind you, making sure you have enough space, and stays close to you. His eyes discreetly scan your reactions, and his posture betrays that he's ready to intervene if you falter.

"I'll stay here, just in case.”

His voice is low and poised, almost an anchor against the agitation still beating in your chest.

You lean back gently against the smooth wall of the cabin, feeling the coolness of the material contrast with the heat rising inside you. Your gaze falls on Abel, who is standing a few steps away, but whose attention is entirely fixed on you.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and the butterflies in your stomach seem to have turned into a veritable whirlwind. Every beat of your heart becomes faster, stronger, as if it wants to fill all the silent space between you.

Your eyes catch his, and even though you could look away, you don't. It's as if, in that silent space between you, you're in awe. It's as if, in this small, isolated space, the noise of the casino no longer exists, just him, and that frantic rhythm pulsing in your chest.

“Abel...”

You pronounce his name softly, almost breathlessly, but enough for him to raise his head slightly. A flicker of concern crosses his eyes, replacing the usual amusement.

"What's the matter? Do you need something?"

His voice is low, poised, but you sense he's ready to react at the slightest sign that something's wrong. His shoulders have tensed slightly, his eyebrows a little furrowed, and his body leans imperceptibly towards you, as if he's standing ready to bridge the distance in an instant.

You lower your head, unable to hold his gaze for a moment.

“I'm... I'm disappointed to have to tell you this here, in this situation... It's not ideal.”

Your fingers tighten slightly on the fabric of your dress, and you inhale before resuming, in a lower, almost trembling voice.

"But... I can't keep this to myself any longer. To be honest, whenever I see you, my heart beats hard... fast... and I can't get enough of your presence."

Your words fall into the hushed silence of the cabin, punctuated only by the faint echo of the casino's distant noise, as if the outside world were holding its breath with you.

You inhale softly, raising your eyes slightly to his.

“I've been waiting for this outing for... a long time.”

You pose for a moment, looking into the blue of his eyes, searching for any answer.

“And... it feels good to be near you.”

Your words float through the air, simple but heavy with everything you've never dared to say. The warmth in your chest mingles with the warmth in your cheeks, and despite the place, despite the situation, everything seems clearer, truer, as if you've just laid down a weight you've carried for too long.

There's a long silence. You feel your heart beating wildly in this suspended void, every second seeming to stretch.

“I... sorry, I-”

You don't have time to finish. Abel takes a step across the distance, his hands coming to rest confidently on either side of you. With a firm but measured gesture, he arrives in front of you while you’re pressed against the wall, his gaze locked on yours. And before you can say another word, his lips find yours.

The kiss is immediate, charged, almost burning. There's this restrained urgency, this mixture of assurance and passion that sweeps away the rest of the world. Your hands instinctively come to cling to him, and the heat that invaded you earlier turns into a vibrant fire that rises even higher. The sound of the casino disappears completely, replaced by the rapid pounding of your heart and the feel of his mouth against yours.

His lips move against yours with an intensity that almost takes your breath away. It's not a hesitant kiss, but confident, assertive, as if he's been waiting for this moment as much as you have.

You feel the warmth of his hand sliding over your waist, his fingers following the curve of your body to draw you even closer. The other hand stays close to your face, palm open against the wall, creating a bubble around you where nothing else exists.

Your own lips respond to his with the same fervor, and every movement seems to send a shiver down your spine. The subtle scent of his woody perfume, with a hint of citrus, mingles with your short breath, while the light whiskey taste of his Old Fashioned mingles with the sweeter taste of your Bellini.

Time loses all importance. There's only the gentle but insistent pressure of his mouth, the shared rhythm of your breaths, and that certainty that grows with every second that you didn't dream, he felt the same way.

Abel steps back slightly, just enough to break the contact but not the closeness. His breath is still mingled with yours, and his hands stay where they are, as if he's not ready to let go.

His eyes catch yours with an almost palpable intensity, the kind that makes you feel he can read everything you're thinking.

“I love you.”

The words fall, simple and direct, but carried by a force that makes your heart beat even faster. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you feel yourself blushing in spite of yourself.

“I love you too.”

Your gazes remain locked, as if neither of you wants to break the invisible thread that has just been woven even stronger between you.

Without taking his eyes off you, Abel returns to kiss you, deeper, even more intense than the first time. His hands leave your waist and run down your hips, then he slides his fingers firmly under your thighs.

In one sure movement, he lifts you up, drawing you against him. Your back meets the wall as your legs wrap naturally around his waist, as if that's where they belong.

The pressure of his hands holds you effortlessly, and the new closeness makes each kiss hotter, more urgent. You feel his quick breath against your skin, the warmth of his body against yours, and your heart beats so fast you almost feel as if he could hear it.

In this small space, there's no more noise or crowd, just the sensation of him, his lips, and his hands holding you as if he never intended to let you fall again.

After a moment's pause, Abel slows the kiss, letting your breaths mingle for a few more seconds. His hands remain under your thighs, holding you with the same ease, but his gaze settles on you, intense and attentive.

“Do you want us to leave?”

It takes you a second to understand what he's saying, his voice almost covered by the pounding of your heart.

He doesn't look away, waiting for your answer as if it decides the rest of the whole evening. You stare at him, still panting a little, your arms around his neck.

“To go where?”

A light, low laugh escapes his throat, a sound that echoes close to your ear.

"We could already go in the limo... and go to my place, to a bed.... Or a couch if you don't have the patience to go upstairs."

His words are whispered with a mixture of mischief and sincerity, like a promise as clear as the gleam in his eyes.

A burst of laughter escapes you, clear and uncontrollable, and you nod without the slightest hesitation. Abel smiles, then rests you gently on the floor, his hands carefully leaving your thighs. He places a tender kiss on your lips, much softer than the previous ones, before slipping his fingers between yours.

"Let's go then. Come on."

Hand in hand, he leads you out of the cabin. You grab your bag from the sink as you pass, then leave the fragrant quiet of the bathroom behind you.

Outside, the noise and light of the casino return to assail you, but this time you pay almost no attention to them. You take one last look around the room, at the machines, the tables, the imposing chandeliers above, before the gentle but insistent pressure of his hand brings you back to him.

Abel almost guides you with a quick step, happily kidnapping you through the crowd, a knowing smile on his face, until the exit doors are in sight.

As you pass through the heavy glass doors, the night air immediately envelops your faces. Cool, but not cold, it carries the smell of salt from the beach next door. Your lungs fill more easily, and the tension built up in your chest relaxes a little.

Abel doesn't really give you time to savor the sensation. His hand remains firmly entwined with yours, and your quick steps echo on the stone flagstones leading to the forecourt. The illuminated facade of the casino recedes behind you, its bright lights and swinging doors contrasting with the calm outside.

The glossy black silhouette of the limousine awaits you, imposing, just off the curb. Abel opens the door and ushers you in first, closing behind him in a fluid gesture. The interior is warm, comfortable, a bubble of its own after the tumult you've just left behind.

Giuseppe is seated in the front, comfortably leaning against the armrest where a window is supposed to separate him from you.

With a tablet in his hands, he's absorbed in his reading, his glasses reflecting the soft light of the cabin. The sudden entrance of you and Abel breaks the silence, and the driver jolts slightly, looking up with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

Without dwelling on his reaction, Abel calmly gives him an address, his voice betraying a confident, decisive tone. Giuseppe nods in agreement, setting his tablet down beside him, a blush marking his cheeks probably due to what he was reading.

“Yes sir.”

Then he presses a button to start the engine. The limousine glides smoothly out of the parking lot, leaving behind the bright lights of the casino and heading towards a certain residence.

Abel pulls you gently against him as soon as the car starts moving, his arm going around your shoulders to anchor you against his side. The warmth of his body contrasts pleasantly with the freshness of the air still filtering a little from outside. You feel the light vibration of the engine beneath your legs, punctuated by the discreet hum of the road.

He leans slightly towards you, his voice low, almost knowing.

"You know... Giuseppe, he sometimes reads some pretty... freaky stuff. You can't even imagine what he's got on his tablet."

His tone oscillates between feigned seriousness and teasing, and you can feel in the way his shoulders move that he's barely holding back a smile.

His words make you smile in spite of yourself, and a memory immediately rises to the surface.

You think back to that moment some time ago, when you had stayed behind to look after Cain. The evening had been calm, almost silent, until your gaze fell on the tablet left unattended on the coffee table. Curiosity got the better of you. You turned it on, thinking you'd stumbled across some mundane books.

But you weren't. As soon as you hit the home screen, you were struck by some surprising dialogue. In just a few lines, the style and content had made you raise an eyebrow, then laugh lightly with Cain. This discovery remained engraved in a corner of your memory.

So, when Abel slips in this remark about Giuseppe's freaky reading, you understand exactly what he means, and you know he's probably not exaggerating.

Without warning, Abel leans in and captures your lips again in a slow but intent kiss. His hand rises to embrace the curve of your cheek, his fingers warm against your skin.

Your cheeks blaze almost instantly under the heat of the kiss. The closeness, the gentleness of his hand on your cheek and the quiet intensity of his gaze send a blush spreading to your ears. You feel your heart beating faster, and despite yourself, a faint smile forms on your lips, unable to hide the effect he's having on you.

When he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, the limousine's subdued light accentuates the intensity of his gaze. His voice drops again, becoming almost a whisper, as if the words were meant only for you.

“Tonight... I'm going to make sure you know how much I love you.”

[jitarossun]

hiiii youre carrying the dating killmulator x reader tag god bless i love how u write !!!

can u write for cain again? whatever u want !

Where you belong

Summary : the summer heat is unbearable, even in the shade, but Cain has an idea to cool you down: take you to the pool.

Pairing : a bit of Florian x reader at the beginning but mostly Cain x reader

TW : none!

Words count : 9.2k

A/N : Thank you for your request! I'll try to keep carrying the tag! I hope you'll be satisfied with this one!

“I buy Alfred Adler Street and put a hospital on Sigmund Freud Street”.

Florian places a small metal statue on the board, then picks up the street card he's just bought. The game had already been going on for almost an hour and a half, but it wasn't as if there was anything else to do.

It was the vacations, and the heat wave was hitting the city hard, with dangerously high temperatures forecast for the next week.

With no air-conditioning at home, it was almost colder outside than inside. So Florian, to keep you busy, invited you to join him at the university, which remained open during the vacations.

At first, you went to the room he owns in the building, but the heat soon got the better of you, so you found yourselves outside, on the grass and in the shade under a tree, playing Monopoly.

But not just any Monopoly. The one Florian had was a special psychology edition, which made the game rather strange. Between Carl Rogers Street and Bethlem Royal Station, the brain pawn and hotels that become hospitals, it was both in very bad taste and funny because it was such a bad idea.

“Your turn.”

Florian throws you the dice, a smile forming on his face as your eyes meet, a smile that warms your heart. You take the dice and throw them onto the tray, they roll with a familiar clatter before finally settling to add the number eight with two fours.

You move the metal pill you'd been using as a pawn to land on a community chest square. You draw your card and read aloud.

“Group therapy, you must pay eighty dollars for the session.”

You roll your eyes and place the bills in the center of the board, where a nice pile of cash was beginning to accumulate. You pick up the dice and throw them again, having made a double just before.

You move your pawn forward and this time land on a lucky square, draw the card and read aloud what's written on it.

"Go to the asyle, go straight to the asyle, don't get two hundred dollars. Are you fucking kidding me?"

Florian stifles a laugh, leaning back a little more, palms in the dry grass.

“Tough luck.”

You slide your pawn to the square in question, the dice still in your other hand. Just then, footsteps echo through the muggy afternoon silence. Rhythmic, precise. And they stop right behind you.

“No.”

The voice is formal, almost dramatic. And very clearly annoyed.

You look up and there's Cain, hands on hips, sunglasses pulled up over his head, his gaze riveted on the game board as if he's just witnessed sacrilege.

“What is this... playful blasphemy?”

You blink, a little dazzled by the backlight. Florian, meanwhile, straightens slightly, an amused smile on his lips.

“An improved version of Monopoly.”

“There is no improved version of Monopoly.”

Cain speaks slowly, as if explaining the basics of the universe.

"There's only the original. Everything else is bullshit."

He walks over, squats beside the board and grabs a card at random. He reads it, looks up at you with a half-serious, half-offended expression.

"’Pay for therapy to cure your abandonment anxiety, -$100.’ Seriously?"

You shrug, trying in vain to defend this miserable version.

“It's educational.”

“It's stupid.”

“You're just vexed you didn't think of it before.”

He slowly straightens, hands still on hips, and fixes you with that semi-condescending stare you know too well. Then, without warning, he grabs one of the unused pawns in the box, a box of handkerchiefs, and twirls it between his fingers.

"Honestly... a box of tissues? What's that supposed to represent? The missing emotional support of childhood?"

Florian chuckles, but says nothing. You lie on your back in the grass, one hand on your forehead to block out the sun.

“Are you hot, Montgomery, or have you just come to ruin our quiet afternoon?”

He arches an eyebrow, a smirk slowly forming on his lips.

“One doesn't preclude the other, but since you ask, I've come to save you.”

You open one eye, looking at him through squinted eyes to keep the sun from destroying your retina.

“Save us?”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, as if he once again has to explain everything to people who understand nothing about life.

"You're literally cooking like two shrimp on the grill of hell. Look at yourselves."

He points at Florian with a lazy gesture.

"He's glowing. Literally."

Then you.

“And you, you look like a melted slug.”

You roll your eyes.

“Charming Cain...”

“One of my second homes has a beautiful swimming pool, abandon this filth and come.”

You're about to say something to tease Cain when Florian raises a hand, as if to stop the verbal match before it starts.

“I'll let you go without me.”

You turn your head to Florian, astonished.

"What? Are you sure? The heat's stifling, it can only do us good to cool off a bit."

“No thanks, I've got things to do, books to finish.”

Cain crosses his arms, one eyebrow raised.

“Like you can't read by the pool.”

“I'm not going to risk one of you spraying my book with water.”

He pauses long enough to consider what to say next as he folds up the Monopoly tray.

“And frankly, I don't have the energy to watch you flirt in the water for I don't know how long.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, and not from the sun, you hurry to answer.

“Who's talking about flirting?”

“Me.”

Florian smirks at you, puts the dice away, then gently closes the metal Monopoly box.

"Enjoy the water, you two. I recover my cognitive functions in the shade."

Cain then looks at you, a discreet smile at the corner of his lips.

"What do you say? Shall we go, or are you planning to come up with some lame excuse like his?"

Your gaze turns back to Florian. You didn't like leaving him alone, since he was the first person to ask you out, and you felt bad about canceling your plans to join someone else's. Florian sees your guilty look and tells you to go.

Florian sees your guilty look and smiles gently, reassuring you in a soft voice.

“Go ahead, enjoy it while you can, we still have all summer to do other things.”

“I'll send you messages.”

"You got it. See ya."

Cain reaches out to you without a word and helps you to your feet. His grip is firm, without being abrupt. You quickly adjust your clothes, crumpling your t-shirt to loosen it from your sweaty skin, then dust off the dry blades of grass that had clung to the back of your shorts.

Meanwhile, Florian quietly closes the Monopoly box, pushing it to one side, before taking a book with its pages already dog-eared out of his canvas bag. He settles back into the shadows, as if the scene between the two of you had been a brief interlude. He's already ready to disappear into his reading.

Cain greets him with a simple but sincere nod.

“Hi Florian.”

Florian smiles without looking up from his book.

“See you, have fun.”

You follow Cain, who has already started walking. You walk slowly away from the benevolent shade of the tree, crossing the sun-roasted lawn to join his car, parked a little further on in the university parking lot. The warm air rises from the asphalt in visible waves, and you can already feel your back starting to stick to your T-shirt again.

Cain, for his part, says nothing for the moment. He walks quietly, hands in his pockets, as if this suffocating heat were just another detail to be ignored.

You look at him briefly. He smiles.

“We'll have to stop by your place and pick up your bathing suit, I suppose?”

“Yeah, I won't be long, I know where it is.”

Cain, being a good gentleman, opens the passenger door for you without a word. He gives you a brief glance, as if to make sure you have no intention of protesting, then invites you with a simple shake of the head to settle in.

You comply, and as soon as you're seated, you feel the stifling air of the cabin assault you. The heat, trapped under the windshield for hours, almost takes your breath away. Your thighs immediately stick to the seat's hot imitation leather. You draw in a short breath, your eyebrows furrowed.

Cain gently closes the door on you, rounding the already scorching hood, before climbing in on the driver's side. He grimaces slightly as he sits down, his hand brushing the burning steering wheel.

“Looks like hell forgot to close its window.”

He slides the keys into the ignition, and the engine coughs for a second before roaring softly. The air-conditioning begins to blow slowly, still tepid, but carrying a promise of survival.

You stretch your arms out in front of you, stretching your back as you sigh.

“I swear, if I burn up in this car, you'll be sued for negligent homicide.”

He starts the car and leaves the spot where it was parked, heading down the road toward your house.

“I have very good lawyers.”

"What about Giuseppe? Why isn't he here?"

Cain sighs, as if exasperated by Giuseppe's absence, but probably mostly for the reason.

“I let him accompany Abel to the Opera.”

“Ah so Abel won't be there either?”

“No, it looks like it's just you and me.”

A small wave of warmth passes through your belly at the thought of spending time alone with Cain, at home, in his pool.

︵‿︵‿٠◦٠♡٠◦٠‿︵‿︵

A quick detour to your house to pick up a few things, and a twenty-minute drive later, you're at Cain's place. The residence is hidden behind a small, discreet gate, in a secluded neighborhood far from the city, surrounded by dry pine trees and impeccably tended flowerbeds. The cicadas sing at the top of their lungs, accompanied by the crickets that launch their own concert, forming that summery sheet of sound that soothes you in spite of yourself.

The house is just like the image you had of Cain when you first met, clean, calm, a little too well thought-out. Impeccable white walls, modern lines, huge openings that let the light in without ever overdoing it. Discreet elegance. A few works of art such as metal sculptures, abstract or black-and-white paintings punctuate the rooms with just the right amount of boldness to avoid appearing pretentious.

As you enter, you immediately feel the freshness. The interior is air-conditioned to perfection, with none of the dry breeze found in public places. Your body instinctively relaxes, as if the air itself were thanking you for having escaped from your home transformed into an improvised hammam.

You remove your shoes by the door while Cain, still in his quiet phlegm, places his keys on a minimalist hall cupboard. He slowly removes his sunglasses and nonchalantly hands you your little bag.

“Are you going to survive another half-hour without melting?”

You grab the bag, sketching a half-smile.

“I've never respected you as much as I do now.”

He smiles, modest and amused, before pointing to a hallway to your left.

"Bathroom at the end, guest room on the right. You can change there if you like. I'll take a walk through the kitchen before changing too."

You nod gently, bag in hand, and head down the corridor he's indicated. The floor is cool under your bare feet, a light, smooth tiled floor that accentuates the calm, clean feel of the place. Every footstep echoes softly, muffled by the clean, controlled silence of the house.

The bathroom is like the rest, minimalist but impeccable. Ivory walls, a large frameless mirror, a clear stone basin, a few carefully aligned bottles, and a potted green plant that seems almost too perfect to be true. The smell is light, a subtle blend of clean linen and wood.

You place your bag on the edge of the basin and unzip it to take out your swimsuit. You change quickly and silently.

Before stepping out, your gaze falls on the shelf where several towels, carefully rolled, lie. You hesitate for a moment, then grab a soft, thick white one, which you briefly hold close to you. You fold it over your arm and slowly walk out, already feeling the warmer light from the living room filtering down to the hallway.

Cain isn't in the hall. You hear the faint sound of ice cubes in a glass, somewhere on the kitchen side.

You calmly descend the few steps to the back of the house, where the bay window offers a glimpse of the outside and, beyond, the promise of a refreshing dip.

As you step through the glass door onto the terrace, you are immediately struck by the warmth, softer than that of the city.

In front of you, the pool stretches out peacefully, lined with light-colored tiles and a few potted plants. The water sparkles in the sunlight, a liquid promise of immediate comfort.

You place your towel on an empty deckchair under an umbrella, sheltering yourself from the sun and taking the time to enjoy the silence, the calm.

The sound of a door being pushed behind you makes you turn your head slightly.

Cain approaches quietly, two glasses in hand. Mojitos, if the fresh mint spilling elegantly from each rim is anything to go by. Ice cubes clink against the glass with each step. He hands you one of the two, without a word.

You thank him with a nod as you take the glass, and then notice the look on his face. He scrutinizes you, a little too long for it to be entirely innocent. Up and down, with that polite restraint that fails to completely mask interest.

He clears his throat gently and settles down next to you, a half-smile at the corner of his lips, as if he's just had a thought he'd rather keep to himself.

“Alcohol free.”

He raises his glass in a discreet little gesture, as if to make the information official, even though you'd already guessed it from the fresh, lemony taste of the sip you'd just taken.

You nod, a little taken aback by the attention but especially by his gaze.

"Thank you... I took the liberty of getting a towel from your bathroom. I didn't think to take mine when we stopped by my place."

Cain turns his head towards you, without cutting you off, then nods slowly, his gaze still calm, almost indulgent.

"They're meant to be used, you know. I'm not going to frame them."

He takes a sip in turn, his eyes slightly crinkled from the sun, then looks at you sideways, that little sparkle in the back of his eyes that he makes no effort to hide.

"On the other hand, did you really not think to bring your towel? Or did you just feel like rummaging through my closets?"

You roll your eyes, a smile already forming on your lips.

"Very funny. Although, you did hide a lot of stuff from me anyway, who knows what I might find if I did a little snooping?"

Cain takes another sip before placing his glass on the small table between the two deckchairs.

He slowly rests his glass on the small table between the two deckchairs, his fingers briefly brushing the warm wood.

"Hm. If you find the secret room behind the bookcase, remember to put the false wall back up. I don't want to have to erase your memories."

You turn your head slightly towards him, one eyebrow raised.

He shrugs, falsely innocent.

"Standard protocol. Nothing personal."

You let out a short laugh, then see him straighten up, dusting off his shorts.

"On that note, I'll go and change too. Finish your drink quietly."

You watch him walk through the glass door with that quiet gait of his.

He returns a few minutes later, wearing red swim shorts, the mark on his neck clearly visible, but you don't pay much attention to it, the story is over and you'd already discussed it enough for the moment.

You don't finish your glass completely and set it down on the little table too, getting ready to finally get into the pool when suddenly Cain's warm hand wraps around your bicep. You turn back to him and he raises an eyebrow.

“Didn't you forget something?”

You look at him, a little confused, frowning slightly, before glancing around you, as if the explanation were floating somewhere in the air, hanging on a deckchair or stashed behind a flowerpot.

Cain lets go of your arm with an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as if he'd just lost all faith in your deductive ability.

"Really? That's where we're at?"

He pretends to address the gods of common sense, shaking his head slightly, theatrically, before pointing accusingly at you.

"Actually, I was right to call Florian and you shrimp. You're literally going to look like one of them if you stay in the sun like that. Or worse, a road sign if you get sunburned right on the nose."

Before you have time to retort, he quietly pulls a brand-new tube of sunscreen from the pocket of his shorts.

“Lucky for you, I'm a man with foresight.”

He shakes it lightly, as if extolling its virtues, then gives you a look that's a little too self-satisfied.

"So, princess? Do you want help, or do you think you can lay this out all by yourself without turning into a Picasso?"

You squint, half amused, half skeptical, before reaching out to him.

"I'm fine on my own, thanks. I don't need your dermatological expertise."

Cain sketches a wry smile, the kind that means he doesn't believe it for a second, but he says nothing. He pours a generous portion of sunscreen into his hand before handing you the tube. Then he dips into the portion to spread it all over his body.

You catch him without saying a word, but instead of imitating him, you choose a more modest approach, squeezing the bottle with your fingertips to pull out small dabs, one by one. You begin to spread them over your shoulders, then your arms, with seriousness. Perhaps a little too much.

From time to time, you apply a little too much, and despite your best efforts, the cream refuses to disappear completely. Persistent white streaks remain on your skin, especially around your collarbones and shins, giving you a half-painted look.

“You look like a glazed donut.”

"A donut that prevents skin cancer. I'll take it."

You shake your head gently, spreading the cream over your legs, while he continues, unperturbed, to cover his neck and fine jaw line with a confident gesture.

He turns briefly to you, inspecting your technique out of the corner of his eye.

"Not bad. See, you're making progress."

You roll your eyes and say nothing, putting sunscreen on your neck and then the impossible step of putting it on your back. You look at Cain, he looks at you, and you were thinking the same thing.

A slight silence settles in and he speaks first, his voice calm, almost nonchalant.

“I'll let you put me on first, since you've got the tube in your hands.”

You straighten up, take a step forward, and gently press the bottle into the palm of your hand.

Cain turns without a word, offering you his back. You notice the well-defined line of his shoulder blades, the warmth of the sun sliding over his already golden skin.

You place your hand against him, gently, and begin to spread the cream in a slow, almost methodical gesture. His skin is warm under your fingers. He says nothing, but you feel his breath slightly slower, deeper.

You continue, unhurriedly, your hands moving up his shoulders, down to the base of his spine. There was nothing special about it, it was just putting sunscreen on someone else, why did it embarrass you so much?

Once you feel the job is done, your arms fall to either side of your body. Cain turns to you and with a simple but warm smile, thanks you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re we-”

Rather than your usual voice, it's a very high pitched voice that comes out of your throat, almost like a squeak, you clear your throat before resuming.

“You're welcome...”

“I think you're already sunburned.”

You look at your arms, your legs, your shoulders, your hands, but you don't see any redness and it doesn't itch, you don't hurt anywhere. You look up at him, silently asking for an explanation, as a wry smile slowly creeps across his face.

“On your cheeks... You're all red...”

You open your eyes a little wide, taken aback and realize that the situation had perhaps affected you more than you'd expected. You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, you don't know what to say, which made Cain laugh out loud.

A whispered “shut up” is all you manage to get out.

Cain watches you for a moment, then tilts his head slightly in the direction of the deckchair where you've left your towel, his tone calm, but his gaze a little more serious.

"Sit down. I'll put some on you too."

You hesitate for barely a second before settling on the edge of the deckchair, turning your back to him. Your shoulders slowly relax in the warmth of the sun, but you can't help but tense up a little at the thought of feeling him so close.

He picks up the tube you'd put down and sits behind you, places a hazelnut in his palm, then approaches. First you feel the freshness of the cream, then the warmth of his firm yet cautious hands as they glide over your skin. He starts with your shoulders, his thumbs drawing slow circles just below the nape of your neck. The contrast between the coldness of the cream and the softness of his pressure makes you shiver slightly.

His hands then move up your shoulder blades, then gently down again, with a precision that makes you think he's doing it on purpose-no unnecessary gestures, but no indifference either.

After a few moments, his voice echoes close to your ear, softer than usual, like a whisper for you alone.

“You know... you don't have to feel uncomfortable with me.”

You remain silent, caught between the gentleness of his voice, the relaxation you get from his massage and the sense of unease that's gradually fading. But he feels it. He pauses for a moment, then resumes, his tone lightening again, that amused familiarity back in place.

"I thought we'd moved past this. Unless you've suddenly decided to become shy again?"

You turn your head slightly to look at him, lips pursed so as not to offer too obvious a smile.

He returns your gaze, a little too proud of himself.

You straighten up slightly, your back still warm where his hands brushed it. Cain takes a step back, wiping his palms on his own towel. You expect him to settle down quietly again, but instead he straightens abruptly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and takes off running toward the pool.

“Seriously?”

Too late. He leaps without hesitation and dives straight into the turquoise water, in a great splash that splashes the edges of the pool and shudders the surface in slow circles. His body disappears beneath the water, and for a moment you see only the sun's restless reflections on the clear liquid.

You walk more slowly to the edge, sighing slightly. Kneeling on the burning slabs, you bend over to splash your neck and face, just to prepare your body for the shock.

"You know you have to get used to the temperature slowly? Otherwise you risk hydrocution."

Cain resurfaces right in front of you, dripping hair stuck to his forehead. He stares at you for a second with an impassive expression, almost too wise to be honest.

"Let me explain, because you've obviously skipped the basics. Hydrocution is what happens when you plunge into cold water while your body is overheating."

You pause for a moment to look at him, and at first glance, he seems to be listening.

“Basically, your nervous system panics, your blood circulation goes haywire, your heart can slow down all of a sudden... And all of a sudden, fai-”

Then, without warning, he cuts you off by sending a large spray of water into your face with a sweep of his arm.

You recoil with laughter, caught off guard, a little shiver as the water hits your skin, your eyes closed and your mouth open.

“Are you serious?!”

He shrugs, floating on his back, looking like he's accomplished an important mission.

“Thanks Wikipedia, but you needed a boost of motivation.”

You wipe your face half laughing, half vexed, already ready to make him regret his gesture.

You shake your head, wearily.

“You've got a problem.”

“You're dating a serial killer and you're giving him a poolside health lecture knowing that he's been through far worse than hydrocution sickness and I'm the one with the problem?”

You freeze for a second, your mouth barely ajar. He looks at you, provocative, chin up and that insolent gleam in his eyes.

You don't wait any longer.

You leap into the water, splashing all around you, aiming very intentionally for his personal space. Cain barely steps back, startled by the wave, but his smile widens immediately.

You approach, stirring the water furiously, and he raises his arms in defensive mode.

“Oh, you've chosen war, now?”

"I'm going to drown you. Symbolically."

You leap at him with no real technique, just enough force to splash him, push him, try to sink him, but to no avail.

Cain blocks you with unbearable ease, his hands grabbing your wrists underwater, his body adapting to yours with annoying fluidity. You struggle gently, laughing in spite of yourself, but he always stays one step ahead.

"I thought we were supposed to swim and have fun, not fake a murder. Then I'm much more skilled at it. And I'm stronger than you."

“Are you done adding?!”

He laughs, a real explosion of laughter, warm and vibrant, almost catching you off guard. You try to pull away to regain the upper hand, but he grabs you again, pulling you towards him with a little more firmness this time.

Your skin brushes against each other in the water, your breaths are shorter, and yet you continue to laugh, to play, to feign ridiculous attacks and failed splashes.

Cain finally puts his hands on your waist, pulling you a little closer against him, still hilarious, still soaking wet.

"Okay, I admit it. It's better than Monopoly."

"Told you. Besides, Florian wasn't wrong."

“About what?”

“Flirting.”

The word drops like a stone, and for a second, silence stretches around you, disturbed only by the lapping of the water against the ledges.

You freeze for a moment, not to the point of sinking, but enough to feel your stomach knot. Your body is still against his, his hand still on your waist, and suddenly you realize how real all this is. Too real.

So you try to correct, to fix.

“We're not flirting, Cain.”

Your voice is meant to be light, detached. But it shakes a little.

He looks at you, calmly, as if he already knows you a little too well.

“You blush at the slightest thing I do.”

You open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.

He continues, his voice a little softer now, almost amused.

"I grabbed you around the waist. You're practically against me. Alone. In your bathing suit. In my pool. And we're not flirting?"

He raises an eyebrow, without taking his eyes off you.

You feel your cheeks burning, despite the cold water around you.

“And if we're not flirting, what's stopping you from pulling away from me right now.”

You try to pull away, a slight, almost instinctive movement, but his hands on your waist immediately hold you back. Not abruptly. Just enough to let you know that he has no intention of letting you go just yet.

He pulls you back against him in the water, your chests barely brushing at first, then blissfully embracing, in that warm, direct contact that derails your heart rate. His skin, soaked, remains surprisingly warm. You feel the drops slide slowly from his chest to yours, drawing invisible lines between you.

“I know you don't want to pull away, you just want to prove me wrong and try to keep a bit of your composure.”

Your breath hangs, you don't know what to say, because there was nothing to say. He was right.

You lift your head slightly to look at him. Your faces are close. Too close. A breath away, perhaps. The water surrounds you, cradles you gently, but everything seems to have frozen between you.

You could say something, right now. Break the tension. Defuse it.

But you can't.

Because his eyes are locked in yours. Calm, bright. And because his smile has softened a little, as if he'd let his guard down without warning you.

You hold his gaze for a second longer, your breath almost caught, your skin still quivering from your closeness.

And then, in a breath barely louder than a whisper, your voice rises, soft, slightly hoarse, but imbued with a strange serenity.

“Do you want to... play ball?”

A small smile springs to the corner of your lips, shy but true, like a buoy thrown into the silence. Not to escape. Just to breathe.

Cain looks at you for a second, without blinking. Then a smile, light and sincere, stretches his lips in turn. He steps back slightly, just enough to break the contact of your torsos, but without letting go, and his hands, still resting on your waist, become more buoyant, almost absent.

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

His tone is a little mocking, but without any malice.

You shrug, your throat still a little knotted.

“Better than drowning yourself, isn't it?”

He laughs softly, then finally releases your waist, diving briefly underwater before resurfacing a few feet away from you.

"Very well, then. But I warn you, I play to win."

You glance down at the ball floating nearby, the sun's reflections rippling across its surface.

"I'm glad. Me too."

You reach out and grab the ball floating nearby, a little deflated from the fact that it's probably been in the sun for a long time, its slippery surface forcing you to hold it against you so it doesn't escape.

Cain watches you, a smirk on his face, still half-submerged in the water.

“You know I'm giving you an advantage here.”

You roll your eyes, twirling him between your palms.

“Do you know your ego exceeds the surface of this pool?”

Without waiting, you throw the ball in his direction with a little more force than you intended. He barely catches it, in a spray of splashes.

“You've just declared war.”

And so it begins.

You throw the ball back and forth across the pool, with no precise rules, just passes, missed interceptions, little jumps to catch it before it hits the water. Your laughter bounces off the white walls around the terrace, mingling with the joyous lapping of the water.

At one point, Cain pretends to throw the ball to you on the right and sends it off to the left. You reach out too quickly and lose your balance, submerging briefly with a scream.

You rise to the surface, soaking wet, your hair plastered to your forehead and water dripping from your nose.

"You're cheating. You've never done that before!"

He shrugs, the ball stuck against his chest.

“I'm a strategist.”

You approach, feigning an attack, and this time it's him who slips a little underwater to avoid your vengeance. He resurfaces behind you, startles you by gently grabbing your waist, then pulls away just fast enough that you don't have time to turn around.

“You're unbearable!”

“And you love it.”

Before you can respond, he grabs you again, but this time it's not to splash or tease.

He tucks one arm under your legs, the other behind your back, and lifts you into the water as if you weighed nothing. As if it were normal. Natural.

You freeze slightly, surprised, your hands instinctively resting on his shoulders to keep your balance. The water glides along your bodies, warm between you, your movements barely rippling the surface.

And then, nothing.

The ball floats a few meters away, forgotten.

Cain no longer smiles, or at least not in the same way. His eyes search yours, still, silent. He doesn't speak, but everything in his posture says “I've got you, I've got you, you're here”.

You say nothing either.

Your eyes remain locked, suspended. It's simple, and yet everything inside you accelerates.

He doesn't move. He won't let go. And you don't want him to.

The silence gradually falls, softened by the song of the cicadas, the splashing water, and your breaths interspersed with little residual laughter.

Cain still doesn't let go.

On the contrary, he begins to walk slowly into the pool, still carrying you against him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your arms stay around his neck, not too tight, just enough not to break the strange, gentle bond that has been forged there, in the quiet lapping of the water.

He takes small steps forward, the water reaching his mid-torso, and you both slip into a bubble of calm.

“Are you staying tonight?”

He asked softly, his gaze never leaving yours. There's no pressure in his voice, just a question posed as a fact.

You looked at him, a little surprised by the gentleness of his proposal.

“Do you want me to stay?”

He tilts his head slightly to the side, a wet lock sticking to his temple.

“Of course.”

You smile, and your brow relaxes a little.

He continues to move through the water, slowly changing direction all the while to loop around in the water, at least where his footing is, in no hurry. His hand on your back is warm, solid.

“Ah you think you can carry me out of the water?”

He chuckles, looking at you mischievously.

“Are you implying that I'm not strong enough to carry you?”

“Maybe...”

“You'll see, for now we're fine here, aren't we?”

You nod, relaxing your body in his arms, letting him navigate you into the pool.

Eventually he speaks again, in a lower, calmer tone.

"You can go to the shower first. I'll give you a second clean towel and you can go to the hall bathroom."

You raise your head a little, curious, but he continues.

"I'll go after. And while you're showering, I'll start making dinner."

You raise an eyebrow, amused.

“You've got quite a plan, actually.”

He smiles, quietly, serenely, already having the whole evening in mind.

"Always do. Especially when it involves you, dinner, and a movie."

“A movie?”

You repeat softly, raising your head slightly to look at him better.

Cain nods, not looking away.

"Yeah. A movie."

You squint, intrigued by the quiet certainty in his voice.

“Did you have something in mind?”

He hesitates for half a second, just long enough for a smile to form at the corner of his lips, more honest this time, almost shy.

“I confess... I have a soft spot for Miyazaki films.”

You look at him, a little surprised. He reads your expression, so he adds to what he's just said.

"I know. Nobody expects it. But I really like Howl’s Moving Castle, it's one of my favorites, so... it's stuck with me."

He pauses, then adds, in a lower voice.

"There's something comforting about it. These slightly crazy worlds, but full of sweetness. And then... the characters are never really bad, you know? Just clueless."

You remain silent for a second, touched despite yourself by what he's just said. And you understand. Of course Cain likes universes where people aren't bad, just trying.

He catches your gaze, then blows out a little smile.

"You're allowed to make fun. But gently."

"Why would I mock that? This is great, Cain. We can watch Howl’s Moving Castle together tonight, if you feel like it."

A slight silence follows, but his expression slowly changes, he smiles, this time for real, without irony or detour. And in that smile, you read something calm, almost vulnerable.

“Yeah, I'd like that.”

Then, as if to mask the little shiver of sincerity he's just let pass, he gently tightens his grip under your legs and takes a more confident step towards the pool steps.

Without warning, he lifts you a little more into his arms and carries you out of the water, with no apparent difficulty. The water runs off your bodies, glistening streaks down his arms, down your legs, across your still sun-warmed skins.

“Well?”

He looks at you with a falsely triumphant, if somewhat proud, air.

"See? I can carry you. Very easily too."

You roll your eyes, but your heart beats a little faster.

He's not putting you down just yet.

Instead, Cain continues to walk slowly, still holding you in his arms, the water dripping off both of you in silence. He moves cautiously across the warm tiles of the terrace, then gently pushes open the glass door to the living room with his shoulder, entering the house without ever loosening his grip.

His bare feet leave small, wet footprints on the white floor, and you feel him slow down slightly with each step, careful not to slip. Water still drips from your hair, your arms, your legs, but he keeps his balance, focused and calm.

He crosses the corridor without a word, then stops just in front of the half-open bathroom door. Only then does he put you down gently, as if he's laying down something precious.

"Go ahead, take your time. Use whatever you like. There are towels in the cupboard on the left, and I'll leave the shower to you first. Normally you'll find what you're looking for with all the shampoos there are."

You nod gently, still a little in that bubble of tranquility and soothing, and he takes a step back, hands on hips, still soaking wet.

"I'm going to tidy up outside a bit, so the terrace doesn't look like the end of a party. And I'll start cooking."

You sketch a smile.

“Want me to let you know when I'm done?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, amused.

“Unless you want me to come and check for myself?”

You roll your eyes. He laughs, then starts to walk away, his wet footsteps fading into the hallway as you enter the bathroom.

The bathroom is bathed in soft light. You close the door behind you, and a pleasant calm immediately envelops you, contrasting with the brightness of the afternoon and the cheerful bustle of the pool.

You drop your towel on the floor and step into the shower, the warm water soon running over your skin, soothing, enveloping. You close your eyes, head slightly tilted back, letting the water erase the last traces of chlorine, sun and the slight tension in your shoulders.

You reach for the shower gel, a neutral, clean, almost familiar fragrance, and begin to soap yourself slowly, your movements calm, automatic. Without realizing it, you start humming an old song that comes back to you without warning, a soft, barely audible tune that floats in the steam as you think of the moments you've spent with Cain and those you'll spend tonight.

You savor this moment. You feel good. Really good.

When you finally emerge from the shower, the soft towel against your skin is a blessing. You wrap it around you, gently rub your hair, then kneel down in front of the bag you'd brought with a few basics, including your swimsuit, opening it to grab some clean clothes.

You rummage around, unfolding a change of clothes for when you leave tomorrow, searching the pockets...

And then it hits you.

You've forgotten your pajamas. Of course you did, you didn’t expect him to ask you to stay.

You freeze for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed, your fingers dangling over the mess. Not a thing. Not even a spare T-shirt. You'd obviously packed a swimsuit, a cream, a brush... But not enough to get you through the evening.

You let out a little sigh, half-amused, half-exasperated.

Of course you are.

You remain crouched in front of your open bag for a moment longer, the towel still tied around you, then you slowly straighten up, an imperceptible smile forming at the corner of your lips.

You might get annoyed. Or worry.

But the truth is, it's not so bad really.

You've got something on your mind. And forgetting your pajamas suddenly becomes a very good excuse.

So you approach the door, quietly, and open it gently, just enough to poke your head into the frame, still misty from the heat of the shower. A cooler draught grazes your skin, and you raise your voice a little to call out to him.

“Cain?”

The sound of pots and pans and footsteps on the tiles tells you he's still in the kitchen. He's quick to answer, his voice echoing from the other room.

“Yeah?”

You play it natural, a little too light-hearted to be totally innocent.

"You wouldn't happen to have... a t-shirt or something you could lend me for tonight, would you? I kinda... forgot my pajamas."

A short silence. You can already imagine his smiling.

Then his voice returns, with that mixture of tender mockery and unconcealed satisfaction.

“A little forgotten?”

You hold back your laughter.

"I swear it wasn't on purpose. I didn't think you were going to invite me to stay."

You hear him moving, probably opening a closet.

"I'll bring you one. I warn you, though... They're very comfortable. You may never want to give it back."

A few minutes later, you hear footsteps approaching the bathroom door. Cain knocks gently against the wood, as if he knows he doesn't really need to, but does it anyway, for you.

"I've got a t-shirt. All white, sober. I avoided the one with the logo of an old rock band on it, even though you would have looked cute in it."

You gently open the door, just enough to stick a hand out. He places the fabric there, still warm from the ambient heat, then adds.

"For the bottom... I couldn't find anything. Anyway, my pants wouldn't last two seconds on you. They'd fall off all the time."

You laugh softly as you close the door, the T-shirt in your arms. It's large, soft, slightly worn but clean, and smells of soap, dry wood and something indefinable that you identify as him.

You slip it on without hurrying, the towel sliding to your feet. The cotton of the T-shirt covers you halfway up your thighs, falling broadly over your shoulders. The collar is a little too wide, and the sleeve takes up half your forearms.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a second. Not bad. And definitely assumed.

When you open the door to step out of the bathroom, barefoot and clad only in Cain's white T-shirt and your panties, the cooler air of the house caresses your bare legs. You make your way slowly down the corridor, buoyed by the strange sensation that you belong here.

And when you reach the kitchen, he looks up at you, leaning against the counter, a wooden spoon in his hand.

His gaze slides slowly from your face to the T-shirt that falls to your thighs, then to your bare legs. No inappropriate comments. Just a sparkle in his eyes, a little brighter, more real. And a smile that forms, effortlessly.

“You look lovely.”

You stop for half a second, your heart beating a little faster for no apparent reason. He immediately looks down at the pan, turning his head to hide a discreet, almost tender smile.

He adjusts the heat under the plate and turns down the gas.

“I'll let it simmer while I shower.”

He puts the spoon back down, quickly wipes his hands on a clean tea towel, then turns to you, softer.

"You can set up in my room, if you like. It's just down the hall. You'll have the air-conditioning, the bed's already made up."

You nod, still a little caught up in what he's just said.

"Wait a minute. Your room? Aren't we going to eat before we watch the movie?"

Cain smiles at your confusion before clarifying.

“We'll have a meal tray in my room in front of the movie, it can only be more comfortable than the couch.”

He adds, already heading for the bathroom.

"I'll meet you in ten minutes with food. I promise."

Then, just before he disappears from your field of vision, he gives you one last glance over his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Try not to rummage through my cupboards too much like you said you would. Especially if it's to steal my clothes."

You remain alone in the kitchen for a moment, then slowly make your way to his room. The hallway is quiet, bathed in subdued light coming through a half-glazed bay window. You enter quietly.

The room is simple and tidy, but with a surprisingly peaceful atmosphere. A huge bed, a neatly folded comforter, and soft light from a bedside lamp. You notice a few books on the table, his teacher's badge on the desk, a pair of glasses on the bedside table and a pair of black pants tossed nonchalantly on the back of a chair.

You settle yourself on the edge of the bed, the feel of cool cotton against your bare legs making you shiver slightly. From the other side of the house, you hear the sound of running water, signifying that Cain is in the shower.

You glance around, then grab the remote control from the bedside table. The black screen of the huge TV hanging on the wall slowly lights up, and you browse the menus with curiosity. You quickly find Howl’s Moving Castle, and select the film without yet starting playback.

Just ready to go. Waiting for your host.

You lean back a little more comfortably against the pillows and stay there for a few minutes, lulled by the sound of running water at the other end of the house and the hushed silence of the room. The cool air gently caresses your skin, still warm from the shower, Cain's T-shirt falling limply around your thighs.

Then, footsteps are heard in the hallway.

Cain reappears, hair still damp, a towel draped over his shoulders, dressed in a dark t-shirt and light jogging pants. He holds a tray in his hands with a certain concentration, careful not to spill anything.

He approaches, his balance perfect, and stops in front of you with a certain pride in his eyes.

“Evening service, ma’am.”

On the tray are two steaming plates of spaghetti bolognese, beautifully arranged, and two tall glasses of iced tea with ice cubes still tinkling gently. He places them on the edge of the bed, then settles down next to you.

You look at him, a small smile on your lips and a few questions on your mind.

"I confess... I was expecting instant noodles. Or frozen pizza."

Cain raises an eyebrow, feigning offense.

"Would I have spent all this time in the kitchen for something so simple? I'll have you know I've had enough cooking lessons from Abel and Giuseppe to at least do this without setting fire to my kitchen."

You stifle a small laugh as you settle quietly into bed, pushing the comforter to the foot of the bed, since it was too hot to be covered by a blanket.

“Impressive.”

“That's a word I like to hear.”

Taking his turn at your right, he places the tray on your lap, making you look at him questioningly as he leaves you the tray and takes his own plate.

“You'd better keep the tray, I'd like to keep a clean bed.”

You mock him a bit and grab your own plate, ready to eat what Cain prepared.

You make yourselves comfortable, him with only his plate on his lap and you with the tray, the two glasses and your own plate, propped up against the pillows. You press play on the remote control, and the screen lights up softly. The room immediately fills with a suspended, almost magical atmosphere.

You take your first bite of spaghetti, the warmth of the dish contrasting pleasantly with the coolness of the room.

And it's good. Really good.

You turn your head to Cain, who's eating quietly, seemingly out of the blue, his eyes glued to the screen as if he didn't expect anything.

“It's really good, Cain.”

He raises his head slightly, surprised, then turns his eyes to you, his expression immediately relaxing. He says nothing for a second, as if checking your sincerity.

You nod to confirm, swallowing another mouthful.

"Like... really. I didn't expect that."

He sketches a smile, the slightly lopsided, slightly proud one he pulls out when he doesn't want to show too much that he's touched, but is anyway.

“Good for you.”

You sense he's trying to play the detachment card, but he adds a little lower, almost without looking directly at you.

“I'm glad you like it.”

Then he takes a sip of iced tea, casually, but you can see that his smile hasn't left his lips.

The film slowly unfolds, cradled by Miyazaki's warm colors and enveloping music. You eat without talking too much, concentrated, calm, but one of those silences that doesn't feel awkward. Just simple. Easy.

The plates empty gradually, the sound of cutlery slows, then dies away.

Cain straightens slightly, picks up the tray with the two plates and the half-empty glasses, then places it on the desk in the corner of the room.

He returns immediately, even more relaxed, and lies down next to you on the bed without a word, as if it were the logical continuation of the evening.

His arm slips naturally behind your head, forearm bent for support, a nonchalant gesture that brings you a little closer to him.

You feel the warmth of his torso just beside you, his steady breath, the fabric of his T-shirt brushing against yours with every subtle movement. He keeps his eyes riveted to the screen, his fingers occasionally brushing the back of your shoulder, as if distractedly, without trying to invade your space, just there, posed.

The film continues, and everything suddenly seems slower. Softer.

You don't move.

You don't want to move.

Your eyes are vaguely turned towards the screen, but no longer really absorbed by what's happening there. You feel the weight of silence, of closeness. His arm behind you, his warmth, his presence.

And then, without thinking too much, without overthinking as usual, you move.

Gently.

You slide, almost imperceptibly, to rest your head against his chest. First your forehead brushes the fabric of his shirt, then your cheek finds its place right there, against him, where you can hear his heart beating slowly beneath your skin.

You stay there. Silently. Holding your breath for half a second, ready to straighten up if need be.

But he says nothing.

He's surprised, you can tell by the way his chest freezes slightly, as if he too has stopped breathing for a second.

Then, slowly, his arm closes around you. He embraces you without pressure, just enough to hold you against him, to frame you. You feel his hand moving, gently up your bare arm in a back-and-forth gesture, almost instinctive, almost soothing.

And then he speaks, his voice low, almost a whisper, in the hollow of your ear.

“Is it ok?”

You nod slowly against him, and feel his breath ease, longer, calmer.

He continues to caress your arm without adding anything, his fingers drawing invisible lines on your skin.

In front of you, Sophie is talking to Madame Suliman. But here, in this peaceful room, everything has come to a halt with a simple gesture.

The film continues, bathing the room in a subdued light of orange and blue hues. You remain curled up against him, his torso slowly rising and falling beneath your cheek. His hand continues distractedly to caress your arm, but his gesture gradually slows as the silence thickens between you, a silence that's more than comfortable, almost intimate.

You feel your eyelids grow heavy. Your muscles relax. The heat of the day, the fun in the pool and the good meal had exhausted you. Cain's T-shirt smells of laundry and something a little softer, a little more him. Your thoughts muddle, lulled by the music, the beating of his heart, the quiet warmth of his embrace.

And without even realizing it, you fall asleep.

Cain notices almost immediately. Your breath has become steadier, deeper. You no longer react to his gestures. You're there, asleep against him, and for a moment he doesn't move, as if he's afraid of breaking something, of losing something.

He looks down at you, and a smile slowly forms on his lips.

With a calm, gentle gesture, so as not to disturb you, he turns off the lamp, grabs the remote control left on the bed and switches off the TV, leaving the room in a soft half-light.

Then, very slowly, he slides one hand up your back, the other under your legs, and just about straightens you out to reposition you correctly on the bed. He does everything with extreme, meticulous care, so as not to wake you up. You let him do it, unconscious, your head naturally coming to rest against the pillow.

Instinctively, without you even realizing it, you curl up into a ball and turn towards him.

He hesitates, caught in a dilemma: should he let you sleep alone in his bed while he goes to another room, or should he stay and keep you company and sleep beside you?

Finally, he slips gently beside you, lying on his side, head in his hand, watching over you a little longer, saying nothing, expecting nothing.

Just lying there.

With you.

Cain remains there, leaning on one elbow, the rest of his body stretched out under the comforter, his eyes fixed on you.

You sleep, curled into a ball, facing him, features relaxed, breath slow. A strand of hair crosses your forehead, and he resists the urge to push it away, content to watch you in the peaceful silence of the bedroom.

The night light barely filters through the shutters and the light curtain of the room, everything is calm, frozen, as if the world has slowed down around this simple bed.

Without thinking about it, he reaches out to you and, with the back of his phalanges, grazes your cheek. Just a light caress. A gesture that silently says everything he can't, everything he doesn't dare say out loud.

He looks at you for a long time. And then, in a barely audible breath, more for him than for you, but looking at you all the same, as if somewhere you could hear him in your sleep, he murmurs softly.

“Yeah... this is where you belong.”

[jitarossun]

I really LOVED your Abel fic and I wanted to know if you can write another one about him?

Hi everyone! Thanks for your message <3

I'd like to take this opportunity to clarify that I am fully aware of your requests, i'm not ignoring them at all

On the contrary, I haven't released anything in a long time, but I haven't been slacking off

So tomorrow:

(For Dating Killmulator)

-A fanfic for Cain

-A fanfic for Abel

-A fanfic for Florian

(For Arcane)

-A new chapter of Smoke and Sparks

Hope you'll enjoy all of that, and if you have fanfic ideas/requests, don't hesitate!

[jitarossun]

The messages between reader and Florian from Shared insomnia

[jitarossun]

Hello 👋

I know Florian is underrated but please can you write a fanfic about him? I love him sm I need more stuff about that man 💜

Shared insomnia

Summary : When insomnia keeps you awake, Florian is there to take your mind off things.

Pairing : mostly Florian x reader but there's a bit of Cain and Abel x reader

TW : Use of Y/N, murder, blood, description of blood and corpse, angst.

Words count : 6.6k

A/N : Thank you for your request and yeah, I totally agree, Florian’s underrated. Hope you’ll enjoy!

The corridors are strangely empty and dark. There's not a sound, just your footsteps echoing in the emptiness, adjusting a little more to your loneliness and anguish.

You don't even remember how you ended up here, or why. It's as if you had a goal in mind, but at the same time nothing clear. Your memories are hazy, your head buzzing, your eyes unable to follow your movements, but at the same time you feel fine.

You enter one of the university halls at random, not really knowing what to do other than explore in the hope of stumbling across something, someone. But, do you really want to bump into someone right now?

Looking out of the window, you see why it's so dark. The night was already well advanced. The moon shone brightly, illuminating your skin through the glass as if the moon was a beacon light and you were a pirate's lost treasure.

But this single glow quickly faded as dark clouds blocked your vision of the moon. Darkness quickly filled the room where you stood. You can only rely on your eyes to adapt to the dark.

Then, a creak startles you.

You turn around quickly, your back to the glass and your eyes riveted on the door, a gasp escaping your lips as your heart accelerates to breakneck speed.

But there's nothing there.

You're all alone.

Gathering your courage, you step out of the room, looking down the corridor from left to right and right to left.

But still nothing.

So you decide to get out and walk towards the university exit, with slightly more speed than usual, desperately trying to walk at a snail's pace to avoid making noise.

Arriving in front of the stairwells, you start to descend.

First floor.

Second floor.

Third floor.

Fourth floor.

Fifth floor.

Exactly how long has the university been this big?

Sixth floor.

Seventh floor.

A scream.

High-pitched, shrill, terrifying, deafening.

The scream rips through the silence and your blood runs cold as you freeze on the stairs, unable to determine whether the howl is coming from above or below.

Then silence again.

Whatever's going on in this place, you've got to get out of here, before you're the one screaming. It's time to run. And fast.

You run up the stairs, making sure you don't fall, and finally reach the corridor leading to the main hall.

And this time, there's no stopping you.

Your breathing quickens, you're close to your goal of finally escaping from here.

Then your heart drops, there's blood at your feet.

Your eyes follow the crimson line whose tracks stop at the bend in the corridor leading to the exit.

You follow the line, your steps slow, cautious, afraid of what you might find, but it's not as if you have a choice if you want to leave.

But even imagining the worst possible things, you'd never have expected this.

You turn your eyes and there on the floor is a pool of blood, a torn green top stained red, dark locks stuck to one temple, a necklace frozen around a neck that doesn't move in an interrupted gesture, golden skin as if frozen by the cold.

Emily.

Emily's body lay in a dark, sticky pool of blood. Her eyes, wide open and extinguished, stared into space, nothing shining in them.

She'd been dragged here, just outside the exit. Like a morbid production. As if she had to be made a spectacle for the whole world to see.

You can't look away. You don't know whether to vomit, faint, cry or scream.

But before you can react, a voice calls out from behind you, a voice you'd recognize in a thousand words.

“Y/N?”

You don't turn around. An icy shiver runs down your spine as you hear his slow, heavy footsteps approaching.

Cain passes to your right, pauses for a moment to observe you, but you still refuse to look at him.

He tilts his head slightly towards you, just inches away, and yet you freeze.

He steps back, takes a step forward, and comes to stand between you and Emily.

"What? You don't look happy."

He crosses his arms, as if annoyed by your reaction. His white shirt, the one he always wears, is stained to the wrists with blood. His black pants too. The red contrasts violently with the rest, splattering the scene with a banality that has become monstrous.

You finally find the strength to snap out of your shock. Your eyes look up at him. Your voice trembles, but the words finally cross your lips.

"Cain?! Why did you do that?"

His gaze wavers. The incomprehension is clear, but a dull anger still burns there, lurking just behind. He clenches his jaw, tenses his neck.

His fingers nervously tap his crossed arms, as if struggling to keep control, to contain something stronger than himself.

He stares at you, jaws clenched, nostrils flaring. His eyes darken suddenly, as if your question has just slapped him in the face.

“Why did I do it?”

He repeats your words, his voice laden with icy contempt.

He laughs, a dry, heatless laugh. Then his tone goes up a notch, almost accusatory, a smirk betraying his intentions.

“She was hurting you, you're seized with a lump in your stomach just at the thought of her and you ask me why I did it?!”

Cain throws the knife elsewhere and points a finger at you, advancing slowly in your direction, causing you to take several steps back while he takes several forward, his tone becoming heavy, low, laden with contempt and irritation.

"You're unable to say things to her face, you're afraid of her reaction, of her opinions, you pretend you don't care and that it doesn't get to you anymore but it's a lie, you know it. Deep inside you there's something waiting for her validation!"

Your back ends up touching the wall, you've got nowhere to go, he puts his hands flat against the wall on either side of your head, looking down at you before wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing as hard as he can.

You sit up suddenly in bed, your irregular, heavy breathing the only sound filling your room. You look around frantically, your pajamas damp and sticking to your skin just as much as your hair is while from sweating.

Without much thought, you grab your phone from the bedside table and check Emily's status on all the networks, trying to find a clue that she's alive and well. But she's offline everywhere and her last activity was hours ago.

You panic and call her, but she doesn't answer. You text her, but she doesn't answer.

Your last resort is to call Cain, which you do. With one hand holding the phone to your ear and the other biting your nails, questions swirl around in your head, but still dominated by nervousness, you're unable to think rationally.

But your thoughts are quickly cut off when Cain's breathless voice comes out of the phone.

“Y/N..? Hello ?”

"Cain?! What the hell did you do?! Where's Emily?!"

A small moment of silence remains between the two of you, you tighten your grip on your phone as you wait for his response, but before he has time to answer, you hear another voice behind him, asking Cain to hand over the phone. Suddenly, Abel's voice rings out on the other end of the line.

“Do you miss us so much that you have to call us in the middle of the night, honey?”

“Abel, where's Emily?”

"Probably at home, or at a party, or out for a walk. To tell you the truth, she could have gone to Greenland by now, I wouldn't give a damn."

You rub your eyes, your breathing gradually calms down, your thoughts become clearer and the panic leaves your body. Then you realize that you must sound like a madwoman or look ridiculous.

“Where are you and Cain?”

“In one of his second homes.”

“And you're doing what?”

“We're... busy.”

Even though you couldn't see Abel, you knew he was smiling just by listening to his voice. But before you could ask another question, Cain picked up the phone again, still out of breath.

"Hey, Y/N. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, forget it, I just had a nightmare and I don't know... I took the time to calm down. Why are you out of breath like that?"

A beat of silence passes between the two of you before Cain answers simply.

“Nothing special.”

“Nothing special, but are you’re breathless ?”

He sighs, and you can hear Abel shouting behind him.

“We're working out and I'm beating his ass at lifting weights!”

You can't manage a slight laugh at Abel's remark.

“I won't bother you any longer then.”

“You're not bothering us.”

“Yeah, but I'm tired, sorry for calling you in the middle of the night like that, it was stupid.”

“Rest well, and watch out for the monster in your closet.”

“I'm prepared to beat it.”

“Good.”

Cain hangs up, but before he does, you can hear him say a little “you motherfuc-” probably intended for Abel.

You flop back into bed, staring at the ceiling, even though you're calmer, there's still that strange, uneasy feeling inside you.

And you think back to the calls and messages you sent Emily, and you cringe thinking about them. You could delete the messages, but how were you going to explain the 3 calls in the middle of the night?

Explain that you were drunk? Yeah, that could be the solution.

You pick up your phone again and lie curled up in bed, scanning a few networks in the hope of getting your mind off things before going back to sleep. But this was probably a mistake, as it kept you up more than anything else.

✿❯────「✿」────❮✿

A good hour has gone by and it's now 2:30 a.m. You're still not asleep, but you feel exhausted. Frustration gradually gives way to calm. Nothing irritates you more than not being able to do something, and even more so when it's something simple, in this case sleeping.

Then suddenly the phone screen lit up again. It was a message from Florian, at least, the notification seems to indicate that he's sent an image.

Opening the notification, a slightly blurred image of a white cat, seen very closely. Its eyes are squinted, almost closed, and its mouth very slightly open. Around him, the lighting is dark, he seems dazzled by the phone and very tired.

Accompanied by the image, Florian asked a simple question.

“Cant sleep?”

You search your gallery for a meme to answer his, but none inspires you, so you simply decide to respond by typing a message.

“No, not tonight, and u?”

It doesn't take long before he sees your message, and almost instantly, you receive a reply.

“Me neither why u cant sleep?”

“Few things on my mind yknow”

“Wanna talk about it?”

You pause, pondering his proposal. Florian has always been there for you, he has good advice, and he's supposed to be your psychologist after all. But you can't help teasing him a little, just to lighten the mood.

“Cant wait for the next session?”

“Didn't think I was that good of a therapist.”

You reacted to his message with a giggling emoji, then a sudden urge to hear him run through your mind. There was something soothing about his voice, especially when he read you like an open book and explained what he thought. Or when you were playing Barrio Bros and he was calm and collected.

With a little hesitation, you send him a message back.

“Can I call u?”

And without him even answering, your phone screen displays a call screen, which was obviously from Florian. You pick up and put the phone on speaker, setting it down next to you on the bed.

“Hey, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you fine.”

Florian's calm, gentle voice slipped softly through the silence, gradually easing the tension knotting your chest.

“Are you all right?”

"Ugh… not really, I can't sleep. How about you?"

You answer in a low voice, tinged with fatigue, as if your words are barely emerging from your muddled thoughts. And Florian notices immediately, but for the moment makes no comment on it.

“Same here... lifelong insomniac, I'm used to it.”

"Wait, what? You're an insomniac?"

“Does that surprise you?”

“Well, a little, you never told me and you don't look that tired.”

“You never asked me, and like I said, I'm used to it.”

You sigh and turn a little in bed, trying to find a position that might be comfortable. Florian continues to speak, his voice echoing between the four walls of your room.

“You should try to get some rest anyway, even if it doesn't work right away.”

“Easy for you to say... I've been trying for an hour already.”

“To tell you the truth, it's not by liking videos of cats jumping because they’re startled on Instapic that you're going to sleep better.”

“But how do you know-”

“We must have the same recommendations.”

A light silence settles in, filled only by your breaths. Then Florian begins again, very gently.

"You've already figured it out, but it helps to talk a little. Not to look for solutions, just to empty the overflow a little."

You think for a moment, then get a little more tired and almost whisper.

“Maybe... this could help.”

“I'm here, then.”

And in his voice, there's that sincere warmth that soothes you, even through a simple call. But even so, something was missing. The call was good, but a slight emptiness persists, it's not the same without seeing him face to face, without feeling his presence right next to you, as usual. You miss Florian, and this small absence squeezes your heart a little.

You hesitate for a moment, your voice softer, almost shy.

“Say... would you like to... come?”

A slight silence follows your question, as if you're dreading the answer.

“It would be easier... not to be alone tonight.”

The silence settles for a moment, heavy and charged. He doesn't answer and you end up thinking it was a mistake. You finally break the calm, your voice hesitant.

"Tonight... My dad's not here. So... it would really do me good if you were here."

You add quickly, as if not to insist too much.

“I mean, I understand if you can't or if you don't wa-”

But before you can finish, Florian interrupts you in a firm, reassuring voice:

"I'll be right there. Give me your address again, I'm getting ready."

“Cornelia Street Number 3.”

“Okay, I'll be there shortly.”

"Thank you, Florian.

“My pleasure.”

Florian hangs up. The silence immediately falls again, denser than before, almost oppressive. Without the sound of his voice in the earpiece, absence seems to fill the room with a strange emptiness. You lie there for a moment, the phone still beside you, your eyes lost in the darkness of the ceiling.

A sigh escapes you as you slowly rise to your feet. With shuffling steps, you walk to your bedroom window and open it wide. The cool night air immediately rushes into the room, caressing your clammy, sweaty skin.

You inhale deeply, letting the icy oxygen of the night wash over you, calming that heart that's still beating too fast. A gentle breeze lifts your hair, reminding you that the nightmare is over.

That you're wide awake. That all is well.

After a moment spent losing yourself in the darkness outside, you close the window gently and head for the bathroom. You finally look up at the mirror, as if reluctantly.

Your reflection reflects an image you'd rather not see. Your features are drawn, dark circles darken your eyes, and your skin looks a little paler than usual, as if you were a little ill. Your eyes still bear the traces of the nightmare, a little too bright, a little too lost.

There's nothing frightening about you, no, just this deep-seated tiredness, embedded even in your expression.

You stand there for a few seconds, staring at this familiar face that has become strangely distant, then you look away. You don't feel like looking for answers.

The cold water on your face, then the lukewarm water on your skin, acts like a balm. You take a quick shower, without getting your hair wet, just enough to wash away the sweat, the fear and that oppressive feeling that sticks to your skin.

Once clean, you grab a towel and head back to your room, tossing your soaked pajamas into the laundry basket. You choose another pair, dry and more comfortable. The soft fabric comforts you a little, like a promise of calm to come. As you sit on the edge of the bed, hair still damp at the temples, you glance at the time on your phone.

Florian should be here any minute. Somehow, this thought soothes you more than you thought it would.

As you wait for him, you walk slowly downstairs to the kitchen, the house still bathed in a soft but heavy silence. The desire for a little comfort prompts you to rummage through the cupboards, and you soon find what you need.

You warm the milk, your movements still slow and numb, before carefully mixing in the powdered chocolate. The sweet aroma quickly fills the room, and you feel your body begin to relax, just a little.

You pour it all into your favorite mug, add a generous dollop of whipped cream on top, and for the finishing touch, a few small marshmallows that you let melt gently on the surface. Just the sight of them is enough to warm you up a little more.

You then settle into the sofa in the living room, your legs folded up against you, the hot mug in your hands. The subdued light casts a soft glow on the walls, and despite your fatigue, your heart beats a little faster at the thought that Florian should be here soon.

As if he'd sensed your anticipation, only a few minutes pass before a discreet knock sounds at the front door.

You get up, leaving the hot chocolate on the coffee table in the living room before heading for the door, taking the time to look through the hatch after your father has repeatedly told you that even if you're waiting for someone, “you never know”.

But obviously it wasn't an intruder standing in front of your door, but Florian. 

So you open your door and there he stands, motionless, arms folded as usual. His short, thick, curly, almost silvery-white hair frames his face with cool elegance. His pale, almost diaphanous skin contrasts with the bright pink depth of his eyes, which stare at you calmly, almost with a mixture of fatigue and hardness.

As usual, he's wearing a dark purple turtleneck, tight around his neck, and a vest in a darker purple than his close-fitting sweater, which emphasizes his slim figure and imposing waist. His expression is serious, almost closed, with slightly furrowed brows that betray a certain concentration, but also that distant, aristocratic aura he naturally exudes.

Despite this apparent coldness, you sense in his gaze a restrained gentleness, a sincere warmth that reassures you all at once.

Without a word, you move aside to let him in, offering him a gentle smile of welcome.

Without a word, you gently move aside to let him in, a light smile floating on your lips in welcome. He nods silently, almost imperceptibly, and enters quietly, with the same quiet fluidity he puts into everything he does.

With a precise gesture, he removes his shoes, then undoes the buttons on his dark coat before hanging it on the coat rack in the hall.

His gaze returns to you, and his slightly rimmed eyes linger on your face for a moment.

"You look exhausted.

“I am, impossible to sleep.”

“And that's why I'm here.”

He smiles at you and you both sit down on the sofa before his eyes fall on the barely touched mug on the coffee table.

"Hot chocolate? You're right, it's reassuring, it relaxes a bit. Unless you're intolerant."

“I can make you one if you like, unless you prefer coffee.”

"Coffee at this hour? Are you trying to kill me for lack of sleep?"

“Hot chocolate then.”

You sit up slowly, retrieving the half-empty mug before heading for the kitchen. Florian stares at you from the sofa, his expression softening a little as he watches you move quietly through the space. Seeing you rummaging through the cupboards, he asks gently.

“Do you want me to help you?”

You shake your head a little, without turning around.

"No, don't worry. Sit down, I'll take care of it."

He answers nothing, but you hear the slight rustle of the sofa as he settles more comfortably. Silence falls for a moment, peaceful. Then, a light sound, that of something being moved.

“Wait... is that the Switch 2?”

His voice becomes a little sharper, in pleasant contrast to his usual calm.

“Did you get it when it first came out?”

You smile from the kitchen, hearing his rare enthusiasm.

You raise your voice a little to make yourself heard.

"Yeah. I was lucky, it was a gift from my dad."

You hear a slight chuckle.

“And, do you already have a few games on it or did all the money go into just the switch?”

You open the fridge to grab the milk, the smile still hanging on your lips.

“There's Barrio Kart World, which was included in it.”

“Barrio Kart World, eh?”

Florian with a tone that swings between amusement and mockery.

“You mean the game where everyone loses their friendship because of three red shells in a row?”

You laugh softly, pouring the milk into a small saucepan and setting it to heat.

“Exactly that one.”

You then rummage in a cupboard for the chocolate powder, followed by the mini marshmallows and the chantilly bomb.

Florian speaks up again with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Do you play online or haven't you yet dared to take on strangers who do nothing but win as if their lives depended on it?”

You shrug, gently stirring the milk into the chocolate.

"I tried it once. I got smashed. I guess they don't need a license, those ones."

Behind you, he laughs softly, a rare, almost muffled sound.

"I promise I'll be nicer if we play. I'll wait for you at the finish line. Maybe."

You roll your eyes without turning around.

“Have you already decided you'll be ahead of me?”

“I'm just stating facts.”

You shake your head with a smile, then quickly finish preparing the hot drink, topping it generously with whipped cream and a few marshmallows. When you return to the living room, mug in hand, Florian is watching you calmly from the sofa, arms resting on the backrest, a quieter look on his face.

You hold out the cup to him.

"Here, Mr. Future Champion. Try not to spill it in your victory."

He takes it with a slight nod, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

"Thank you. I promise to take a sip for your efforts."

You settle back down beside him, and for a moment, everything seems a little lighter, he takes a sip of the hot chocolate you've prepared for him, then speaks again.

“Actually I'm not particularly good at racing games, so let's say you might have a chance.”

“A chance, eh?”

You raise an eyebrow, mischievously.

“I take note.”

You grab the controllers from the coffee table and toss one to him gently. He grabs it with ease, cradling his mug in the other hand, then straightens a little on the sofa. You turn on the Switch, and the welcome logo quickly appears on the TV hanging on the wall.

“Got a favorite character yet?”

He asks, his eyes analyzing the scrolling Barrio Kart World characters on the screen

“I always go for Poad.”

“Yeah, it's got your vibe.”

He pauses to select Laskass, searching for the color he'd like best.

“Shame there's no purple Laskass.”

Together you select the first circuit, controllers firmly in hand, the screen glowing in front of you like a promise of good-natured competition. The start-of-race music plays and the vehicles line up. You feel your heart beating a little faster, it's ridiculous you think, but you want to win. Or at least, not finish last.

And the race begins. Your characters speed down the colorful asphalt of the rainbow road circuit, and soon, muffled screams, laughter and exclamations echo through the living room.

“Did you just slow down just to let me go first and get the blue shell?!”

“Just so you know, we're playing to win!”

Florian laughed outright this time, a rare sparkle in his deep voice. And you, despite your fatigue, feel a sincere smile stretch your lips, as if nothing else mattered at the moment but this bubble suspended in the warm light of the screen.

The first race comes to an end and you let out a dramatic sigh as you place your controller on your lap.

"Fourth? Seriously?"

Florian, meanwhile, remains leaning against the back of the sofa, a quiet little smile on his lips, almost mocking but not malicious.

"It wasn't so bad. You still beat the bots."

"Wow. What a victory."

You look at him, falsely vexed.

“Mister ‘I'm not especially good at racing games’, eh?"

He shrugs with feigned innocence.

“I didn't want to discourage you before we got started.”

You throw a cushion at him, which he half-dodges, the smile still on his face. Then you let yourself fall back against the sofa with a tired grunt.

"Hey! You almost spilled my hot chocolate.

“Better drink it fast then.”

You fold your legs against your chest, head resting against the back of the sofa, eyes half-closed. Despite the defeat, your belly's warm, and not just because of the chocolate.

“You won't be so lucky in the next race.”

You mumble softly, eyes glued to the TV as you scroll down the map with the various races.

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

✿❯────「✿」────❮✿

The game goes on, punctuated by tight turns and objects thrown at full speed. Seven, eight races go by without you really seeing the clock ticking, the cups of hot chocolate emptying as the night progresses.

Florian always finishes first, relentless, precise, but you're never far behind, barely a place or two behind. You grumble, you tease him, and he keeps his usual calm, punctuated by discreet little smiles every time he senses your frustration rising.

But as the minutes go by, your body starts to take its toll. Shoulders grow heavy, eyelids tingle, your mind still clouded by insomnia begins to float.

Finally, you put the controller down beside you, without saying a word. He notices immediately, and you both agree to stop playing for now. And yet, even with the screens turned off and the silence restored, sleep still doesn't come. There's still this dull tension in your chest, this kind of strange emptiness and uneasy feeling that even the shared bursts of laughter haven't totally dispelled.

“Still those ‘few things’ on your mind?”

“Yeah... But it did me good to think about something else for a while.”

“Maybe, but right now it's nearly 4 a.m. and you're still not asleep.”

You look at him, your eyes full of sleep and hesitation, he already knew a lot of things, but they were real things that had happened, here it was just a nightmare and you seemed to be more afraid of it than what happens in reality.

You remain silent for a moment, as if putting the words back into your head forces you to relive every second. Your fingers gently rub against each other, nervously.

"I... I was walking through the halls of the university. It was empty. Too empty. Not a sound, not a light, as if I were alone in a place that should have been familiar but no longer was. I felt like I was looking for something, or someone... but at the same time, I had no idea."

You pause, your gaze lowered to your lap.

"I entered a room, and looking out the window I saw the moon, then clouds covered it. Everything went black all of a sudden. And then... I heard a creak."

Your voice trembles slightly. Florian doesn't interrupt. He listens silently, attentive, straight but gentle beside you.

"I panicked. I left the room, I ran, I went down stairs, again and again, like they'd never end... then there was a scream. A horrible, super-loud scream. I didn't know where it was coming from, just that it was too close."

You inhale, your eyes shining with a tension you still can't shake.

"I finally got close to the exit... and there was blood. On the floor. I followed the trail. And there... was Emily, lifeless. Her body right in the middle, like... like a scene someone had set up for me."

You feel the lump in your throat as you say her name. The horror of the image still sticks with you.

"Then Cain arrived. He spoke to me as if everything were normal. As if... he'd done it for me. He said she was hurting me. That he'd done what I didn't dare do. He accused me of being weak, of wanting to please, of never facing things. And..."

You stop for a moment, your breath a little short. You stare at an invisible point on the wall.

"He pressed me against the wall. He put his hand around my throat. And he squeezed. Hard. Too tight. And I couldn't move. It was... it was him, but it wasn't him."

A shiver runs through you. You take a long breath, then finally turn your head towards Florian, looking for some anchor in reality.

“And when I woke up, I could still feel his fingers around my neck.”

You say nothing more. You don't have to. The silence that follows is heavy, but not empty. It's a silence charged with understanding, with presence. The silence of someone who stays, despite the nightmares.

Florian straightens up and crosses his arms and legs, looking at you as he does during your sessions.

“And what exactly were you afraid of?”

You look him straight in the eye, stop fidgeting before answering.

“Of the nightmare...”

He nods, tilting his head slightly.

"Of the nightmare as a whole? Or one moment in particular? There are a lot of elements in your dream. And I find it interesting if you want me to be honest. But I feel like there was something that bothered you more than anything else, and I don't think it was seeing Emily dead."

You stare at him, forbidden for a moment. His tone is calm, poised, almost clinical, and yet there's nothing cold about it. You recognize this posture, this look, the one he adopts when he's trying to dig, to understand, to help you put into words what you yourself can't quite put your finger on.

You inhale softly.

"No, it's not... it's not just Emily. It was horrible, of course. But..."

You pause for a moment. Your fingers cross over your knees. This time, you don't look away from him.

"It's him. Cain. He... he scared me the most. Not because he was acting weird or yelling. But because in the dream... he was calm. Controlled. He truly believed that what he had done was for me. He was convinced that I agreed, that I was going to be grateful."

Your throat tightens, a little. The words are heavy to get out.

"But mostly... he was saying real stuff. Things I think sometimes. About me. About the fact that I don't dare. That I keep my mouth shut. That I want people to love me when I pretend not to care. It froze me, because I recognized my own thoughts in his mouth."

You lower your eyes slightly, then add in a breath.

"The most disturbing thing wasn't that he was hurting me. It's that I was afraid to agree with him. Just for a moment."

You look up at Florian, as if you're waiting for a verdict, or maybe just a little comfort, that constant presence he knows how to be without ever rushing you.

Florian doesn't answer right away.

He looks at you for a long time, without frowning, without looking away, without judging. He makes no apparent mental notes, no attempt to overanalyze the moment. He's just there, and that's enough to make you feel you can keep talking if you need to.

Then he inhales gently, and his voice is poised, softer than usual, almost low.

"You know it's not uncommon... to identify with the voice that destroys us. Especially when that voice uses truths we think we deserve to hear."

He crosses his arms a little more, his gaze fixed in yours.

"This nightmare isn't Cain. It's you trying to punish yourself, with his face. It's your own demands, your self-judgment, your need to find reasons for your pain."

He pauses, his gaze softening, closer.

"And what you just said there... that you were afraid to agree with him? This may be the most honest moment you've given yourself in weeks."

He leans back a little against the back of the sofa.

"And you know what? You don't agree with him. If you did, you wouldn't be so upset. You wouldn't be here. You wouldn't be trying to understand."

A lighter silence settles in, he lets you breathe.

"I don't think you're afraid of Cain. I think you're afraid of becoming like him. But you've already done something he'd never do, and you had the courage to tell me about it."

You sketch a tired little smile, your eyes crinkling in a mixture of defiance and amusement.

“Hey, was that a free pick against Cain?”

Florian shakes his head gently, a slight smirk on his face, without losing his composure.

"No, not at all. Just an observation."

He pauses, then adds with a slightly softer tone.

"I know Cain probably drags a big, painful story behind him. I don't blame him. It's not for me to judge what he wears."

He crosses his fingers in front of him, eyes staring blankly for a moment, as if searching for the right words.

"Some people take longer than others to open up. To trust. And sometimes, you just have to... give them that space. Give them time."

His gaze returns to you, but you can detect something deep in it. Like melancholy.

"You can't force someone to heal or to talk, any more than you can speed up scarring. But you can be there. Patient, constant. Even in silence."

Your eyes meet, and for a moment, nothing moves. Silence settles in, neither heavy nor awkward, just there, suspended between the two of you, like a blank page neither of you dares fill yet.

You stare at him, perhaps looking for a follow-up, permission to collapse or look away, but he doesn't move. His expression is neutral, attentive. It's as if he's waiting for you to take the initiative, to put the next piece of the puzzle in place.

But you don't know what to say either. You don't want to break the moment, or stretch it too long. So you stand there, frozen in this silent exchange, two very real presences, reunited in the fragile hollow of the aftermath.

But after a while, after letting you think it over, he speaks again.

"You know, maybe Cain as we see him in your dream is so that he embodies something, more than he is himself. You see, Cain is a young man, rich, with a certain social stature, a privileged status... So maybe your mind keeps this image of him, this authority. In the dream, it's not really Cain as a person, but more an amplified version, almost an archetype."

He pauses for a second, pondering his next words, then continues more gently.

"From what you've told me and from what I understand, he does kill people, but it's rarely ‘for nothing’ or ‘for fun’. I mean, even here, in your nightmare, it's not just a gratuitous act. There's a symbolism. Maybe it represents something inside you... like your impulses for example. That anger you're repressing. That desire to please, even those who don't necessarily mean well, like Emily. Or José.

He frowns, a flash of anger passing through his eyes as José's name comes out of his mouth.

"The need to avoid conflict, to take it all in silently... Cain, in this dream, it might not be him, but a part of you. The one that explodes when you can't take it anymore."

He stops there, almost reluctantly, then adds simply.

"It's not him I'm criticizing. It's what your mind made of him."

You look at him, a little frozen, overwhelmed by what he's just said. It's a lot. Too much, perhaps. Every word seems to hit home, to bring something up, and at the same time, you feel like an overflow behind your ribs. A pressure in your chest that loosens, gently, almost imperceptibly, but loosens nonetheless.

You inhale more deeply, then blow.

“Honestly Florian, it sounds super interesting what you're saying.”

You pause, your gaze a little vague, your eyelids heavy.

“But right now... I'm just too tired to even think about it.”

Florian lets out a laugh, one of those that resonate softly, without sparkle, but charged with that quiet tenderness he sometimes has. A smile settles on his lips as he watches you sink further into the sofa, in search of some semblance of comfort. 

Without a word, he grabs the blanket that was slipping halfway off your shoulders and carefully places it back over you, pulling it gently so that you're well covered.

You close your eyes, lulled by the silence and warmth of the fabric, as he gently rises and retrieves the cups from the coffee table.

In a distant whisper, you hear the water running in the sink, the discreet tinkling of the ceramics as he carefully rinses them. All seems blurred, but calm.

Then the sounds fade. Footsteps return, muffled, and the sofa sags slightly as he settles back in the same place.

He doesn't touch you, doesn't say anything. He simply stays there, present. Just close enough for you to know you're not alone.

✿❯────「✿」────❮✿

Morning has come slowly. Pale daylight filters through the living room curtains, caressing your face with an almost unreal softness.

Your eyelids flutter before opening fully, and you realize you're still on the sofa, wrapped up in the plaid. The discreet smell of cold chocolate and the more reassuring scent of fabric still surround you.

It's quiet. Too quiet. You sit up slowly, your muscles numb from the night's bad posture, and a quick glance around you confirms what you had already guessed, Florian is gone. No word left, no noise in the apartment.

Just a respectful silence, that of someone who has left without disturbing you, without asking too many questions. He's left you with your own space, your own time, and a little more serenity than the day before.

You pick up your phone, still lying where you'd left it, and unlock the screen. Your eyes, still misty, fall on the notifications. A few messages.

The first ones you see are from Florian.

"I let you sleep, you needed the rest.

I took care of the cups. I didn't break anything, I promise.

Have a good rest.

See you at the university later, take your time."

A small smile slides across your lips. There was no need for big words, or endless discussions. Just this. His gentle way of staying present even as he walks away. It lightens your chest a little, where the night had weighed so heavily.

But this feeling of peace doesn't last long, as you see Emily's dozens of messages and numerous missed calls.

Fuck.

[jitarossun]

Smoke and Sparks is amazing! I always check your blog to see if a new chapter has been out yet! Beautiful writing

Thanks 🥹

Trying my best to post a new chapter soon!

[jitarossun]

Just wanted to say that I love your dating killmulator fics so much. This fandom really needs more fics in it aaaa

Hi there!

Thank you! That means a lot 🫶

I'm currently writing for DK again for multiple requests! (Spoiler alert : all boys will get a new fanfic soon!)

As i'm writing for DK and Arcane at the same it might take a little time but i'm trying my best to post everything soon!

[jitarossun]

Heyy ive read your Cain fic i really liked your writing ^^

can you write one for Abel? this fandom is so small I haven't found any 💔💔

The stage is yours

Summary : Seeing that you were feeling down, Abel decided to try and take your mind off things by inviting you to the theater.

Pairing : Abel x reader 

TW : But use of Y/N, none!

Words count : 7.4k

A/N : There it is ! Thank you for your request, I hope you’ll enjoy the fanfic ! :) And thanks @littlefrenchiestar for helping me choose the protagonists' clothes. (Just know btw that my requests are still open)

Your backpack seemed to weigh a ton. Yet you didn't have all your books in your bag, you were carrying some in your arms, pressed against your chest, your eyes fixed on the floor. The hallway is noisy. Yet you couldn't hear a thing. The laughter of the other students, the footsteps echoing one after the other, the locker doors slamming, the sound of padlocks being locked to make sure no one but their owners could open them.

All that hubbub would give anyone a headache. But not to you today. All those noises just echo in your head. You're clearly somewhere else, and it shows in the way you don't even look in front of you, almost bumping into another student who has his nose in his phone. Luckily, he dodged you at the last second.

And in all this chaos, which you're more or less used to, you don't notice that someone is walking beside you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You don't look away, your thoughts are still elsewhere, when suddenly, just as the university floor was starting to look more interesting than ever, Abel's head appears, his blue eyes meeting yours, one eyebrow raised as he stares at you.

You stop dead in your tracks, Abel straightens up and crosses his arms, a half-empty water bottle in his left hand, a smile finally appearing on his face now that you've acknowledged his presence.

“So, drama queen, are you going to keep that face all weekend or is it to get sympathy from an invisible audience?”

His mocking tone made you roll your eyes, which made him smile, his blond hair falling perfectly over his forehead and his eyes sparkling with a mischievous energy that was a little too cheeky for a Friday evening.

“Very funny, Abel.”

“Yeah, I know, you don't have to tell me.”

You groaned in annoyance, but in reality you were happy to talk to him. It felt good after spending half the day dodging José and the other half trying to stop yourself from insulting Emily in front of absolutely everyone.

“Okay, what do you want? Is it important? I'd really like to go home now.”

And even though deep down you were a little happy to talk to him, you couldn't deny that the idea of being back in your cozy bed, warm and safe, was more than appealing at the moment.

“Wow, what's wrong?”

Abel asked curiously, looking you up and down, a flash of concern crossing his gaze. He knew what had happened to you, after all, who didn't, after the argument you'd had with Emily in the middle of the courtyard?

“Do you really want to know?”

You looked at him, your eyes tired, a sad pout on your face.

You knew he knew, or at least suspected, what was wrong, but it didn't matter. Talking about yourself, from your point of view, to someone other than Florian might do you some good. At least that's what you told yourself.

“No, not really. But since I'm a charitable soul... and devilishly irresistible.”

He added these last words in a whisper, almost inaudible, to him or to you, you didn't know. And of course, it was typical of Abel, you didn't even know how you could have thought for a second that you could confide in him. Just as you were about to tell him to give up and move on, he spoke before you did.

“I've come to save your weekend. Tomorrow, you, me, Shakespeare, curtain at 4 p.m. You have no say in the matter.”

He punctuated his sentence with a satisfied click of his tongue, as if he had just announced that he had won a bet. You looked at him with an exasperated and slightly amused expression. His attitude and the way he changed your mind were a little unusual. Some people would have suggested going to the movies, but he wanted to take you to the theater.

“Shakespeare? Seriously?”

Abel scoffed, looking at you incredulously, his expression saying almost the same thing as you, seriously?

“Oh, please, I'm not allowed to try and take your mind off things? Do you really think I'd let you spend the whole Saturday moping around while I gorge myself on soliloquies and tragic passion? You deserve better. Like... a VIP seat next to me.”

He opened his arms dramatically, as if waiting for imaginary applause, or for you to jump into his arms and hug him. A student walked behind you with an annoyed sigh, dodging Abel's arm, but he didn't flinch, too busy watching your reaction.

You don't move yet, not really sure how to react to this. Abel broke the slight silence between you, his arms still wide open.

“Not even a little yes to confirm?”

A sigh escaped your lips, and you moved your books to hold them with only one arm while you rubbed your forehead with your thumb, index finger, and middle finger.

“I don't know, Abel. I'm not really in the mood to go see a play. I'd like to rest, and I have work to do. I have to study.”

Again, Abel scoffs, puts a hand on his hip, and narrows his eyes slightly, trying to look a little authoritative.

“Well then, I'll rephrase that. You have no choice. And anyway, to hell with your homework. You'll have much more fun with me.”

Suddenly, an idea crossed your mind. You understood the real reason why he had suddenly decided to invite you to the theater.

“Cain doesn't want to come with you anymore, does he?”

Abel crossed his arms and looked away.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

You couldn't help but smile, and Abel noticed. He smiled back, his face relaxing as if he had finally achieved his goal.

“I much prefer to see that little smile than your downcast expression. Come with me to the theater tomorrow. Yes, I admit, Cain doesn't want to come with me anymore, but I was really planning on inviting you anyway, with or without him. It'll take your mind off things, and besides, it's an honor to go out with me!”

This time, you didn't hold back the laughter that had been threatening to escape you for several minutes. It felt good after everything that had happened in recent weeks. Abel had a knack for taking your mind off things and making you smile again.

With a simple nod and a soft, low voice, you confirmed that you would go with him to the theater.

“Great! I'll pick you up at your place around 3:30 p.m.! Dress up, okay?”

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

Saturday had flown by in a flash. It seemed like only two hours had passed between the moment you woke up and the moment you started getting ready for the theater. Yet you had been productive: you had studied, cleaned the house, and made yourself something to eat. Well, “made” was perhaps too strong a word, considering that you had simply microwaved some ravioli from a can.

You had hesitated at least three times over what to wear. Too fancy? Too casual? Abel had told you to dress nicely, but how nice? Was Abel going to turn up in a three-piece suit or a simple T-shirt and a velvet coat? Impossible to guess.

But your hesitation was cut short when you heard your phone vibrating on your desk. A message from Abel had just arrived, telling you he was downstairs.

“I'm here, drama queen, I hope you look presentable.”

With no time to choose your outfit, you grabbed one of the outfits you had already tried on, slipped it on quickly, sprayed on some perfume, fixed your hair, and grabbed your coat in case it was cold.

You wore chocolate brown pants, straight and flowing, long enough to subtly brush the tops of your deep burgundy patent leather shoes.

Your loose-fitting, warm brown shirt, deliberately cut to be relaxed, contrasted with the natural elegance of your beige coat, buttoned up at the front. Knee-length, it protected you from the light afternoon breeze, while completing the outfit with a classy simplicity that you hadn't necessarily been looking for, but which worked perfectly.

Sugarball meows at you when he sees you, you sigh and leave your house, instantly spotting Abel's black limousine waiting for you.

Abel gets out of the back door and looks you up and down, crossing his arms. Abel had opted for a neat outfit, of course.

He was wearing a perfectly ironed sky blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up with almost annoying precision, as if he wanted to give the illusion of casualness without ever really being so. The fabric, light but structured, emphasized the fineness of his shoulders, and the fluid drape accompanied his gestures with an almost studied elegance.

His deep navy blue trousers were straight cut with crisp creases at the front, the kind of detail he never left to chance. They fell just above his shoes, revealing a pair of perfectly polished slate-blue suede brogues, obviously matching the rest of his outfit.

In his shirt pocket were small blue hydrangeas, tied simply with natural string. You wondered if he had dressed like that to impress, or simply because he found it dramatic.

As you approached, he sized you up with a sharp eye, clearly judging your outfit without any shame, so you stopped in front of him, raising an eyebrow.

“Chic enough, your highness?”

“Let's say it's okay this time, but next time I'll send you a stylist just in case.”

You looked at him, half amused, half exasperated. Looking him up and down, you searched for a response, knowing you had to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Are you going to be in the play, or are you just going to watch?”

“It depends. If someone forgets their lines, I could sacrifice myself.”

He opened the door with a slight exaggerated gesture, almost a bow, as if inviting you into a palace rather than a vehicle.

“After you, my dear.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled anyway, taking your seat on the soft leather bench. Abel got in and closed the door with a soft, almost ceremonial click.

The limousine started smoothly, eliciting a small sigh of relief from you. Finally, a moment of peace.

Abel settled comfortably, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, his back straight, as if he were about to give a television interview.

“So, what Shakespearean tragedy are you dragging me to see today? What should I expect? Death? Fiery monologues? Tights?”

You ask him, turning your head toward him, and he laughs heartily, one hand resting on his chest as if you've just broken his heart.

“Tights? What a reductive view of classical theater! But don't worry: no tights. Well... not on me. At least, not for now.”

He paused with a sheepish smile before continuing

“We're going to see Twelfth Night.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself.

“That's a comedy, right?”

“Absolutely. A marvel of misunderstandings, disguised identities, unrequited love... and, of course, perfectly orchestrated chaos.”

He smiled, his eyes shining. He loved talking about theater, it was obvious. You could almost feel the excitement vibrating in his voice, the passion filling his eyes.

“You're going to love it. There's a scene where a guy falls in love with someone who's actually a girl dressed up as a guy, while everyone else thinks she's his long-lost brother... Shakespeare went wild.”

You shook your head in amusement.

“Why do I feel like you identify a little too much with this kind of mess?”

“Because I have a flair for drama, duh. And because if I ever have to pretend to be my own missing twin to solve a complicated love story... well, I'd be great.”

You let out a laugh. It was impossible to follow, and yet it made it all entertaining.

The car continued on its way, lulled by the city lights, and for a moment you forgot about Emily, José, and everything else. It was just the two of you, a little too well dressed for a Saturday, on your way to the theater and maybe, just maybe, a little lightheartedness.

Looking out the window, you couldn't help but mentally thank Abel for taking your mind off things. You felt good with him, and even though you would never dare say it out loud, you hoped for more moments like this, just the two of you.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The limousine stopped in front of the steps of the theater, a building with white columns illuminated by golden spotlights. On the forecourt, a few elegantly dressed groups were chatting as they waited for the doors to open.

Giuseppe opened the door, and Abel stepped out with insolent ease, nodding briefly to the butler who was waiting for you to get out before closing the door.

You greeted Giuseppe, having forgotten to do so when you got into the limousine because of the partition between you and the driver.

“Giuseppe, sorry I didn't say hello. Abel was rushing me a bit and...”

He raised his hand gently to interrupt you, a sincere smile on his lips.

“No worries, (YN), I know how distracting he can be, especially when he's excited about something.”

Giuseppe leaned in close to you, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“To tell you the truth, he was really looking forward to spending some time with you.”

Those few words made you pause for a moment. A slight blush spread across your cheeks and a tingling sensation ran through your heart. But before you had time to respond, Abel called out to you as he reached the theater doors, waiting for you to follow him, which you did.

One of the ushers recognized Abel immediately, a polite smile spreading across his lips.

“Mr. Conti. Your private box is ready, as always.”

You frowned as you joined him.

“Your private box?”

Abel shrugged modestly, or at least what could have passed for modesty if his smile hadn't been so proud.

“Mmh. Yes. Let's just say that after a few discreet donations and several years of regular attendance, they decided to grant me a... little privilege.”

He gave you a falsely innocent look and began to whisper so that only you could hear him.

“And with a little check from Cain, too.”

He straightened up and cleared his throat, his lips returning to their usual smile and his eyes regaining the mischief and gentleness you had grown to love.

“A private box. Better acoustics. Better view. Better seat.”

You stared at him, a little stunned but amused at the same time.

“So you come here like other people go to the local café.”

“I love the theater, what can I say?”

“Thanks, Cain.”

You smirked, waiting for his reaction, which was not long in coming. His eyes widened and he looked at you as if you had just said the most scandalous thing of the last century.

“”Thanks, Cain”?! You mean thanks, Abel! Cain may have signed the check, but they know me here. Without me, you wouldn't have this private box, darling.“

As you were about to reply, Abel pressed his index finger against your lips.

”No, not another word before I have a panic attack hearing you talk such nonsense."

You both entered the theater and looked around, a little impressed. As soon as you stepped through the heavy glass doors, a muffled warmth enveloped you. The theater lobby was bathed in soft, golden lighting that glided over the antique woodwork and intricate moldings. The marble floor, polished by years of use, reflected the elegant silhouettes of the audience, and a subtle scent of amber and old paper hung in the air.

Abel led you without hesitation, greeting an employee here and exchanging a knowing glance there. He clearly knew every corner of the place.

Then a question popped into your head, and you couldn't resist asking it, even though it would certainly break the dramatic aesthetic of the moment and, above all, you might look a little silly in his eyes.

“And... Do they sell popcorn?”

Abel looked at you, shocked as if you had just blasphemed.

“Popcorn?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness.

“What, it's a show. I'm hungry.”

He placed a hand on his chest, as if his deepest pride had been wounded.

“My God... I'm taking you to see a Shakespeare play in a century-old theater, in my private box, and all you can think about is popcorn... I'm going to have to rethink your entire cultural education program.”

“I'll have you know that in Twelfth Night, there are also jesters and drunk people. I'm right on theme.”

He burst out laughing, shaking his head, almost touched despite himself.

“Well played. But sorry, you'll have to survive without popcorn. Instead, you'll get a velvet armchair, a glass of champagne, and my exquisite company. It's not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Honestly, I've had worse deals.”

With that, he took a discreet side staircase that led upstairs, away from the main commotion. Abel's box was on the right side of the room, slightly set back but perfectly centered in relation to the stage. In fact, it overlooked everything. Two large, deep burgundy velvet armchairs, more comfortable than some sofas, stand alone behind a carved wooden railing, their rounded backs facing the rest of the room, as if to emphasize their exclusivity. A small mahogany coffee table has been set up, where two champagne glasses are already waiting, ready to be picked up.

You look around the room, impressed. From here, the stage seems close without being too close, framed by a crimson curtain held back by golden tiebacks. The painted ceiling depicts a cloudy sky dotted with cherubs and allegorical figures, and in the center, a huge crystal chandelier shines above the parterre.

The room slowly fills with elegant murmurs rising like a breeze, while a lone violinist tunes his instrument in the orchestra pit.

Abel settles into his seat with a satisfied sigh, crossing one leg over the other.

“See? I told you it was worth surviving without popcorn.”

You settle into your seat, your fingers sliding over the soft velvet, your gaze drawn to the majesty of the place.

“I think I'm ready to believe you. But if the play is rubbish, I'll give you an earful.”

He laughs softly, turning his head slightly toward you.

“Don't worry. Shakespeare has never disappointed me.”

And the lights dimmed, giving way to the voice of the stage manager announcing the start of the show.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The play has been going on for several minutes now. On stage, the actors recite their lines with passion, the ancient words resonating with astonishing clarity. The dim light of the box softens the contours of the theater, almost isolating your gaze in a world apart.

You glance at Abel. He is completely absorbed in the performance. His face is turned toward the stage, his chin slightly raised, his blue eyes shining intensely.

From the side, you can see the small beauty spot he has under his right eye. You notice that his lips are barely moving, silently reciting the lines, almost whispering them, as if he too were acting in the shadows, secretly sharing the stage with the actors. There is something deeply theatrical about his posture.

His back is straight, his fingers resting on the armrest as if he were controlling the moment, and there is a slight quiver in his eyes when a line reaches its emotional peak. A very special light comes on in his eyes, a mixture of passion, nostalgia perhaps, or simply a sincere love for this art.

You stand there for a moment, no longer watching the stage. Just listening to the voices, while your eyes follow Abel's subtle movements. He smiles slightly, every feature of his face seeming to be carried by the words he knows by heart. It's almost intimate, this moment shared with him without him knowing.

You don't know if he's replaying an old memory, imagining himself in the actor's place, or simply experiencing the play through his own skin. But you know that you're seeing him as he is when he no longer needs to perform.

And that, perhaps, is even rarer than the play itself.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The play ended to thunderous applause, but it was in the calm outside that the moment seemed to linger. Abel refused to get back in the limousine, saying that the fresh air would do him good. And you didn't protest. The night was mild, and walking beside him in this bubble suspended after the theater had something almost soothing about it.

The city streets were quiet, a few streetlights cast their golden glow on the sidewalk, and your footsteps echoed softly in the empty streets.

Suddenly, Abel groaned and broke the moment of tranquility.

“I'm starving.”

You turned your head toward him, raising an eyebrow.

“You had two glasses of champagne and a box of chocolates in your box, wasn't that enough?”

He puts a hand on his stomach with a dramatic pout.

“That was just decoration. Who can survive on three caramel truffles and a raisin, anyway?”

You laugh softly, shrugging your shoulders.

“If it makes you feel any better, my dad's not here tonight. So if you're really hungry, I can whip something up at home.”

He pauses for half a second, a little surprised, then resumes walking with a smirk.

“Is that an official invitation to your humble abode?”

You roll your eyes, already a little too used to his theatrical tone.

“It's an offer of food. Don't get carried away.”

He chuckles softly, his hands in his pockets, his blond hair ruffled by a light breeze.

“Too late, I already feel honored.”

A few steps later, you arrive at your house. The porch is silent, bathed in the light of an outdoor lamp. You take out your keys, glancing at him.

“Are you sure you don't want to order something in your air-conditioned limousine?”

“Nah. I want a real meal, a real table, something that's not just frozen fries and a burger that isn’t really tasty.”

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling.

The door opens, the house is silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere changes, becoming more intimate, more intimate. Abel follows you in, looking around like an actor discovering the backstage of a new theater.

Abel closes the door behind him, looking around with discreet curiosity. He takes off his jacket, hangs it on the back of a chair, and as you walk toward the kitchen, he stays in the hallway for a moment.

He finally decides to speak, his voice lower.

“It's cozy here.”

He pauses for a moment, looking around a little more. Sugarball is sleeping on a chair. Abel strokes his head and Sugarball starts to growl without opening his eyes, wagging his tail in annoyance and making Abel quickly withdraw his hand.

“It's the kind of house where you can breathe without worrying about how you're holding your cup of tea.”

“What? You do that at your place?”

“No, but I'm glad I don't have to do it here either.”

You smile without turning around, putting down your keys and taking off your shoes automatically.

“Thanks, by the way. And if you're saying that because it's a bit messy, know that I take it as a compliment.”

He laughs softly, then follows you into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. He stops short when he sees the empty box on the counter, traces of your lunch still visible. He leans over to read it, as if he still can't believe what he's seen.

“...Canned ravioli?”

You shrug, your arms already reaching for a cupboard.

“What? It's convenient. Quick.”

But when you turn around, Abel is standing there, frozen, his eyes wide with contained horror.

“Convenient?! Quick?!” 

He shakes his head, raises his hands to the sky.

“Madonna mia... ma è una tragedia culinaria!”

You stifle a laugh.

“Did you just curse my cooking?”

He approaches the box, grabs it between two fingers as if handling a radioactive artifact.

“You can't call that ravioli. That's not ravioli. Those are imposters. Crimes in cans. I'm personally offended. My great-grandmother is crying in her grave.”

You look at him with a big smile, both amused and exasperated by his behavior.

“You're going to survive, or do I have to make you a plate of real Parmesan to appease your ancestors?”

He pretends to think about it, puts the can down gently, as if not to trigger a curse, and looks at you with a smirk.

“I'm not saying no to a dish of apology. But I'll be watching. I refuse to let you massacre pasta a second time.”

Abel, with a fake look of concentration, walks over to the cupboards, already rolling up the sleeves of his sky blue shirt he had pulled down earlier. You watch him intently as he opens one cupboard, then another, with almost scientific seriousness.

“Flour... olive oil...”

He sighs when he sees that you don't have much to stuff the ravioli with. He takes the ground beef out of your fridge, which your dad bought a few days ago at the supermarket. He mumbles a little, not very happy with his find.

“Let's say it'll do...”

He takes out the ingredients one by one, lining them up on the counter with unexpected efficiency.

“Salt, eggs... (Y/N), tell me you have eggs.”

“Third drawer in the fridge.”

He opens it and nods with satisfaction.

“We're saved.”

You watch him a little open-mouthed as he even finds an old rolling pin, a salad bowl, and pulls out a clean dish towel with the elegance of a Michelin-starred chef. It's a transformation. He's no longer acting, or rather, he's playing a role that comes naturally to him.

"We're going to make homemade ravioli, the kind you'll eat and your taste buds will never forget.“

You approach, curious, washing your hands, ready to help.

”What do I do?"

He hands you a knife and points to the herbs to be chopped. But as soon as you put the blade down, the sound of metal against the board makes him turn slowly.

He looks at you. Then at the basil. Then at you again.

Silence.

Then he puts his hand on yours.

“Never mind.”

You frown. 

“Am I really that bad?”

He takes the knife from your hands, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes.

“If you want me to be a hypocrite, I'll say I'd rather do it so you can relax, but if you want me to be honest, then yes, you are.”

So you step aside, slightly amused, and simply sit down on the edge of the worktop, your legs dangling. And you watch.

He works without talking. He knows exactly what he's doing. His movements are fluid and precise. He beats the eggs into the flour without spilling any, kneads the dough as if he's done it a thousand times before, then leaves it to rest under a tea towel. He prepares the filling next to him, tasting and adjusting. He tastes again, squints, adds a pinch of salt.

You don't say anything. You don't need to. It's peaceful, as if the kitchen has suddenly been cut off from the rest of the world. He is focused, intent, and you watch him. The crease in his brow, the way his mouth sometimes murmurs something in Italian, the supple movements of his hands.

And in this quiet silence, you realize that it's not just a meal he's preparing. He's offering you a little piece of himself, without saying a word. A little bit of his world, his roots, what he loves.

A sweet moment. A rare moment.

And you tell yourself that you could definitely get used to these little moments, even enjoy them.

As the water begins to simmer in the large pot on the stove, a sweet scent of herbs and flour already fills the air.

Abel, focused, tastes one last time to make sure everything is perfect. Then he exhales slightly, as if he has just accomplished a mission of the utmost importance.

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, then turns back to you, leaning against the counter with a falsely authoritative air.

“Come on, assistant chef, set the table.”

A small smile appears on his face.

“You can do it, right?”

You roll your eyes but don't respond, then straighten up to open a drawer and take out the cutlery. You feel his gaze follow you for a moment, but he says nothing, simply resuming his task, gently placing the ravioli in the boiling water one by one, almost tenderly.

You set the table your own way, without thinking too much about it, two plates, two glasses, the cutlery laid out simply, but with the napkins folded a little more neatly than usual, as if the occasion deserved it.

In the silence between you, all you can hear is the water boiling, the slight clinking of the dishes, and, at times, a satisfied sigh from Abel.

You glance over at your couch and TV, thinking that a quiet dinner with Abel in front of a movie might be a good idea for a future date.

A future what? You shake your head, trying to forget what you just thought.

When you're done, you return to the counter. He doesn't say anything. He just nods, looking at the table, as if silently approving of your work. Then he looks at you again, his eyes sparkling with a knowing gleam.

“Not bad. Almost worthy of a real Italian dinner.”

Abel then places the ravioli in a small round dish and carries it to the table like a work of art, still steaming. He sets it in the center and is about to sit down, but his eyes linger for a moment on the living room, just behind you.

The sofa, the dim light, the television still off.

He looks up at you with a smile on his lips.

“Tell me... why bother eating at the table when we can sprawl out in the supreme comfort of a sofa?”

You stare at him, a little surprised, but not opposed to the idea. Was he reading your mind?

“You want to eat in front of the TV?”

“Yeah, why not? It would be almost criminal not to. Look at this atmosphere, it's made for it.”

You let out a little laugh. He's not wrong. The room is quiet, the temperature is just right, and the idea of settling down together on the sofa with a hot plate in your hands has something sweet and simple about it. You didn't expect you'd be thinking the same thing.

Abel stands up, fetches two plates, and fills them with the same care as a waiter in a fine restaurant. Then he hands you one.

“And if the movie's no good, we'll improvise a heated debate about the best pasta dish ever. But I'm warning you, if you say penne, I'm getting up and leaving.”

You laugh again, a little louder this time, as you take your plate. He winks at you and follows you to the sofa.

You settle down, too, close by, but not too close. Just close enough to feel the reassuring warmth of his presence. You turn on the TV, but you already know that no matter what movie is on, your attention will probably be elsewhere.

And when you turn your head toward Abel, you see him already picking at a ravioli with extreme concentration, as if it were a blind taste test of his own cooking.

You ask him softly and curiously.

“Verdict?”

He chews slowly, frowns, then nods with satisfaction.

“It's a work of art. I'm a genius.”

You roll your eyes, a smile already playing on your lips.

When it's your turn to taste, you gently bring the fork to your lips, a little curious. You were expecting something good, but Abel is the kind of person who doesn't do things by halves, and from the first bite, you freeze for a moment.

It's really good. Very good.

The dough is thin, the filling perfectly seasoned, it's simple but tasty.

You turn slightly toward him, a little taken aback, your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Wait... you seriously made this?”

Abel doesn't answer right away. He chews slowly, looking very focused, then puts down his fork, wipes the corners of his mouth with an imaginary napkin, and turns his head toward you with a lazy smile.

A small smirk appears on his lips.

“You thought I was bluffing?”

You don't say anything, but your expression speaks for you. He's clearly enjoying himself, his eyes shining in the dim light of the living room.

“I told you you deserved better than canned ravioli, didn't I?”

You nod slowly, still a little bluffed.

“And just imagine if it was meat from the butcher. It would be even more perfect.”

Very proud of his effect, he leans back against the sofa with a satisfied sigh.

“I'm irresistible, cultured, charismatic, and now an outstanding cook. It's crazy, I'm surpassing myself.”

You laugh again. He's good at making you laugh, he's proven it all day long.

With your fork in the air, you reply before shaking your head and smiling.

“You know you're unbearable, right?”

“Absolutely. And yet you let me in.”

You scoff but have no reply. You end up watching a movie on a random channel without much expectation.

The movie plays, it's not very interesting, a fairly basic romance between the unpopular girl who's top of the class and the captain of the football team. The two are destined to hate each other, but they end up working together on a group project for their science class.

Your gaze wanders to Abel, who seems focused on the movie, unlike you.

You take the time to observe him, to observe his face from the side. His profile is perfectly drawn, as if it had been designed to be captured by an artist's brush. The warm light from the living room gently highlights the curve of his jaw, sharp but not too angular, just enough to define his face without making it look harsh.

A strand of his blond hair falls softly across his forehead. It moves slightly as he turns his head slightly, focused on his bite, unaware, or too aware, of the way you're looking at him. His eyes, an almost too perfect light blue, catch the light as if they were carved from glass. There was something both playful and intense in their sparkle, a quiet mischief mixed with a passion that was difficult to hide. Even when he said nothing, his eyes spoke for him.

He turns his head slowly, and when his eyes meet yours, it only takes a second to understand. His smile widens, a little mocking, a little tender, but above all very Abel.

“What? Did I get something on my face?”

He tilts his head slightly, feigning concern, but his voice betrays his amusement with his distinct smirk. And you, caught in the act, look away, shaking your head gently to chase away the embarrassment. But it's too late.

You looked at him for too long. He saw you. And of course, he's not going to let you get away with it that easily.

“You were staring at me, admit it.”

His tone is low, almost soft. Not accusatory. Just playful.

You shrug your shoulders, looking falsely jaded.

“Maybe I was wondering how someone so unbearable can make such good ravioli.”

He laughs. A real laugh, light, affectionate. He puts his fork down on the coffee table, then leans toward you a little, his face a little closer to yours. Not too close. Just enough for you to feel the space shrink.

“Mystery is part of my charm.”

His gaze seeks yours, insistent but not pressing. As if he's waiting for something. An answer. Or just that you won't look away this time.

And you don't.

Then, after a few seconds where you thought for a moment that you were going to give in and kiss him, he pulls back and grabs the remote, turning off the TV.

“Well, I see the movie's boring you. That's good, because it's boring me too.”

“The theater was definitely more interesting.”

“Yeah, of course, how could you even doubt that? Especially when there aren't any corpses falling from the ceiling.”

You grimace at his words, remembering that moment, but not wanting to ruin the mood, you try to lighten the atmosphere.

“At least it didn't ruin your performance...”

“Are you kidding? Where were all the roses the audience was supposed to throw at me? The applause and screams from people impressed by my talen-.”

“Are you acting or are you just being pretentious?”

Abel crosses his arms, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You think I'm playing? Don't move, I'll show you what playing really is.”

Abel suddenly stands up and knocks everything off the coffee table, throwing it all on the floor, much to the delight of Sugarball, who pounces on Abel's plate, which has one last ravioli on it.

You look at him, surprised and confused, but before you have time to ask him, he climbs onto the table, clears his throat, and takes on a much more serious expression.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And, by opposing, end them”

The words roll around the room, carried by a vibrant, almost trembling tone. No thunder. No exaggeration. But such controlled intensity that you forget to breathe. He's not acting, not really. He's living what he's saying. And that changes everything.

You don't move. You can't.

You watch him. That's all.

Every gesture. Every nuance in his voice. Every sparkle in his eyes.

He moves forward, backward as best he can on the small table, raises his hands, then lowers them in an almost painful whisper. He gives everything. For you. Maybe not consciously, maybe just because he doesn't know how to do anything else but give himself completely when he's on stage, even an improvised stage in a living room, lit by the pale light of a paused movie.

Your heart beats faster. Not because of Hamlet. Not really.

Because of him.

Because of who he is, there, in front of you.

A little too real. A little too beautiful.

“The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.”

And when he finishes, when the last words fade away, he stays there for a moment, motionless, his gaze lost somewhere above you. Then he slowly lowers his eyes to you, his lips parted, breathing heavily.

You still haven't moved.

And he looks at you, this time really, breathless, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Well?”

But you... you still can't find the words.

Abel looks at you, as if worried about your reaction, a grin appearing on his face as he tries to lighten the mood.

He raises his arms in the air as if waiting for an ovation, then takes a theatrical bow, one knee bent, hand on his heart.

“Thank you, thank you, I'm available for weddings, funerals, and private receptions. I accept payment in cash or compliments.”

A small, slight smile floats across your lips, almost in spite of yourself. He sees it. He never misses it. His expression softens, just a little. He straightens up, runs a hand through his hair, as if to brush away the tension he himself has created.

“Or maybe you're just shocked that I didn't miss a single line. Is that it?”

“That was... beautiful, Abel.”

You pause. He doesn't say anything. He listens to you.

“You weren't just good, you were...” 

You search for the right words, because you want to be precise, you want him to understand.

“You did more than just recite a script. You were there. You lived every word.”

He still doesn't speak. He's not laughing either. He's really listening to you.

“I understand why you love it. Why you need it.”

Your eyes meet his. He doesn't smile this time. Not right away. He just stands there, frozen. Maybe he didn't expect you to be so honest. Maybe he didn't think it would affect you so much. He finally opens his mouth.

But he closes it again, unable to say anything.

And now it's you who's looking at him in silence.

It's not really a theatrical moment anymore. It's just a moment between the two of you. Suspended.

And in that intensity, you yawn, unintentionally of course, and with that you get a chuckle from Abel.

“Tired, darling?”

You smile and nod a bit, teasing him some more.

“I guess your theatrical performances have worn me out.”

You look at the clock on the wall. It's almost midnight. It's not that late, but your rhythm is set like a school schedule. Up early, to bed early.

Abel gets off the table and gently grabs your upper arms and lays you down on the sofa before sitting down himself, gently guiding your head to rest on his lap.

He runs his hand through your hair and whispers a few words.

“I'll wait until you fall asleep and then I promise I'll leave. Your father won't have any idea I was here.”

You shift to get more comfortable and close your eyes, your voice soft and tinged with tiredness.

“Okay... Thank you, Abel, for today. It was great.”

He doesn't answer right away. Your eyes are closed, and you feel yourself slowly drifting off to sleep.

His hand continues to slide slowly through your hair, his movements calm, steady, almost hypnotic. He looks at you for a moment without saying anything, then, in a low voice, as if telling you a secret.

“I'll make more days like this for you. I promise.”

And he stays there, motionless, silent, until your breathing becomes steady.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The soft morning light filters through the half-open curtains. Your eyes open slowly, still heavy with sleep. You sit up in bed, a little confused. You don't remember lying down. And yet there you are, comfortably tucked under your duvet, your socks still on, your sweatshirt slightly pulled up over your stomach.

It doesn't take you long to figure it out.

Abel.

You get up slowly, your steps still a little unsteady on the warm floor of your bedroom. Your gaze instinctively falls on the shelf because you notice that something is wrong. And indeed, there is a special place where you always keep your old Polaroid camera... but it's not there.

It's on your desk.

Intrigued, you approach. And you see it. Next to the camera is a photo, a recent one, and a small note, carefully folded.

You grab the photo first. It's Abel, shirtless, facing your mirror, holding the Polaroid in one hand, a cheeky smile on his lips.

He obviously took off his shirt just for the photo, just for fun, to get a reaction out of you. A little too proud of himself, as always. Or maybe he did it sincerely, thinking you'd like it, which you clearly did.

You open the note.

"You were sleeping like a tragic star fallen from the sky. So I carried you to your bed. I cleaned up the kitchen (you can thank me later). Sugarball tried to bite me after I gave him his kibble. I have a scar of honor to prove it. I left quietly, but I couldn't resist leaving you a souvenir. You really have a very flattering mirror, darling.

PS: I'm sure you'll stick this photo somewhere. If it's in your diary, try not to open it in the middle of a lecture.♡"

A smile escapes you, a real, tender, amused smile. That idiot had literally turned your living room into a culinary theater stage, rocked you like a heroine in the final act, and now he's left you proof of his visit. You feel like you’re in the middle of a romantic comedy.

You place the photo against your bedside lamp and reread the note. You're not sure what this thing between you is... but one thing is certain, Abel is never where you expect him to be, he surprises you, helps you feel better, and makes you feel those strange butterflies in your heart. And strangely enough, you like it.

[jitarossun]

Abel dater here 🙋

Can you write a date for Abel like you did for Cain?

Hi to all my dear Abel daters!

Someone else also asked for that so I'm currently writing it, should be out tomorrow! 👀

[jitarossun]

Under the sunset

Summary : After a long day, Cain suggests you take your mind off things by going for a walk.

Pairing : Cain x reader 

TW : none! it’s only a chill time (just one Y/N used)

Words count : 3.5k

A/N : First time I write for Dating Killmulator, fell in love with this game thanks to a friend (hello @littlefrenchiestar). If you haven't played it yet and you like romance games, I recommend it, here's the link: Dating Killmulator, hope you’ll enjoy this fanfic :)

You twirl your pencil between your fingers, your eyes vaguely focused on your notebook covered with notes that you have already partially forgotten. The minutes drag on, each second seeming to weigh a little heavier than the last, and you find yourself letting your gaze drift to the window, where the sun is shining on the campus. Your thoughts wander, touching on recent memories, the assault, the arguments, the encounters, the strange days that follow one after another. Lost in your thoughts, you don't hear the professor calling your name several times, clearly seeing that you are lost in deep thought.

“Y/N?”

You absentmindedly play with the end of your pencil, drawing random lines on your paper without really paying attention, your gaze still fixed outside. The whisper of charcoal against paper is strangely soothing, almost hypnotic. Your mind wanders, carried far away from this classroom, far from the voices of the students around you, far from the incomplete shapes slowly coming to life on your paper. Everything seems to echo in your head without your conscious mind registering it.

“If you keep drawing so badly, I'm going to have to lower your grade, you know?”

The familiar voice abruptly snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, your heart beating a little faster than you'd like to admit, to meet Cain's amused gaze and the smile playing on his lips as he looks down at you.

“Leave me alone, Cain.”

He clears his throat, crossing his arms, feigning a serious expression, lowering his head to look at you over his glasses.

“It's Mr. Montgomery. I said no exceptions.”

You roll your eyes, the charcoal still suspended between your fingers.

“Okay, I got it, Mr. Montgomery.”

You emphasize the last name, your tone oscillating between exasperation and forced amusement.

A smile stretches across Cain's lips, a mischievous gleam shining behind his glasses.

“Perfect. I don't like repeating myself.”

He straightens up slowly, sliding a finger across the corner of your desk as if symbolically marking his territory.

“Nevertheless, you'll still come see me after class.”

He smirked and returned to the front of the classroom, facing the class, each student already preoccupied with more important things than listening to you talk. Some were talking and laughing, others were drawing, either carefully or just doodling.

And there you were, sitting in the front row, obviously the exact spot where Cain had placed you, as if he wanted to keep you within sight. Despite his presence, you felt strangely alone, and somehow you knew it wasn't such a bad thing. The last few weeks had been tumultuous enough that you appreciated the distance. Between Emily, who had literally exploded with anger, and José, whose jerkish attitude had left you bitter, you had your share of friendly tensions.

Fortunately, you have also met some great people. Cain, Abel, Florian... even Maya, who seemed to be a much healthier influence than the others. Well, if you ignored the fact that two of them were murderers whose pasts and current situations you knew nothing about.

Your thoughts were still drifting between these recent memories when Cain suddenly clapped his hands, signaling the end of class. His gaze fell on you, one eyebrow slightly raised, as if to make sure you weren't planning on slipping out.

As you watched the other students leave the room one by one, their conversations and laughter gradually faded away in the hallway, silence finally fell, heavy and palpable. You were alone, or almost alone, with only you and Cain left, leaning casually against his desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you with a smug expression.

You let out a sigh, finally raising your gaze to meet his. Someone had to break the silence. And, as usual, it was you who did it.

“What's the problem, Mr. Montgomery?”

You emphasized his last name a little too much once more, unable to resist the temptation to tease him. He deserved it, after all.

Cain smiles amusedly, shaking his head slightly.

“Oh, it's fine, class is over.”

“We're technically still in class.”

He lets out a slight laugh, one of those that sounds almost fake, as if he's mocking you as much as he is himself. Without rushing, he slumps down on the desk next to yours, crossing his legs and arms, his gaze already fixed on you, as if trying to read your mind.

“Are you okay?”

You squint slightly, trying to guess if he's being sincere or if he's hiding something behind the question. Or maybe a little of both, knowing Cain. You hesitate for a moment, the urge to lie to protect yourself clashing with the strange feeling of trust you've come to develop towards him.

“A little tired, but I'm fine.”

His gaze slowly moves down your body, scrutinizing every detail, every tiny movement, as if trying to decipher something you're not saying.

“I can tell.”

He replies with that smirk that always makes you feel like he knows something you don't. You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but he doesn't give you time.

“Want to go get changed and take your mind off things?”

His tone, sincere and almost concerned, catches you off guard. You stare at him, a slight dizziness of vulnerability washing over you. He knows you, probably more than you'd like to admit, while you suddenly realize that you don't know much about him. What you do know is mostly random tidbits gleaned from conversations with Giuseppe, his butler, and even those seem incomplete.

You could have refused. Maybe you should have. But you can't. So instead of making excuses or forcing a smile, you just nod. You accept.

“What's on your mind?”

“We could go to the park, get some fresh air, it'll do you good. And I'm sure you don't mind walking, seeing as you've been sitting in that chair all day.”

His words aren't particularly memorable, but you can't help the little laugh that escapes your lips. It's not so much what he said, or even how he said it. It's more the simple fact that he took the time to observe you, to think about what might make you feel better, and that he decided that, for one reason or another, it was with him that you should spend this time.

And even if you're a little reluctant to admit it, deep down you know that's exactly what you need right now.

“Okay, why not, I guess. It's the end of the day and there aren't any clouds, so I think we'll get a beautiful sunset.”

Cain took off his glasses, then unhooked the badge hanging around his neck and slipped it into his jacket pocket. You stood up slowly and looked him straight in the eye.

“So, can I call you Cain again?”

He didn't answer, just letting out a slight mocking sigh that echoed through the empty room as he headed for the exit. He seemed to expect you to follow him without a word.

And that's exactly what you did. You grabbed your bag, slung it over your shoulder, and took quick steps to catch up with him. Together, you walked toward the university exit, the cool air outside not far away.

You leave the university, the sun slowly beginning to set, tinging the sky with golden light. The coolness of the late afternoon immediately envelops you, a pleasant contrast to the stifling heat of the classroom.

Cain walked beside you, his expression half-teasing, half-serious. After a silence, he said in an almost provocative voice.

“So, tell me... besides daydreaming in class, what else do you do to pass the time?”

You smiled slightly, not really ready to open up completely, but appreciating the attempt at conversation.

“I'm saving my secrets for you.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head.

“Classic. You could at least tell me if you're the type to run or walk fast when you're angry.”

You think for a moment, your eyes lost in the trees lining the path.

“I tend to walk fast, but it depends... if I'm really angry, it often ends in a long silence.”

Cain nods, watching your reactions with interest.

“Interesting. And when you're tired, what do you do?”

You shrug, a little surprised by the question.

“I go to bed early, if I can. Otherwise, I try not to think about it too much.”

A silence falls, but it's no longer heavy. You walk side by side, simply.

“There's a silence there, does that mean you're angry?”

“Why? do you want me to be angry with you?”

“No, but it would make things more interesting.”

You shake your head, letting out a slight amused sigh. He looks at you sideways, the smile still playing on his lips.

“You're an idiot, Cain.”

His smile widens, as if he took your remark as a compliment.

The sound of your footsteps echoes softly on the cobblestones as you finally leave the tall university buildings and enter the shady alleyway that leads to the park. The air is a little cooler here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and cut grass, and you feel your shoulders relax a little, a sensation you clearly don't mind.

Cain, at your side, remains silent for a moment, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if he were discovering the place for the first time. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way the soft light filters through the trees, casting moving shadows on his face.

His golden eyes catch the light like those of a predator on the prowl, the brown, slightly curly strands of his hair standing out against the light background of the trees. The regular crunch of gravel under your feet accompanies your steps as you slowly make your way along the dirt path that winds through the park.

You decide to break the silence between you, even though it's not necessarily uncomfortable.

“So, how was your day?”

“Oh, you know... pretty uneventful. I had to play teacher, pretend to be interested in my students' thoughts, and most importantly, make sure you didn't fall asleep in class.”

He turned to you to see your reaction to his words, but all you did was let a soft, gentle smile spread across your face, illuminated by the twilight.

“I guess you're glad we came out, then?”

He looked back at where he was walking, his arms swinging alongside his body in time with his steps.

“You could say that.”

You continued walking in complete tranquility, the park was rather quiet. It was getting late, and parents were probably already giving their children baths or helping them with their homework. There were a few passers-by here and there, but it was nothing compared to what the park could be like during the day.

The sound of gravel mingled with birdsong as your attention was drawn to some flower beds you were passing by. The petals swayed from side to side in the light breeze, making them look even more majestic.

Unconsciously, you continued to look at them, lingering on each one, analyzing them and wondering if you would like to have them in a bouquet at home.

“You like flowers, huh?”

Your gaze turned to Cain, who was still walking beside you, watching you observe the flowers intently but unable to help leaving you to your thoughts. You weren't surprised that he noticed this small detail, so you just smiled before answering.

“Well, who doesn't like flowers?”

“Oh, believe me, you'd be surprised...”

He looked at the flowers that lined the path on either side of you. He found your simple interest in them cute and amusing; it was a nice change from his everyday life.

“Are you going to pick some for me, gentleman?”

You cross your arms, a smile playing on your lips, one of those smiles you rarely show, but which you know has a way of making him react. Cain laughs, a light, almost surprising sound coming from him, echoing between the trees.

“Do you want me to?”

You pretend to think about it, raising your eyebrows slightly as if the decision requires real effort, when in reality you already have your answer. With a small hum, you finally nod, and without waiting, he heads toward the flower bed.

You watch him crouch down near the delicate stems, his slightly bent silhouette contrasting with his usual confident bearing.

He reaches out and picks several azalea flowers, their bright pink petals forming a delicate crown around their white centers. He examines it for a moment, his gaze almost lost in the delicacy of the petals before he straightens up and returns to you, the small homemade bouquet in his hands.

He smiles warmly at you and you can't help feeling a rush of warmth spread across your cheeks as he offers you the bouquet, looking straight into your eyes, his golden eyes piercing yours with something that doesn't leave you indifferent.

“Thank you, Cain.”

“You're welcome.”

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he did it, as if he was proud that he was doing something that made you happy.

“Let's keep walking, shall we?”

As the two of you walked, the sun continued to set, painting the sky in shades of purple, pink, and orange. Cain couldn't help but watch the sunset, his expression soft as he admired the view.

“You were right about the sunset being pretty...”

His voice was soft, tinged with a tranquility you hadn't seen since the day of the altercation with Caleb. He was resting in his room wearing that Christmas sweater, which you had found so cute at that moment. Just thinking about it made your face soften and your heart flutter, so much so that you forgot to answer him.

Your silence made him look at you, something you didn't notice, he chuckled slightly at that, but he didn't break the comfortable silence between you, he could see that you were lost somewhere in your memories, so he left you alone.

As you walked on in silence, you finally reached the center of the park, which opened onto a small paved square lined with benches and wrought-iron lamp posts, their black paint slightly chipped by time. In the center, a small fountain murmured softly, and just opposite, you spotted an ice cream shop, its colorful umbrellas contrasting with the green tones of the park.

You squinted slightly, your thoughts interrupted not by Cain's voice but by the sight of the little shop, remembering that it had been set up recently, following a decision by the city council to “modernize” the park. Despite the enthusiastic rumors of some students, you had never been there, always too busy or too preoccupied to stop.

Cain follows your gaze and, without even giving you time to look away and give him your best puppy dog eyes, he smiles and suggests what you had in mind, what you were waiting for.

“Want to go check it out?”

You bite your lip slightly, a little embarrassed at having been so easily found out and you shrugged, trying to look casual. 

“Why not... I've never been there.”

He didn't answer, and you headed toward the shop. It was perhaps a little late in the day for ice cream, and it wasn't particularly hot, but the idea of a little sweet treat made your mouth water.

As you enter, you immediately feel a slight chill run through you, the cool air from the freezers contrasting with the slight warmth still present outside. But you don't mind; on the contrary, the coolness is invigorating.

The shop is small but charming, with pastel-colored tiles covering the walls and fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, creating a soft and colorful atmosphere. The counter is filled with brightly colored ice cream tubs, ranging from raspberry pink to sky blue, each flavor giving off a sweet and intoxicating scent. Behind the counter, an employee in a white and pink uniform greets them with a professional smile.

Cain stops just behind you, slipping his hands into his pockets before tilting his head slightly toward you.

“Pick whatever you want. It's on me.”

“Aren't you getting anything?”

“No, not today, but that's no reason for you not to have some, so go ahead and choose.”

You approach the counter, your eyes scanning the different flavors before settling on a bright orange tub dotted with small pieces of fruit.

“I'll have a mango ice cream in a cone.”

The employee nods, quickly grabs a crispy cone and starts scooping two generous scoops of ice cream, their bright color contrasting nicely with the softness of the cone.

Glancing quickly at Cain, you notice that he is still watching you, a slight smile on his lips, as if amused by your choice.

Cain takes out his wallet with his usual nonchalance, paying before you can even protest.

“Thanks.”

You smile shyly at him, and he smiles back with a confidence that is much greater than yours, but you can definitely see that he's happy to make you happy.

As you step outside, the warm air of the park contrasts nicely with the coolness of the shop. You walk quietly along one of the tree-lined paths, the gravel crunching softly under your feet, until Cain stops in front of a wooden bench, a little out of the way, offering an unobstructed view of the sky beginning to turn shades of pink and orange.

Without waiting, he sits down, resting one arm on the back of the bench with his characteristic relaxed confidence, and looks up at the sky with a soft sigh.

You sit down next to him, placing the small bouquet of azalea flowers beside you and occasionally licking your ice cream, which is delicious. The intense cold melts almost instantly on your tongue, and you love the strong fruity flavor of the ice cream. You can taste the freshness of the mango subtly mingling with the slight bitterness of the crispy cookie. It's both comforting and invigorating, a simple but deeply satisfying treat.

“Want to try some?”

Your voice is soft and your tone gentle as you turn toward him and lift the ice cream slightly to bring it to his lips, not really giving him much choice.

He squints, amused by your boldness, then delicately catches the ice cream with the tip of his tongue, as if tasting a rare treasure.

His gaze softens for a moment, surprised by the coolness and intense sweetness of the mango, before a smile returns to light up his face.

“Not bad at all, you have good taste.”

You look at him and move a little closer to him on the bench, your shoulder almost touching his. You turn slightly towards him, enjoying the magnificent view you both have.

“Let's share it, if you like it too.”

Cain chuckled and watched you enjoy the ice cream as you held it out to him, gently stopping you with his hand.

“That's very kind, but I'll let you finish it. I got it for you, after all.”

You don't insist, but you sense that he wants this little moment to be yours, a little sheltered from the world, like a bubble he doesn't want to disturb. If only he knew how much it would have meant to you.

A soft, soothing silence falls between you as you slowly finish your ice cream. Sitting side by side on the old wooden bench, you watch the sun slowly sink behind the trees. Warm orange and pink colors light up the sky, painting a silent picture that seems suspended in time.

“So, tell me, did you enjoy the end of the day?”

You turn to look at him, but his gaze is fixed on the blazing horizon.

“Honestly? Yes. It was... calm, simple, and a little unexpected.”

He raises an eyebrow, then decides to turn to you, looking down at you from his slightly taller position.

“Simple, huh? Just you, me, a bench, and a sunset. Nothing more needed?”

“Sometimes the simplest things are the most precious.”

A comfortable silence settles in as the sky continues to glow, but your eyes remain locked on each other.

“Would you like to do this more often?”

Cain asked, almost as if it were a proposal, a little hesitant. Your stomach knotted a little, wondering if he had just asked you out on a date or if it was just a little get-together between friends. You swallowed, melting little by little under his gaze before nodding gently and responding in a voice no louder than a whisper.

“Yes.”

Cain smiled sincerely and looked back at the horizon. With a bold gesture and without a word, you rested your head on his shoulder. Either this was going to be the most awkward moment of your life, or it was going to be a lovely moment.

He doesn't move, even though he looks a little surprised, letting your head rest there, a tender smile forming on his lips. He tilts his own head slightly, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

The sky glows a little brighter as you both watch the sun disappear, you snuggled up against him, and him snuggled up against you.

[jitarossun]

Smoke and Sparks

CHAPTER SIX

Summary : With a knot in your stomach, it was finally time to go see what Salo wanted and get things straight once and for all.

TW : Slight mention of violence, Salo being a bit of an asshole, use of Y/N

Pairing : Salo x fem!reader

Words count : 6.2k

A/N : Sorry for the long wait but there it is ! Hope you enjoy it. This one gotta be my favorite so far :)

-> Previous chapter

Waking up was complicated. You'd slept well in terms of quality, but not in terms of time. You would have stayed a few hours longer, but the sun was slowly starting to rise, the first few rays coming through your window. The light was gradually coming into your room. You hadn't closed your blinds and curtains for fear of falling back asleep, and you were right to do so, considering how tired you were.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, you rubbed your face with both hands, trying to chase away the tiredness, but nothing helped, your eyes crinkled slightly automatically, your dark circles were well marked, but what hurt the most was that lump in your stomach. The stress was taking hold of your stomach, you felt like you urgently needed to go to the bathroom, but at the same time you had this feeling that you were going to throw up.

Salo could at least have warned you. Why was it that whenever he had an idea in mind, he left you stressing in your corner without even talking to you about it? As much as you liked a bit of mystery, it was a bit too much for you right now.

And that was a problem for you right now, you didn't know how to dress. Because even though you knew it was going to be sunny and hot, you wished you'd adapted your clothes to the situation you were going to find yourself in in a very short time.

Having worked up the courage to get out of bed, you opened the window and shutters of your bedroom, bathing it in the soft morning twilight. With no clouds on the horizon, it looked like a warm, sunny day. You took a few minutes to look at the sky, which was slightly pink and orange in the distance, marking the beginning of the day and the end of the night.

After this relaxing moment, you were already feeling a little better after taking the time to breathe in the fresh air. Heading for the bathroom and having tested the day's temperature a little, the question of how you were going to dress was answered, as a matter of course. Beautiful sunshine like this deserves a beautiful dress to wear. So you reached into your closet and pulled out a few, one long, one short, one with long sleeves, one yellow, one blue, one red. And your decision was obvious once you saw the green dress, an olive-green long dress, fluid and satiny, that catches the light with every movement. The bodice is delicately embroidered with leafy motifs, hugging the bust with finesse. Slender straps reveal the shoulders, and a side slit gives a glimpse of the leg. The draped fabric at the waist creates an undulating effect, as if the dress were gently breathing.

You grabbed the dress with a gesture that was still a little sleepy, then slipped into the small bathroom adjoining your bedroom. The cool shower water gently woke you up, chasing away the last traces of sleep. After drying off, you let your hair fall freely to your shoulders, still warm from the hairdryer. You then slipped on the dress, its satin fabric sliding lightly against your skin, almost like a caress. A final brush stroke to tame your hair, a quick glance in the mirror... and you're ready. Your stomach a little in knots, but your heart beating with anticipation.

A quick glance in the mirror and, despite the traces of struggle on your neck, you looked magnificent, resplendent, breathtaking. You couldn't help wondering whether Salo would like your outfit. You didn't care what he thought, you didn't have to answer to him, and yet deep down you couldn't deny that there was something more than intriguing about him, that ultimately, his opinion of you mattered more than you were willing to assume.

You came out of the bathroom, hesitating for a moment to take a little cardigan in case it got cold, but if it got hot, you'd be bothered to carry around an item of clothing you didn't even wear until Salo let go and decided to let you go to God knows where.

You slipped in your sandals, hoping they wouldn't be too much of a problem where you were going. Then, without wasting another second, you left your room and headed straight for Salo's office. But you sensed something was different from previous times. The last few times, you'd gone in with a sinking feeling in your stomach. Well, to tell you the truth, you still felt sick to your stomach at the thought of going, but this time there was also a kind of anticipation, a kind of excitement at the idea of going to see him, of discovering what he had prepared for you. You couldn't express what you were feeling, couldn't even put your finger on it, but even if you were a little ashamed of it, you've got to admit that when he put you up against the wall yesterday, it was a bit of a turn-on.

Thinking back, your cheeks turned a tad red, his smell, his presence, his eyes, even if he pissed you off to no end, how could you not admit that he was having a bit of an effect on you?

Given that it was early in the morning, there was no one in the corridor, which was logical enough in itself, but it made you feel strange. You thought they all got up very early, working endlessly until they were exhausted, every day, until very late at night. Well, that's what you thought, except for the rich, of course. The rich like councilors for example, like Salo, a man who had just inherited all the power, money and influence, without having to fight to get it.

And that was what made you and him so different. He was a bourgeois who hadn't really known any hardship and who just had to snap his fingers to get what he wanted, whereas you had lived in the undercity, going through many hardships that have forever marked you for barely having enough to survive.

You were two strangers from two very different worlds, and yet something drew you to him. And you had no idea whether you liked it or not.

After a short walk, you stood once more in front of his office door, your heart racing, you looked at your outfit, checking one last time that everything was correct, and then you knocked on the door. A moment's silence was broken by the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door, before it creaked open. Salo opened the door and had a moment's absence, her gaze settling on your body, at least on the dress you were wearing.

Salo's lips parted, preparing to speak, but no words escaped, he just closed his mouth again and shifted to the side to let you in.

“Please, come in.”

With hesitant steps you moved forward, passing him before he closed the door behind you. He moved to your right, hands on hips, seemingly judging your outfit by the way he looked you up and down.

Instinctively, you couldn't help but feel suspicious, your words coming out of your mouth with a certain venom you regretted letting get into your tone.

“Problem?”

Salo chuckled and flashed you a smile as she looked you straight in the eye, making your heart flutter.

“Absolutely not, I'm just wondering if you'll be comfortable with where we're going in a very short while.”

With a scoff, you crossed your arms and retorted in a slightly accusatory tone.

“I could have had a proper, appropriate outfit if a certain someone would stop having fun playing mystery.”

His smile faded and he put his arms behind his back this time, a serious look suddenly forming his face.

“Very well, then. Don't worry, we'll talk, no more mysteries, no more nothing, the truth, nothing but the truth.”

Even though there was nothing special in your words, you felt a shiver run through your body, you dug your fingernails into the palms of your hand out of stress, not knowing what to say or do.

“Follow me” he said curtly as he left his office.

You followed him without a word, and he didn't speak either. A silence hung over you both, but he seemed more confident than you. He turned around from time to time to make sure you were still there, despite the sound of your two footsteps; he needed visual confirmation.

Guiding you to the exit of the academy, the Piltover streets began to take shape before you, between cafés, small stores, restaurants and dwellings. The clean, colorful streets of the city of progress under the white rays of the morning sun. Life was getting livelier and livelier, with restaurateurs preparing their terraces, residents opening their shutters, people leaving their homes to go to work or to the shops or to drop their children off at school.

In a way, it reminded you a little of Zaun, the bustle, the noise, the life, even if it unfolded quite differently.

In fact, something had jumped out at you as you continued to follow Salo, seeing only the back of his slim body, blond hair, red jacket and white pants from your point of view.

He was alone with you. But not alone with you like in his office, a closed room with only one window. You were alone outside. Usually, it wasn't uncommon for councilors to be accompanied by Enforcers or servants in case of trouble or need of help. But right now, Salo had no one with him. No one but you.

Gradually, you realized that he was guiding you to a less crowded, quieter, more private place, and your heart quickened a little, but you continued to follow him, the silence still reigning between the two of you. This silence had almost become a habit.

Then a gigantic park came into view. A gateway that placed barriers in its continuity, between modern and traditional, here, hidden from view, like a secret shielded from all gaze.

You looked at Salo, waiting for him to give you some answers, because you were 99% sure you were heading for this mansion. But he remained unmoved, without a word, continuing to walk at the same speed, with the same number of steps per minute, with the same straight back and a look that betrayed nothing of his plans.

So, sighing, you just continued to follow him, knowing full well that there would be no point in asking him since his only answer would probably be “you'll see” or “patience”.

Once we reached the large gate, he turned to you and pulled a key from his porch, raising it to eye level.

“We've arrived.”

“I noticed that.”

You couldn't help replying, making Salo roll his eyes as he put the key in the lock of one of the portal doors and turned it. A click sounded and Salo pushed open the large door, which opened wide with a shrill creak. He didn't bother to open the second one as he entered first, waving for you to follow him again.

As you entered, it wasn’t a mansion, but a park, your eyes opened wide at the beauty that overwhelmed your vision. No path to walk on, just a vague expanse of grass as a path, extended by clumps of brilliantly colored flowers, orange lilies, fleshy peonies, lavender in waves of mauve that scented the air with a sweet, slightly wild perfume. There were so many flowers, so many trees, some of which you weren't even sure you knew the name of, that you wondered whether this was really a park in Piltover or whether you were in the heart of nature in Ionia. Further on, wooden benches blend into the background, as if they'd been waiting forever for someone to come and sit on them. And yet, there's no one there but you two. Eventually, the stream widens into a crystal-clear lake, set like a mirror in the heart of the garden. The surface of the water catches the reflections of the sky and the branches of several weeping willows lean over it, and a few leaves float, drifting slowly. The perfectly blue sky matched the ambience of the park. Not a voice, not a step. Just you, just him, in the heart of a garden that seems to have been reserved for you, out of the world, out of time.

A light breeze lifted your hair and rippled your dress as Salo closed the door behind you. He looks at you with a simple but sincere smile.

“I knew you'd like it, it wasn't a bad idea.”

“Ah so for once you did something just for me?”

Salo chuckled and you smirked, you couldn't help teasing him a little, he'd earned it. Besides, there was nothing mean about it.

“For once, yes... Let's go.”

You both started walking next to each other, not behind each other like before, it seemed more equal, healthier, there was this symbolism of you being on the same level, although he was taller, he was beside you and not in front of you anymore.

The cool dawn air brushes against your bare skin as you walk alongside Salo. The pale, still timid morning light spreads slowly over the park, tinting the leaves of the trees with a soft, almost unreal glow. The world around you seems suspended, as if time stood still, still immersed in the silence of the new dawn.

You move forward without speaking, the sound of your footsteps absorbed by the damp grass beneath your feet. Then Salo's voice, lower and deeper than usual, splits the still air.

“Are you going to tell me how you ended up with those wounds?”

Salo then points to the bruise on your neck, visible even in the dim light. It must be said that you weren't exactly hiding it, so why bother.

“Or are you planning to keep it a secret?”

His matter-of-fact tone makes you cringe. Of course you knew he was going to bring it up this morning. You take a deep breath, trying to control the nervousness of the situation and the sorrow of the memory that overwhelms you.

In a tone that was almost too abrupt, you replied simply.

“It's nothing”

Feeling that it clearly wasn't enough and very suspicious, you hastened to add a few more words.

“Just a stupid accident. Besides, it doesn't concern you.”

Salo walks beside you for a moment, but you feel her gaze weighing on you. It's not judgment, not yet, but something in his presence urges you to respond. The silence becomes heavy, almost unbearable.

“You've already told me that. That it doesn't ‘concern’ me”.

He finally stops and stares at you, his expression hard but perhaps not entirely hostile.

“What's happened? Really. Because your bullshit about it being an ‘accident’, I hope you're well aware that I'm not going to believe it for a second.”

You lower your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. You don't really want to talk to her about what's inside you, but you don't really have a choice anymore. After a silence, your voice, lower, finds its way out.

“I was mugged a few days ago.”

You confess, your throat tight, the little lump in your stomach returning as you think about Silco's gaze on you and Sevika's blade on your throat.

Salo looks at you for a moment, his expression indecipherable, then he speaks to you in a calmer voice, as if measuring every word.

“I see...”

His calm caught you off guard, his calm, gentle tone leaving you confused. You didn't know if he didn't care at all, if he felt like laughing at your misfortune but was holding back, or if some tiny part of him was worried about you. You felt like asking for answers, but you didn't dare, not wanting to be disappointed by the reaction he was going to give you.

“Why didn't you tell me then?”

You stop for a moment, the light of dawn fading around you as the sun rises. This is the first time you've really asked yourself the question, so what was stopping you from telling him? The words build up in your throat, but you can't get them out.

“Why would I tell you? I told you it's none of your business.”

You finally whispered, a little louder, as if to protect yourself.

“I think you've done enough to me. I don't need you to prolong the problems you've caused me.”

“Oh, because these wounds were my fault, maybe?”

“Yes! If you hadn't told me to go to Zaun, it would never have happened to me!”

“So you assume it was those rats from the slums who did this to you?”

“Don't talk like that about Zaun, let alone its inhabitants!”

“I'm just telling the truth, darling.”

“I am from the undercity.”

Salo smirked smugly, bending very slightly over to look you in the eyes.

“That's what I'm saying.”

“I don't understand what your fucking problem is. One minute you're looking down on me, the next you're giving me a little more respect before going back to acting like an asshole. Then you seem worried about me, and now you're back to being arrogant and insulting me!”

“I'm just teasing you.”

“Because blackmailing me, sending me to dangerous places knowing the risks after I explained them to you, provoking me, insulting me, and playing with me is 'teasing'?!"

He looks at you for a moment without saying anything, his eyes calculating, analyzing your response. Then he sighs softly, a light, almost imperceptible breath, before shaking his head.

“I'm not a monster.”

His voice has become calmer, almost pensive.

“I may have acted like one, but... I'm not. I could have listened. But I pushed you away, and I regret it.”

His tone is calm, but not cold. There is a depth in his voice that you are not used to hearing, as if the words he speaks carry a weight that he rarely shows. It is a voice that seems to think about each syllable, measuring the impact of his words, with a tone that evokes both restraint and introspection.

He speaks slowly, as if weighing each word before letting it escape, each sentence carried by a gravity you didn't expect from him. There is also a touch of vulnerability, barely perceptible, like a hesitation hidden beneath a facade of control.

He looked into the distance, letting you admire his face from the side, fine and angular, as if carved from stone with precision. His blond hair was pulled back, giving his already rigid face a stiffer appearance. You realized that he took care of every aspect of his appearance to look perfect, to be the perfect councilor to the perfect city of progress. His thin nose, high cheekbones, chin, you couldn't help but admire every little detail of his appearance, whether natural or carefully crafted. His eyes, gazing into the distance, made you feel a slight shiver, that piercing gaze with those light green eyes, hiding who knows what behind them.

But something had changed. You had finally detected slight shadows under his eyelids, traces of a lack of sleep, of fatigue that he hid terribly well, or not at all, given his behavior. Perhaps it was even the trace of insomnia.

As he turns slightly toward you, his green eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade away. The light of dawn glides over his angular features, making his irises shine with an almost ethereal glow, and you feel your breath catch in your throat, frozen under his intense gaze, but above all, you feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

He hesitates for a split second, his jaw tightening imperceptibly, as if weighing his words once more. Then, finally, he speaks, his deep voice echoing softly in the cool morning air.

“You annoy me.”

His eyes pierce yours, his voice accusatory, but you can see in his gaze that there is much more to it than that.

“You came into my life unannounced, with your stories, your determination... At first it was just rumors about a certain extremely talented person at the academy who came from Zaun, then I kept hearing about your exploits every day, all the time, and somehow you end up in front of me at the council with that dear Talis, that person so perfect that everyone saw as the prodigy of this cursed undercity. And I didn't know how to react. You annoyed me for some reason I don't know, I wanted to humiliate you, bring you down from the pedestal where people had placed you. And it wasn't difficult, given your hot temper. I preferred to push you away, to provoke you, rather than...”

He stops, his eyes still locked on yours, and you can almost feel his gaze piercing through your defenses.

“I didn't want to let you get to me the way you got to everyone else.”

He lowered his voice, making it deeper.

“But I'm starting to think that was a mistake.”

He doesn't break eye contact, and you feel your heart beating a little faster, each passing second amplifying the tension between you. You remain impassive, letting him speak as you feel like you're discovering a whole new person.

“Actually, it's not that I'm starting to believe it, it's something I've realized over the course of our conversations, Y/N.”

His eyes lock onto yours, he takes a step forward while you take one back.

“I don't know, I don't know how I feel about you.”

He looks away, finally breaking the invisible bond between you, and resumes walking in silence, his slow, measured steps sinking into the grass. His straight back and slender silhouette blend into the magnificent landscape of the park, the white, red, and gold panels of his coat following the movement of his steps with an almost mechanical elegance.

Without thinking, you start to follow him, your legs seeming to move of their own accord, as if your body refuses to let him go. You notice the slight sway of his shoulders, the precise and controlled way he walks, as if he is calculating every step, every movement.

He doesn't look at you, but you sense that something has changed, as if the mere fact of having spoken to you has lightened some of the weight he carries.

As if ashamed that silence has fallen after his last words, Salo speaks again, his tone drier and more accusatory.

“Are you going to follow me in silence for much longer, or do you have something to say?”

It's true that you hadn't said anything for a while, but at the same time, what could you say to that? You weren't even sure yourself what to say, how to feel, how to react. You can still hear the echo of his words resonating inside you. He confessed something to you, a weakness he tried to hide behind his mask of provocation. Maybe you owe him a little bit of your own truth in return.

You take a breath, the cool dawn air sliding into your lungs like a cold blade, and finally break the silence, your voice lower, more hesitant than you would have liked.

“You wanted to know about my wounds.”

Your eyes are fixed on the ground in front of you, following the movements of his boots as they gently crush the blades of grass.

“It wasn't heroic or noble. It was just... brutal.”

You clench your fists, still feeling the burn in your neck, the suffocating pressure that left that dark bruise on your skin.

“When I went to Zaun, I ran into one of the Chemtech barons.”

You feel your voice break slightly, but you continue, refusing to let the memory overwhelm you.

“I thought it went well and that I'd get away without too much pain, which I did. I managed to get away and reach the bridge, but...”

You stopped talking for a few seconds, thinking about how to talk about it all.

“I let my guard down, I guess. And two people jumped on me, one behind me putting a knife to my throat...”

You traced the wound with the tip of your finger as if to illustrate the scene, to immerse Salo in your memories and your suffering.

“And the other one was in front of me, making it clear that it wasn't a good idea for me to go back to Zaun. Then the person behind me strangled me with his arm, which is where the bruise is...”

Salo remained silent, but you sensed a subtle change in his gait, a new tension in his shoulders. He slowed down slightly, as if to give you time to collect your thoughts, or perhaps to show you that he was really listening this time. As Salo remained silent, looking at you intently, you tried to banish the images of that night from your mind.

“If I said it was your fault, it's because if you hadn't forced me to go to Zaun, it would never have happened.”

He finally spoke after letting you explain yourself, just as you had done with him.

“You should have told me.”

His voice was calm but tinged with a new gravity.

“I know I haven't always been... the most welcoming.”

He let out a short breath, as if he had just externalized something that was eating away at his soul.

“But that doesn't mean I would have let you face this alone.”

He stared at you for a moment, perhaps trying to read something in your eyes, a reaction, a sign that his words were hitting their mark. Then he added, more quietly, almost as if he were allowing himself to confess something for the first time.

“You're not alone. Not with me.”

You felt your cheeks flush, your thoughts clouding under the intensity of his gaze. His words still echoed inside you, heavy with meaning and yet so unexpected. You looked away slightly, staring at the grass beneath your feet.

Salo noticed your embarrassment, the slight tremor in your hands, and without a word, without you even expecting it, he reached out his hand toward you. His fingers, cold but surprisingly soft, rested under your chin, gently lifting your face so that your eyes met his again.

He stared at you, his green irises piercing your own eyes, and you felt your breath catch, as if time itself had frozen around you.

“What are you thinking about?”

His gaze never left you, searching for something you weren't sure you could show him.

“What are you feeling, right now?”

His fingers remained in place, keeping your gaze anchored to his, and you felt trapped, but not in the way you had feared. It was a closeness you hadn't anticipated, a space reduced to a few inches, where even the air seemed denser, more charged with meaning.

You swallowed, your heart beating faster under the intensity of his gaze. Your cheeks were still warm, and you felt his hand, cold but firm, gently holding your chin, forcing you to remain under the weight of his green eyes.

“You... you intimidate me.”

You admitted, your voice little more than a whisper, almost drowned out by the light breeze blowing through the park.

A spark flashed across his eyes, a mixture of surprise and something else, harder to read, but before you could dwell on it, he slowly released your jaw.

Then, without a word, he took a step toward you, then another, until you felt his arm slip around yours, his grip firm but strangely comforting.

He started walking again, keeping you close to him, your strides synchronized despite the strangeness of the situation. The sound of your footsteps intertwined with the song of the first birds, and you felt the warmth of his body against your arm, a solid and reassuring presence despite everything you had been through.

“Better?”

Your face flushed instantly, the red rising to your cheeks like an uncontrollable wave. Your heart was beating so hard that you felt it echoing throughout your body, each beat amplified by Salo's sudden proximity.

“Uh, yes...”

You managed to say without stuttering. You looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer, your arm still trapped in his. You could feel the warmth of his embrace, his firm but attentive grip, and it only intensified your embarrassment.

You bit your lip gently, cursing yourself for not being able to find the words to break the silence, but every time you tried, your mind went blank, leaving only that strange warmth that seemed to invade every fiber of your being.

You walked in silence for a few moments, the soft rustling of the grass beneath your feet accompanying the timid song of birds beginning to greet the morning. The air was cool, filled with that special morning smell, a mixture of damp earth and dew.

Then you reached a more secluded corner of the park, where large flower beds spread out across the ground, their petals still dotted with tiny drops of dew. In the middle of these colorful beds, you noticed a group of red and white flowers, their long, elegant stems swaying gently in the light breeze.

Salo stopped, gently letting go of your arm, and bent down to pick one of the flowers. He examined it for a moment, his slender fingers delicately touching the petals, before straightening up, the amaryllis still in his hand.

He then began to speak, turning the flower between his fingers.

“You know, the amaryllis has always been my favorite flower.”

He paused, his eyes lost for a moment in the delicate patterns of the petals, where the deep red seemed to intertwine with the pure white, like two opposing forces that eventually blend together.

“It represents pride, strength, but also passion and resilience.”

He finally looked up at you, an almost imperceptible gleam of tenderness in his eyes.

“It's a flower that grows despite adversity, that blooms when everything seems against it. I guess that's why I love it so much.”

He gently held the flower out to you, his fingers brushing yours as you took it, and you felt a slight warmth wash over your face again.

“It suits you well.”

Looking at it, touching it lightly with your fingertips, you could feel the smooth texture of the stem contrasting with the turmoil you felt inside. You hadn't expected this attention, this unexpected gesture from him, and it disturbed you more than you wanted to admit.

You finally looked up at him and saw a different gleam in his eyes. His green eyes, often judgmental, were now a little more open, as if, in some way, he had revealed himself a little, or perhaps he was simply waiting for you to respond to his offering.

It was strange. You never really knew how to react to him, especially after what he had done to you. A little unsettled, you searched for words, but they seemed to escape your mind. So you simply responded with a shy nod, a gesture that didn't quite convey the confusion you felt.

“Thank you...”

Your voice was soft, low, simple, almost embarrassed as your eyes fell on the flower in your hand.

Salo looked at you for a moment, a slight smile playing on his lips, and without even giving you time to think, he spoke again, this time with a newfound confidence.

“Maybe I could show you around the park a bit?”

“Isn't that why we're here?”

Salo shook his head.

“No, originally it was just to talk, but I think you might enjoy a little tour. It's a park that few people have had the chance to visit, at least outside the council.”

His words didn't leave you indifferent. It was a simple, small gesture, but it was adorable. He seemed to want to take advantage of this moment to show you something more, perhaps a side of himself you hadn't seen yet. You had no reason to refuse, and a strange impulse urged you to accept, to follow this invitation that seemed both innocuous and full of promise.

“Okay, show me what you want me to discover.”

Without another word, he starts walking again, this time a little slower, giving you the opportunity to follow at your own pace. You walk together, your steps mingling, as the light bathes the park in a reassuring warmth. The silence is soothing, but there is still a fragile tension between you, something unspoken but palpable, ready to blossom at any moment.

You continue walking side by side, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet park. The air was still cool, but the morning sun, still gentle, was gradually warming the atmosphere, enveloping everything in a golden light. Salo walked slowly, leading the way, and with each step, you felt the distance between you shrink a little more.

The space between you wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was less tense than before. At times, you found yourself stealing glances at him, and you could see a slight smile on his face, as if he were savoring the moment in a way he hadn't shown you before.

Then, as you approached the lake, Salo slowed down slightly, glancing briefly at the water, perhaps to see his reflection, perhaps the color of the sky. His jaw tightened, and he seemed to hesitate, then finally spoke.

“Would you like to...”

He paused slightly, his fingers absentmindedly fingering the sleeve of his jacket, as if to gather his courage.

“Would you like to see me again, outside of work, I mean.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused and curious.

“Because it's work right now?”

He laughed and turned to you.

“No, but maybe we could spend some time together like this, if you'd like to.”

His voice was low, almost uncertain, but this time he held your gaze, his eyes searching for something in yours.

“Just to make up for lost time-”

“-That you wasted...”

He cleared his throat as you interrupted him, his gaze drifting away, as if to dispel the slight discomfort he felt.

“Whatever.”

A slight smile appeared on his lips, that expression that was both teasing and a little nervous, which you were beginning to recognize as you saw it more and more.

“Whatever you want, of course.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, and you struggled to suppress a slight smile, your cheeks a little warmer than they had been a few moments earlier. With a slight shrug, you replied.

“Fine, why not, what do you suggest?”

Salo hesitated for a moment, his hands going straight to the lapels of his jacket to adjust them before speaking again.

“I have a telescope at home. A pretty rare model, I must say. If you want, I could show you the stars. The nights are particularly clear at the moment.”

Although he said this with a certain pride, you couldn't help teasing him a little with a smirk on your lips.

“You're never going to stop throwing your bourgeois privilege in my face, are you?”

He let out a slight, almost nervous laugh, a rare occurrence for him.

“That wasn't my intention at all.”

You chuckled and felt your heart beat a little faster at this unexpected suggestion. The idea of seeing a more intimate side of him, of discovering his true self outside of work and conflict, had something strangely appealing about it. You had to admit that you liked the side of him you had already discovered today.

“What do you think?”

He added, his gaze resting on you, that questioning look you were beginning to recognize appearing in his eyes. You could see hope there, but also anxiety, and it surprised you. You looked up at him, strangely touched by the invitation. A slight smile appeared on your lips, and you replied, your voice soft but sincere.

“With pleasure.”

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, he seemed almost vulnerable, his usual mask slightly cracked by your response.

“So let's say this weekend if you're available, Saturday night?”

As you were about to reply, he cut you off and added something.

“And you can have dinner at my place if you want.”

He said with a grin, and as your expression softened, you replied in a soft voice.

“Saturday night then, I'll be there.”

His gaze fell on you again, his green eyes shining with a gleam you couldn't quite decipher, but which warmed your chest slightly despite yourself.

“I'll show you the stars like you've never seen them before.”

Then, without waiting for your answer this time, he started walking again, his steps more confident, as if the idea of this future date had suddenly calmed him down.

[jitarossun]

Okay, I haven't posted anything in a month, that's true. There were end-of-year exams, but! It's (almost) over and so it's the vacations!

So I'm going to continue with smoke and sparks, which has been dragging on for a month (I'm sorry), and post it tomorrow. I'm cooking up a chapter right now, so I hope you'll like it! (I'm putting all my heart into this chapter)

[jitarossun]

Salo from the Arcane artbook

He's so cool like this 😩

[jitarossun]

Smoke and Sparks

CHAPTER FIVE

Summary : On the bridge between Piltover and Zaun, Silco and Sevika have taken you aside, a knife at your throat, so you have no means of escape.

TW : Injuries, death threats, violence, strangulation, use of Y/N

Pairing : Silco x fem!reader / Sevika x fem!reader / Salo x fem!reader

Words count : 3.7k

-> Previous chapter

With the edge of the blade against your neck, you couldn't move at the risk of cutting your own skin, Silco looked at you sideways, his presence giving off a dangerous, terrifying aura. He took a few steps forward, stopping in front of you to look you straight in the eye. Silco may not have been physically imposing, but his presence was enough to make you feel uneasy, in danger.

Your eyes drift below your neck, to the hand holding the blade, then to the muscular arm coming from behind you. Those muscles, that tan skin, that imposing presence, you could have recognized her among thousands. It was Sevika, still at Silco's side after so many years.

If you had a chance of beating Silco in hand-to-hand combat and then running away, there was no way you could beat Sevika. She was taller, more muscular and a far more skilled fighter than you, and even with one arm missing, she'd probably overpower you in no time.

Sevika pressed the blade a little harder against your soft, fragile skin, a little whine escaping from your throat, you closed your eyes, expecting the worst, fear coursing through your whole body.

“Looks like the little lamb got lost and left the meadow.”

Little lamb, that's what Silco called you, he said you reminded him of that, strayed, lost, harmless. And rightly so, you always tried to avoid getting into fights, unlike the others who were much less patient and much more bloodthirsty. You never really got into fights, although sometimes you were itching to put certain people in their place, like Salo for example.

And that's where your nickname came from, he called you that so much that for a while you thought he'd really forgotten your first name.

“Open your eyes Y/N and look at me”.

Of course you did, but now is not the time to disobey her or even Sevika, or you'd probably pay dearly.

Your eyes landed on his, one blue and one orange, surrounded by scars. He sometimes took the time to hide his scars, you told yourself it was so as not to frighten Jinx or Powder, whatever, you never really talked to her.

“I think we need to talk, I'm sure we have a lot to talk about.”

“I-I must explain- I-”

Silco took your face in his hands, raising it a little as he looked down at you, a wry smile playing across his face.

“Are you going to tell me the truth, or are you going to lie like you lied to Finn?”

All of a sudden, it was as if time had stopped and your blood ran cold, a chill ran through your body on top of the coolness of the night, only the rain still seemed able to move around you, and that had accelerated, the rain was falling in torrents around the three of you, alone, on the bridge.

Then you realized that a man as powerful as him had to know everything anyway, so you abandoned the idea of running away or lying again, and with a sigh, you answered in a calmer, softer, more composed voice: “I just didn't want to drag out the conversation and get into trouble with him...”

“Because you'd rather have trouble with me, Y/N?”

“No! that's not what I meant!”

Silco let go of your face and nodded to Sevika, who lowered her knife, taking a step backwards and putting her cloak back on with a flick of her arm.

“We should take her back to Zaun and remind her where she came from!” exclaimed Sevika in her loud voice in an angry tone before Silco replied.

“I don't think that would be necessary, she's planning to tell us the truth now, isn't she?”

His gaze turned to you and very quickly you nodded, his smile never leaving his face as Sevika gritted her teeth as she spoke.

“This is ridiculous, we don't argue with people who betray us by associating with councilors!”

Your blood ran cold once again, your throat tightened and thousands of questions went through your head. How could they possibly know? You hadn't told anyone, and it wouldn't be in Salo's interest to reveal that. You were in the worst possible situation, being caught in so many lies and problems, it was frightening. And above all, you regretted ever having crossed Salo's path. Because if all this had happened, it was his fault, and you'd never have found yourself in such a situation without the deal you'd made with him.

Caught in the trap, it was time to assume everything, to confess everything, anyway, they probably already knew everything, but the question of how they knew was the predominant one.

But before you could speak, Silco did. “If we need to teach her a lesson, we're not going to make a pointless trip to Zaun for it when we can say it right here, on this bridge, with no one around to save her.”

These words made Sevika smirk and you felt nauseous, you didn't know what was worse between the threat, the fact that he was talking about you as if you weren't there, or as if you were an object.

Silco looked at you, still a smile on his face, softer, but hiding great vices, he took a step back, putting his hands behind his back.

“Come on, don't make that face little lamb, I'm sure you've got great things to tell me”

Your gaze shifted from Sevika to Silco, from Silco to Sevika, you were for obvious reasons on your guard, even though you knew you were trapped.

“Speak.” Sevika said sharply. You gulped, your throat constricted, you stammered out a few words.

“Where do you want me to start?”

This time it was Silco who spoke, his smile definitely gone to give way to a darker, more serious expression.

“You live in Piltover don't you?”

“At the academy, yes, I have a room there...”

“And what’s your job now? If you have one at least.”

“I work in a workshop and teach from time to time”

“For what purpose?”

“I'm trying-” you gulped again, it's raining, your hair is starting to flatten against your forehead, your clothes are stuck to your skin, but yet you feel immense warmth, as if you're going to faint. “I'm working on Hextech with two other people, trying to create or advance projects that might help people...”

“Ah with that famous man of progress whose name has travelled all over Runeterra hasn't it?”

“Yes and with someone else.”

A moment of silence passed, you clearly weren't feeling well, your head was spinning, the more time passed, the hotter you got, the rain poured down more and more around you and became loud enough to force you to speak louder than usual, but also and above all loud enough to create ringing in your ears. Or maybe it was that feeling of unease that was taking up more and more space inside you.

“So you're hiding nothing but good intentions?”

You stumbled back, your back hitting one of the pillars, you put your hands behind you, resting it on that same pillar, that dizziness beginning to win.

“I- No that's not all”

“We're listening”

“I have... some kind of pact with a councilor, but I swear he's forcing me, he's threatening me, otherwise I would never have agreed.”

These words made Silco laugh.

"No choice? You always have a choice, little lamb, you just don't make the right decisions. I've known you to be much more... clever."

Silco approached you while Sevika observed the scene with the same smirk, arms crossed. You looked up at the man in front of you as he was towering you.

“Y/N, Finn told me everything, and I have other sources, I know you're plotting with a certain Salo, but I can't know the nature of your exchanges, but that's just as well because you were planning to tell me.”

“Silco, I'm telling the truth, I swear, I'm being forced to do this...”

“To do what, Y/N?”

"To do some kind of... spying, but not on you, on the undercity in general. He's a nutcase, he tells me he wants to get ahead of the other councilors... Silco I swear the only reason I came to Piltover was to help my brothers and sisters in Zaun... I've never had any bad intentions towards anyone, I know I left in a hurry but please understand, this was a golden opportunity to fulfill my dreams."

And once again silence fell, Sevika and Silco looked at each other, communicating silently for a brief moment, surely thinking and debating whether to believe you and leave you alone or not.

"Good." You didn't know what was going to happen to you, but it didn't take long for you to find out.

With a sudden gesture, Sevika threw her arm around your neck, strangling you in the crook of her arm, your breathing suddenly cut off as drops of blood mixed with rain ran down her arm. You felt so bad that you hadn't noticed that the knife that had stuck to you a few minutes earlier had cut your skin and that little drops of blood were running down your collarbone and into your t-shirt.

Your hands went straight to Sevika's arm, desperately trying to get her to let go so you could breathe properly again. Silco's hand grabbed your hair, which he pulled with brutal force, forcing you to look him in the eye even though he was only inches from your face.

"We'll give you the benefit of the doubt little lamb, given that you've always been honest and competent, I'll let you live this time, even though I've had others killed for far less than you've done. But you better make sure I never cross your path in Zaun again, in which case things will happen to you that you don't want to. Go on with your little life in Piltover, but never try to come back and stay away from the councilors, it doesn't suit you."

Sevika tightened her arm around your neck. Your breathing totally cut off, your face was starting to turn red, your lips purple, you felt like your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets, the wound on your neck was bleeding more and more while stinging as you tried to gasp for air.

“Am I clear Y/N?”

You just nodded with what little strength you had left, feeling you weren't going to last much longer, as Silco nodded again to Sevika who let go of you.

You collapsed to the ground in a tiny puddle, your knees slamming against the stone of the bridge, your fall throwing water droplets around you. Breathing heavily, you were catching as much air as you could, holding your throat in one hand as the blood mixed with the water and fell onto your lap, staining your soaked pants and toga.

The two acolytes looked down at you before Silco left, Sevika automatically following. Their silhouettes faded as they moved away, the rain and mist making them disappear little by little.

Now alone on the bridge in the rain, you lay on the ground, mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. Lying on your back, you threw one of your arms over your face to keep the rainwater from getting into your eyes, while your free hand was placed on your chest, your heart beating at a speed you'd never known.

This time, unable to hold back your tears, you stiffened for a few seconds, feeling that sob going up your throat before you let it escape along with your tears that ran down your temples.

At your wits' end, you wondered how you were going to get out of this situation when everything told you there was no way out.

You stayed on the ground for a while before sitting up, hearing the storm approaching in the distance. With a blank stare, you stood up, your waterlogged toga making it difficult to move forward, but it didn't matter to you at the time. You walked slowly, your gaze fixed on the ground, your footsteps heavy in the pretty but empty streets of Piltover as the darkness of night took more and more space. With a heavy heart, you walked unaware of your surroundings. It was as if you were walking in an infinite dark room where there was nothing in your way, where the only thing you could do was walk, without really knowing where it was going to take you. Neither the rain, nor the physical pain, nor the environment around you seemed to exist, there was only you and the exhaustion that now seemed intrinsically linked to you.

It was time to go back to your room, and this time, for real, without interruption, and never leave it again.

A few days had passed. You'd stayed in your room, needing time to yourself, to take care of yourself, you hadn't left your room once. Not to go to the workshop, not to see Salo, not to go for a walk or get some fresh air. You told yourself there was no point. After all, your fridge was full enough that you didn't need to go to the market, you had potable water, a functional shower, you could open the window to get fresh air in your room, you had a washing machine and a dryer, everything you needed to isolate yourself from the world.

But your fridge was starting to run low, which you didn't like at all; it was impossible for you to go out, but at the same time your stomach was screaming for food. Your last really good meal was the day before yesterday at noon, and today, as dinnertime approached, the little nibbles here and there weren't enough.

You grunted as you opened your fridge, noticing that you'd never seen it so empty. Rubbing your forehead, you turned to your closet and pulled out some simple, comfortable clothes.

But just as you were rinsing your freshly brushed teeth, a heavy knocking sounded at your door, making you jump in fright at the noise.

"Open this door! We know you're in there!"

That kind of tone, that kind of order, that kind of brutality, who else could be there but one or more Enforcers.

You spat the water into your mouth, wiped it away and headed for your door, opening it slowly to see the faces of three Enforcers who clearly weren't there to deliver good news. In fact, having Enforcers at your door was already very bad news.

“Y/N, please follow us” The man in the middle of the two spoke, tall, slim, wearing the typical dark blue uniform of Piltover's law enforcement whose logo adorned the chests of the two men and the woman in front of you.

But the one in the middle wasn't just anyone, you recognized him because, who didn't?

It was Marcus, the sheriff, the captain of the Enforcers. His brown eyes showed no emotion, only sternness.

Without a word, you followed them. The evening made the corridors empty and dark. But even in the darkness, with your eyes closed and no sound at all, you could have recognized this path easily. The three of you were heading straight for Salo's office. This didn't even surprise you, you'd even suspected it, it's true that he'd asked you to come back to his office the next day before you left the other day. And it's also true that you hadn't done so. You hadn't forgotten, you just didn't feel like seeing him. But if it's not you coming to him, it's him coming to you. At least he'll send people to bring you to him.

In front of the doors, Marcus knocked and opened the door without even waiting for Salo's reply, he entered and with a simple nod between the two men, there you were, thrust into the office of the man who had summoned you, standing in front of a chair itself in front of the councilor's desk, the Enforcers away, it was once again just between him and you.

“I thought I'd asked you to come back to my office the other day, but maybe I was dreaming.” He smirked before continuing, “Or maybe you just weren't listening at all and thought you could duck me like that without a word.”

“You say hello to start with when you're even remotely polite.”

Your dry, mocking tone made his smirk disappear, replaced by a scowl.

“Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do, you're not in a position of power here.”

“I'm more than fed up with you and your ridiculous power.”

“Oh, personally, I never have enough fun where you're concerned, I must say you're pretty fun to piss off.”

Your hands were behind your back, your nails digging into your skin as you tried not to snap and yell at him, which would get you into more trouble than you realize.

“What do you want from me this time?”

“Y/N, you disappeared for several jo-”

Salo stopped, his eyes looking lower than your face, brows furrowed, eyes squinted, he seemed to have frozen in place.

“What?” You simply asked, hoping to get an answer as to what was troubling him. But you got none. Instead, he stood up and advanced towards you, towering you slightly as he was a bit taller than you.

“Who did this to you?” He said as he gently touched your chin, gently turning your head so as not to hurt you more than you already were. His eyes were fixed on the wounds in your neck. The knife had left a nice, straight cut in your neck that had since begun to heal, leaving a crust over the blade's path. The stranglehold you'd suffered had left a bruise still quite visible all along your neck, following the path of the cut and making it even more prominent than if you'd had nothing. All those wounds were caused by Sevika, her blade and her arm, under Silco's orders. This moment left big marks, both physically and mentally.

For a moment, you gazed into his eyes, while he looked at your wounded skin. Then, suddenly, his green eyes found yours and a strange feeling ran through your body, a shiver, not of fear, not of cold, but something else you couldn't describe. Your pupils dilated slightly but you shook your head and took a step back, his hand falling back down his body.

“It's nothing, I had... an altercation with someone but-”

But Salo didn't give you time to finish, one of his hands grabbed one of your arms to stop you from backing away again and his free hand grabbed your chin again, firmer this time and tilted your head again to reveal your wounds.

"Y/N, who dared to do this to you? Did you see what you've got on your neck?"

You tried to back away but it was impossible, he had you firmly in his grasp and you had no chance of escape. Exactly what kind of muscle was this man hiding under that uniform? You'd taken him for someone physically weak, but maybe he had more strength than you thought.

"None of your business! Get your hands off me! Who do you think you are?!"

But it had no effect on him other than strengthening his grip on you.

"You have to tell me, did you get caught in the undercity? Who did this to you? Tell me Y/N, is it because of that stupid mission I gave you?"

You didn't understand what was going on. Was the man who'd been making your life hell lately and couldn't stand you suddenly showing signs of concern about your condition?

With a sudden gesture that took him off guard, you managed to step back. A beat of silence passed between the two of you.

Then Salo slammed you against his office door.

His hands wrapped firmly around your biceps, you gasped at the unexpected movement, his face very close to yours, he looked at you as if he were mad. You were even thinking at the time that he was.

Your eyes open wide, you look at him, not knowing what to do.

"Y/N. I need to know who did this to you. Tell me."

This time, the concern was clear in his voice, but it was mixed with something else you couldn't determine.

"And why are you so interested in this? What's going to change?"

These questions made Salo sigh, letting go of your arms but still not taking any step back. He closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, his gaze having left behind all signs of concern, replaced by a calm and gentleness you'd never seen before, you thought his eyes could forever only be filled with hatred, condescension and antipathy. But once again, you realized you'd been wrong.

In a soft voice no higher than a whisper, Salo spoke, still close to your face.

"I think we need to talk, Y/N. Come back here tomorrow at dawn and I'll take you to a beautiful place where we can talk in total tranquility. You won't be disappointed, I promise."

And that's how you found yourself at night, your gaze staring at the ceiling of your room, unable to sleep. It was late at night, probably already 3 a.m., but sleep wouldn't come to you, only Salo and his words, his promise spinning around in your head like a spell. You hadn't even eaten, despite  going to the supermarket after leaving Salo's office.

Salo.

His name wouldn't leave your little inner voice, which seemed to have no intention of forgetting it.

Eventually, your eyes closed on their own, the image of Salo's eyes and the sound of his voice and words slowly accompanying you into a deep sleep.

-> Next chapter

[jitarossun]

Smoke and Sparks

CHAPTER FOUR

Summary : You've finally decided to return to Zaun to avoid any more problems with Salo, so let's hope it goes well. TW : Salo being an asshole (you're used to it by now), use of y/n

Pairing : Finn x fem!reader / Salo x fem!reader

Words count : 3.6k

A/N : Sorry for the wait, I'm having a hard time with exams! Besides, I'm writing several things at the same time, so I can't be efficient at all (gotta stop doing that), I'll try to get chapter 5 out before the end of the week, in the meantime, enjoy!

-> Previous chapter

The streets of Zaun were packed with people. It was at once warm and reassuring, but also intimidating. You've finally accepted what Salo offered you, at least it's not as if you've really had a choice.

But you were prepared to go. Dressed discreetly, head down, hooded, hair well hidden and face barely visible, impossible to tell who you were. Unless you lifted that hood.

It had been a long time since you'd been back to the undercity, and the first thing that struck you was the air. You'd never understood why Enforcers wore masks to go into the Lanes, but now you did. The air was so dense, so polluted, you could hardly breathe.

This change reminded you of the first times when you were a little girl and you'd go to the bridge. You were always shocked by how fresh and pure the air was compared to what you were breathing. And now you were just as shocked, but not for the same reasons, and that made you feel a little sad.

As you passed an alleyway, you stopped. You knew this alley well, as it led to an old abandoned store that you'd set up as your own home, your own little refuge. It was still shabby and dilapidated, but it did the trick, and you manage to imagine that it wasn't all that bad.

Salo was going to wait, you wanted to go over there before going to The Last Drop and try to set off on a scouting expedition.

You entered the alley, your footsteps echoing as the din of the main street dissipated as you went along. You diverted your path to take an alley to the right and yet another to the left that led to another, much quieter street. It wasn't quiet, it was empty. Everything here had been abandoned a long time ago, even before you yourself left. There were still a few brave salesmen or brothels with really shady customers, but today, nothing.

Walking down the street, you thought you heard footsteps, but there was always noise, no matter where you were in Zaun, night or day, so it didn't worry you, but you couldn't stop that little shiver from running down your spine.

You stopped in front of your old house, whether it was a shelter, a dump or just a ruined building that you may have admired a little too much.

The door was locked but the windows were shattered, so you climbed over the bits of glass, taking care not to cut yourself or ruin your clothes on the way home.

Once inside, you immediately see the impact of time on what you've laid out, and also probably the people who made it their refuge after you.

Plates and broken glasses scattered on the floor, where there was a tiny gas stove that served hot food from time to time. The doors of all the cupboards were open, sometimes there weren't even any, there was nothing left inside. A few homemade cupboards were completely trashed, as was the old sofa, which seemed to have mold all over it. The mezzanine looked like it was about to collapse, and the wood of the walls and floor was soaked with water, making the ambient smell absolutely abject.

Before it was abandoned, it had been an old café from what you understood, hence the presence of numerous cups in a small sideboard, which, strangely enough, were intact, at least for those that hadn't been stolen, if you can call it stealing given that they no longer belonged to anyone.

You took one in your hand, and the cold white ceramic of the handle came to rest around your fingers. You winced a little, because when you picked it up, you hadn't seen that inside there was a little bottom of water that really didn't have a good smell. Water must have seeped through the wood of the sideboard and filled a few cups, including this one.

"I thought I recognized your silhouette in the distance."

Someone spoke behind you, their voice echoing through the empty room, and you jumped, startled, before turning around with the cup still in your hands.

When you turned around, a muscular man with black hair, completely shaved on his left side was there. Those monolid eyes staring back at you, you recognized them instantly.

"Finn." You say simply in a monotone voice, acknowledging his presence.

Finn smiled, his golden jaw moving slightly, and instinctively you took a step back. You never really got along, he was a bit like Salo in a way, manipulative, condescending and selfish, except he was much more violent.

"What a coincidence to be walking down this street today and to come across a silhouette in the distance walking into this dump.”

He looks you up and, playing with a lighter in his right hand, wrapped in a black glove while the left one stays in his trouser pocket.

"I see you're trying to be discreet." He chuckled before continuing. "At the same time I understand, who knows what might happen to you here after being away for years leading a quiet little life in Piltover."

"Can I ask what you're doing here?"

"I'm returning the question to you Y/N."

You bit the inside of your cheek, you couldn't tell the truth for obvious reasons, but he was going to have to come up with an excuse, and fast.

"I missed Zaun."

That made Finn scoff, he started walking around the room looking at the walls a bit, taking into account the condition of your old home.

"What could you possibly be missing here? The air? The people? The buildings?" he said, opening his arms wide as he turned to face you, as if to indicate what was around you. His gold jacket almost falling off his shoulders and his gray vest opening a little more revealing the skin of his torso.

"I grew up here, and I'm not just talking about this house, I'm telling you about Zaun in general."

"That must be it, yes. But that doesn't explain why you're hiding under a black toga. like that."

He grinned as he pointed his index at you and showed you up and down.

"I didn't know how to dress, I'm comfortable like this".

Okay, maybe that wasn't the best excuse, but it would hopefully pass.

"Well, dress normally if you've got nothing to be ashamed of," he said, laughing out loud before quickly resuming a smirk that sent a chill down your spine, he paused, the clink of his lighter sounding like a countdown to one of you cracking.

It didn’t pass. Absolutely not.

"Stop fucking with me. You see, I didn't really know you Y/N. I just know that, that dear friend Silco had you in his ranks for a while and that's all. But the Enforcers showing up down here asking everyone about you stirred up the undercity for a few days, considering the jackpot they were offering..."

This sentence made you a little nauseous, Salo had really gone that far to have anything on you, what was this obsession with you? You had so many questions and you were aware of so many contradictions now.

But for the moment, all you could do was get away from this chem baron and back to Piltover or you were just about safe.

"It seems so, I'm trying to get away from them."

"To run away from them?"

You nod, lying wasn't your specialty, especially in front of intimidating people, but on this occasion it was still better than telling the truth.

Finn narrowed his eyes for a few seconds before speaking up.

"So you're not in business with Silco, he's looking for you, and on top of that the Enforcers are still after you and looking for you too, you come back to Zaun after a hell of a long time trying to keep a low profile, that's a lot don't you think?"

This time, anxiety was the feeling that was prominent in your body, you gulped, trying to mask this fear as your heart beat as it wanted to get out of your chest. And all this intensified as Finn closed his lighter, rattling the lid one last time against the bottom case.

"Who do you work for now to fear so many people?"

“No one.” You replied very quickly, a little too quickly in fact.

"No one? Do you work for yourself? That would explain a lot."

"I'm just running away from trouble to be honest, without getting anyone in trouble..."

"Honorable, I must admit" He looked you up and down again before continuing. "But I'm sure Silco would have preferred it if you'd had him aware, rather than running away like you, which sounds more like a betrayal than anything else."

You nod, hoping that this conversation will end as soon as possible, you had to get out of here fast before anyone else came here, well, you had to get away from Finn first.

"I've got to go Finn, I'm afraid the Enforcers might come here to chase me, I don't think Zaun needs that."

"Indeed, there's been enough to worry about in the last few days."

You walk towards the window you came in through, the cup still in your hand, you put it in your pocket as a souvenir, because it was probably the last time you'd have the chance to come back here. But before you could leave, Finn spoke to you again.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?" You turned your head, your leg already straddling the window.

"If I were you, I'd be careful. Very careful."

His words made your blood run cold. He looked at you as if he'd understood everything, or as if he'd known all along that you were lying, but he just made you act like you were a funny little puppet. Looking at him one last, you tried to detect anything in his expression, but you couldn't. He went back to playing with the cap of his lighter and you turned around again, passing through the window to get out of the building.

At a brisk pace, you quickly made your way back to the main street, where it was always, incessantly noisy and full of people. You had that feeling of being watched, being in danger, and if living in Zaun for more than half your life had taught you anything, it was that you should always trust your instincts.

Passing through all the Lanes, you finally found yourself on the bridge without any problems and a long sigh escaped from your mouth as you took the time to walk more slowly. Admittedly, you still weren't 100% safe, but let's just say you were in less danger than down below.

The sky was overcast, and you knew it was going to rain from the look of the clouds, which was the kind of weather you liked: rain against the window before going to sleep, with a bit of luck there'll be a thunderstorm, and therefore a faint rumble perceptible through the windows of your bedroom. Besides, it'll be a good excuse to justify to Salo that you can't do what he asks in weather like this, even if in reality you couldn't care less.

Back at the academy, the walk was a bit long, but you were used to it. Before you definitively left Zaun to settle in Piltover, you walked every morning and evening from your old home to the academy, being granted a room.

You find yourself in front of Salo's office, knocking on his door, torn between wishing he wasn't there so you could go and rest or wishing he was there to talk to him about what happened.

Wait.

Hoping to talk to him about what happened? Since when did you expect to talk to him?

Your thoughts were cut short when the door opened a sudden gesture, Salo appearing, a scowl on his face. Had he really just opened the door for you?

"What do you want?" He asked in a dry, clearly annoyed tone.

You couldn't help but smirk at his annoyance, it was still pleasurable to see that you could piss him off so easily, and you weren't going to restrict yourself, you might as well tease him a little.

"So you've come straight to open the door for me now? You don't scream anymore out of laziness to get up?"

Salo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, keeping the same expression on his fine face.

"I asked you to come in but you decided to stand there without coming in, so I got up to see what was going on and it turns out it's just you. So I'll ask you again. What do you want ? And quicker than that, I've got much more important things to deal with."

Your smirk faded very quickly, lost in thought, you just hadn't heard him ask you to come in, you could have pretended more have heard but not to have come in on purpose, just to irritate him a little, but at the time, the idea didn't cross your mind and you answered something you didn't think possible.

"Sorry, I just didn't hear”

What?

Did you just sincerely apologize to him?

While you're still in a state of amazement at your own actions, Salo steps to the side, letting you in. You hadn't seen it, but his face had softened a little, but he still looked exasperated, making it clear that you were bothering him.

When you got in, you noticed that his desk was pretty much the same as the last time, letters scattered, his deck was stained with ink here and there, he seemed really busy, and from his attitude, there was no doubt that he really was, and maybe he was last time too.

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk with his hand, silently asking you to sit down, which you did, watching him in turn sit down opposite you.

"I need to talk to you about this mission you've given me".

Salo rolled his eyes, he already seemed exasperated, enough to get on your nerves, he sighs before answering in a dry voice.

"As if my day wasn't long and boring enough..."

"It's important"

"I can imagine, if you've come all the way here to talk to me about this it sounds pretty urgent."

He kept the same expression throughout your explanation, sometimes letting out a long sigh, but never interrupting you. He squinted his eyes from time to time, silently letting you know that he didn't agree with what you'd told him, or that he felt you were lying.

"...And that's it, I can't keep going to Zaun, it's too dangerous for me."

Looking at his expression again, his jaw was clenched, clearly displeased with what you had said, but as you met his eyes, you could finally detect something, some emotion, something you'd never been able to do. He was so good at hiding everything he felt. Those pupils dilated and you could have sworn, for a moment, that you saw concern in his eyes.

And for a moment, your face softened but quickly stiffened as it began to talk again.

"Y/N, it's absolutely not my problem."

You frowned, how could he be so insensitive? You understood that he didn't particularly like you, but this was a matter of life and death. Who knows what could happen to you if someone gave Silco some information on you and he caught you, even if you had nothing to reproach yourself for, how could you explain the situation from A to Z, should you lie or tell the truth? And what would happen if you lost yourself in your lie? Silco was clearly not a child at heart, so telling the truth, that you were on some kind of mission for a councilor, one of those he fights every day, how would he react? And would he believe you about your desire, your dream of making the undercity a better place for Zaunites?

"But I-"

He raised his hand to interrupt, shaking his head.

"What exactly do you want me to do for you? Do I need to remind you of our deal?"

"No, but it's just-"

"Enough"

He interrupted you once more, his gaze angry this time.

"I understand you're no use to me".

"I'm not a toy Salo!"

"I know that!" He snapped, his breath becoming erratic, letting his emotions get the better his rationality. "Get out of my office, I don't have time for this today, clearly not."

That's all it took, and once again, just like last time, you stood up abruptly, striding to your feet with large, rapid steps towards the door.

"It's not you who's kicking me out, it's me who's leaving!" It sounded a bit childish when you thought about it, but how can you think and speak in an adult, rational way when someone is pushing you to put your life in danger.

Opening the door, Salo spoke to you one last time, through gritted teeth and clenched fists, he yelled, "You better come back tomorrow!"

Once you left, Salo buried his head in his hands, not knowing how to react or what to face you. And honestly, he blamed himself.

You slammed the door behind you, enraged but above all more than alone, you didn't really have anyone to talk to about it. By concentrating so much on your work, you haven't taken the time to socialize with anyone in a way that would make them close to you. There was Jayce, Viktor, possibly Sky, but how could you talk to them when your situation with Salo had almost put an end to their project? And even if they believed you, how could they react calmly without causing a scandal? Jayce may be the man of progress, but when it came to a councilor, he was hierarchically beneath them. If you decided to talk to an Enforcer or other advisors, Salo would say you were lying, that you were crazy, especially since, as a Zaunite, there wasn't the slightest chance of anyone believing you. And it wasn't worth even thinking about going back to see old good friends in Zaun.

Stranded and alone, you didn't go straight back to your room: a little walk to clear your head was in order.

On the bridge, you leaned over the edge against the railing, the night blocking your view of the water, all you could see below you was just darkness, and the same when you looked up, there weren't even stars or the moon, just the dark clouds hiding what little natural light you might have had.

All you had was the little light that came from the two cities, it was dim but enough to see where you were walking. Then, as you looked out over the horizon, which was just as dark as the sky and water, you felt small droplets of water fall on your forehead, it was just beginning but you didn't mind.

You thought back to everything you'd been through in the last few months, everything had sped up so much, between the time you started teaching your classes after gaining the trust of your teachers and mentor, started working at the workshop and became Jayce's assistant, until then everything was going so well. Then you had to cross paths with Salo, one day you accompanied Jayce to the council meeting. You had to meet this man who now puts life and integrity on the line for his own personal gain.

It made you sick to know that somewhere along the line you had to obey him or you were going to get into trouble. What was wrong with him that made him so stubborn?

With a sigh, you moved away from the edge of the bridge, it was time to go home and rest, it had been a long day and you could feel that your body was tired and that this rest was deserved.

As you walked back towards Piltover, you stared at the ground, hands in pockets, head elsewhere, never stopping to think. The closer you got to Piltover, the more you noticed how quiet it was compared to Zaun.

A little too much, in fact, lacking the little flame, the little grain of madness that was in the Lanes. That made Zaun festive.

Your footsteps echo on the ground and across the emptiness of the bridge, but something's wrong, the sounds don't match when your feet hit the ground. It didn't strike you at the time, you weren't paying attention as you were immersed in the dream of your thoughts. 

But after a while you finally noticed. With a frown you stopped, concentrated and listened, but the noises didn't stop, and even came in your direction.

And just as you were about to turn to see who was behind you, a sharp knife with a cold blade came to rest against your neck, a warm breath on your neck, you felt a presence behind you, one you were sure you'd known before.

Then the footsteps continued before stopping on your left, you couldn't turn your head at the risk of cutting your neck on the blade pressed against it.

But out of the corner of your eye you recognized that thin, lean face, pale skin color and black graying hair, that orange, black left eye covered with a scar.

It was Silco.

"Long time no see, Y/N."

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