#and the fact that one of the narration bubbles covers his upper half??

[cobaltfluff]

a meme because i am delusional

[queenshelby]

Roommates – Part Four

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,385

Warning: Smut

Note: This plays in 2020. Please interact. Your interactions and comments mean a lot to me.

Just as you were in the middle of your morning routine following a night filled with erotic dreams about your roommate, you heard a loud knock on the door.

You quickly turned off your vibrator and chucked it into your bedside draw before pulling up your panties and singlet and walking into the hallway.

When you opened the door, you were surprised to see James. His face was flushed and he looked like he had been crying.

‘You don’t fucking answer my messages and calls anymore’ he said and it quickly became clear to you that he must have been drinking all night when you smelled his breath from the distance.

‘You shouldn’t be here James, please leave’ you said firmly, knowing that his visit wasn’t permitted under the current lockdown restrictions.

‘Just hear me out Y/N, please’ he begged once again after he had been trying to get back together with you for the past four months and, whilst you initially maintained contact with him, you no longer responded to his messages and ignored his calls for the past two weeks.

‘There is nothing more to discuss James. I am through with you’ you said before you tried to shut the door on him but, just as you did, his foot caught in the doorway and he pushed his way into the hallway.

‘James, honestly, get the fuck out. You cheated, more than once, and I am done with you’ you huffed out and thought that, clearly, he would have received the 2,000 Euro engagement ring he had bought you in the mail by now.

‘You can’t just throw away what we had Y/N’ he went on to say and, just as he did, Cillian returned from his morning run.

‘Get out of my house James or I will call the Gardaí’ Cillian said calmly as he noticed that you were distressed.

‘Alright Murphy, go ahead, call the fucking cops’ James huffed out angrily and, before you knew it, James pushed you with your back against the wall in frustration.

‘Y/N, please fucking listen to me. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen’ he pleaded again with a whiny voice but his grip on you was becoming rather aggressive.

‘James, stop, you are hurting me’ you shouted out and, just as you tried to push him off, Cillian grabbed James by the back of his t-shirt and pulled him out of the house.

‘That’s enough James, fuck off and leave her alone’ Cillian said harshly and, when these words left his lips, James turned around suddenly and hit Cillian across the face with his right fist.

‘Jesus James’ you panicked as you quickly walked over towards Cillian and him but, when James realised what he did, he was quick to run off.

‘Fuck, Cilly, are you alright?’ you asked as you watched him hold on to his face.

‘I am fine’ Cillian chuckled before acknowledging that his face would likely be swollen before Lindsay would arrive in the evening.

‘I am sure she won’t mind Cilly’ you said before giving him a hug and thanking him for defending you and making James leave.

‘Y/N, I stink, you probably shouldn’t…’ Cillian said but you didn’t care and hugged him anyway, pressing your half naked body against his.

Ironically and almost surprisingly, you actually didn’t mind the scent of his sweat covered body. You could still smell the deodorant and aftershave on his skin and the hint of mint from the toothpaste he used that morning on his lips.

‘Let’s get some ice on this, hmm’ you then said before forcing him to sit down at the kitchen table while you prepared an ice pack for him.

After you wrapped the sachet of ice into a thin cloth, you gently pressed it against Cillian’s cheek which, already, had turned red.

The skin on his face felt soft and slightly moist and his deep blue eyes gazed into yours for a brief moment while his lips smiled at you.

His smile was warm and beautiful and you couldn’t help but pay attention to the large freckle on his upper lip.

‘So, uhm, I…uhm…I think I might go and get dressed’ you eventually huffed out after you had gotten lost in his eyes for a short moment.

Cillian nodded in response and, just as you walked away from him, an unfamiliar feeling washed over his body.

It was a feeling he couldn’t explain and it was almost unique in a way. In addition to his arousal which, by this point, had also formed in between his legs again, he felt shivers run over his spine and down into his stomach. These shivers felt almost like flutters and made him feel uncomfortably warm.

***

It was 5 o’clock and Cillian was out, walking his dog and getting some Aspirin from the nearby pharmacy following his incident with James and you decided to have a bath before the said storm was scheduled to come in later that evening.

Despite, you really needed to get your mind of the fact that Cillian was about to shag Lindsay which, in the past, hadn’t bothered you but, more recently it did. In addition, your friend Laura continued to nag you about updates on Cillian’s life, telling you that she was still very much in love with him and asking for your help to turn things around between them.

The sky had already darkened and you decided to gather all of the scented candles Cillian had in the house and carry them to the bathroom. You arranged them all around and poured yourself a glass of red wine before settling in the hot tub which was facing the backyard through a one-sided window, meaning that no one could see inside.

With Cillian being out, you didn’t bother closing the bathroom door and allowed the heat from the fireplace in the living room to radiate throughout the house.

Just as you sat in the half full tub and watched as the steaming water began to fill it completely, you reached for your phone and ipods to listen to something relaxing.

When, finally, the tub was filled completely, you lowered yourself into it allowing the bubbles to overtake your body. Your knees were slightly bent as you laid back and your breasts were floating on the surface just barely exposed to the air above the water. Your hair was floating and the bubbles were popping all around your head while you listened to an audiobook narrated by Cillian.

His voice was always something you enjoyed listening to, now more than ever and you closed your eyes to take in this moment of solace.

But, just as you did, Cillian’s face appeared beneath your eyelids and your heart instantly skipped a beat. You wanted to feel his strong hands on every inch of your wet body and, with those thoughts in mind, your hand began to caress your ass cheek while thinking about him. With each stroke you moved a little further up your thigh and back down the back of your ass. Your pussy lips were throbbing and wet from more than just the warm water, begging to be touched.

You were in a trance, listening to Cillian’s voice through your headphones as you slowly began to pleasure yourself and, with your mind being so far gone, you didn’t even realise that Cillian had returned home from his walk early as it was pouring with rain outside.

‘Y/N?’ he shouted through the house as you were nowhere to be found until, eventually, he realised that you may be in the bathroom.

With the bathroom door open, he looked inside only to find you with your eyes closed, facing the opposite direction towards the large one-sided window.

‘Y/N, shit, I am sorry’ he huffed out and, as you continued to run your hand up and down your naked body, he realised that you had your headphones in and didn’t hear him.

Cillian turned around quickly and you released a gentle moan that softly echoed in the bathroom. In your mind, you wanted him more with each touch of your hand but, of course, he didn’t know that.

When Cillian heard your moan, his manhood immediately went on alert and whilst he knew it was wrong, he couldn’t help himself but turn back around and watch you.

Unbeknownst to you, Cillian watched you as one of your hands was massaging your breast while the other slowly spread your legs exposing more of your pussy to the warmth of the water. It crashed against your lips like waves in the ocean and they were pulsating, begging for more.

‘Jesus, look away, fuck’ he said to himself quietly inside his mind as he stood there motionless and with a raging erection. He wanted to strip down naked right there and join you and it took all of his willpower not to do exactly that.

‘Hmm’ you moaned again as you listened to Cillian’s voice through your headphones and took your fingertips and tightly squeezed your clit. You could feel your juices being released and your legs spread wide as your hand pressed and caressed your mound.

‘Fuck’ Cillian’s mind said again, urging him to walk away and, just as he had built up enough strength and turned around, he heard you again.

‘Cillian’ you huffed out but with your eyes still tightly closed and feeling each sensation you were creating as you indulged on the sound of his voice.

Cillian immediately turned around in a panic, thinking that you had caught him watching you. Why else would you have said his name, he wondered.

To his surprise, when he turned around in a panic, you still had your eyes closed and continued to pleasure yourself. Your hand was working over your mound from top to back and teasing both of your holes now and, with Cillian watching, you continued to touch and tease yourself, caressing the inside of your thighs.

Perhaps he was imagining you calling out his name he thought. You couldn’t possibly have said his name while you were masturbating. Clearly, his mind was playing tricks on him and he was sure about it.

Then, the unimaginable happened. You stood up inside the tub in all of your naked glory. Bubbles were running down your body and the smell of vanilla was in the air as you climbed out of the bathtub.

Cillian was quick to disappear into the hallway and thought that, perhaps, he should have closed the bathroom door. But then, he heard his name leaving your lips again and, just as he went back to see whether you were, in fact calling for him, he watched you lean against the vanity with your headphone still inside your ears and your fingers running over your outer walls of your pussy before teasing your clit with a soft abrasive touch.

In a trance and consumed by pleasure, you dropped your towel to the floor and squeezed your clit between your fingertips as you stood there with your eyes shut. The candle lights still danced in the room, bouncing off the water drops still on your soft skin.

All of your tattoos were on full display and so were your piercings, including the one on your clit which Cillian became rather curious about.

He could not take this any longer and watched you desperately as your body cried out and you responded by slowly inserting your index finger into your cavity and sliding it back out. You did this a few times until she pushed it in deep and held it there, massaging your inner walls. Then you added a second finger into your hot pussy pushing some of your juices out onto your hand.

Cillian swallowed harshly when, eventually, you removed your fingers from your hole and placed them one by one into your mouth, sucking them clean.

‘Jesus fucking christ’ he thought and, despite the fact that he knew that Lindsay would be visiting him in the next hour or so, he turned around and made a quick run to his bedroom.

Seeing you like this was too much for him and, without giving it a second thought, he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down half way in order to release his raging erection.

Leaning against the dresser in the bedroom, he began to stroke his hard shaft vigorously, thinking about what you did in the bathroom at the same time as he was seeking relief.

Just as Cillian was stroking his cock hard and fast while thinking about you, you thrusted your fingers in and out of your pussy while thinking of him. Eventually, you began to pound your pussy, slapping your clit with each thrust. Faster and harder bringing yourself to an orgasm.

Just as you came, your moans filled the entire house, thinking that you were on your own.

‘Oh god, yes Cillian’ you groaned and there was no mistaking it. It was his name he heard when you came and this alone sent him over the edge, causing him to cum hard onto the pile of dirty clothes besides the dresser.

Just as he stroked the last few drops of cum from his shaft, he heard the doorbell ring.

Quickly, he grabbed one of the t-shirts from the pile of clothes and cleaned himself up before walking downstairs and opening the front door.

‘Hey Sweetie’ Lindsay said, carrying two shopping bags.

‘You are early’ Cillian said before giving her a brief kiss.

‘I wanted to surprise you and thought I would cook for you. For Y/N too, of course. At least this way, you can finally introduce us properly and I don’t feel like your beck in call’ Lindsay explained.

‘Sounds great’ Cillian said somewhat flustered just as you walked through the hallway almost completely naked.

‘Oh my god, you are home…fuck’ you shouted, covering your breasts with a towel and Cillian couldn’t help but sigh.

He thought about you, calling out his name as you masturbated and now he was in his hallway with Lindsay who clearly wanted to mark her territory.

 Tag List:

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[writingdumpster-o]

Day 1:

Kind of a quiet day, mostly me napping and him reading the books he'd ordered recently. It's a Saturday so he doesn't have to work from home.

Day 2:

We talk a bit over breakfast, and I self-isolate during the day to avoid sharing my leftover bad mood from the reasons of my leaving the family abode. I tend to isolate myself when I feel like shit to avoid spreading it to other people, (insert instances of doing it through flashbacks) and he tries to reach out at first but then keeps mostly to himself.

Day 3:

He's working from home. So after breakfast he sets up his computer in the living room on the coffee table.

Having cried myself to sleep on Day 2, I feel better about being in his presence today. So I grab my Arabian Nights book and read on the armchair while he's sitting on the couch, staring at his screen in concentration as he's used to doing at work. I sneak glances at him over my book, and he notices once. This makes a small smile creep under his beard and it makes me blush like a schoolgirl.

Other than that instance, nothing of import happened. I made soup for dinner while he still worked, and we ate and talked about lore and mythology. We smoked as dessert and he shared a writing project he had.

We go to our rooms at 02:45am and sleep right away.

Day 4:

I wake up to the sound of a shower running. As someone who gets anxiety from men's cologne/cosmetics, I'm glad I thought to bring my shower gels (a fruity sweet one and a flowery fresh one). Thankfully, his clothes bear my smell now (cause of the baby oil I rub on myself every night), even though I haven't smelled cologne on him yet.

As I exit my room (his guest bedroom, which I took to liking), I bump into him.

He's DEFINITELY only wearing a towel right now. I lower my eyes immediately, which lands me on the specific spot that the towel covers, but then I make eye contact again.

"Good morning." Great line, poor delivery.

An apathetic half-smile lifts his moustache (I'm accentuating cause his moustache hides his whole upper lip which isn't unattractive but would be kinda complicated to kiss???). "Morning." And he walks past me without another word.

I'm so taken aback i follow him with my eyes and notice his shoulders tense and his back muscles coiling under his skin. He's not that built, but he's lean enough that the tension is noticeable.

I shrug and go wash up for breakfast, which happens normally. Though I'd say he's a bit less talkative than usual. I even try to spark up a debate in one of our chosen fields, but he doesn't bite. He's usually very argumentative...

The day goes by in this fashion, with a silent dinner and no talk until bedtime.

I go to bed perplexed that night.

Days 5 and 6:

Thursday and Friday would be skipped cause it'd just be narrator introspection and giving him time to reach out cause we confined and I don't wanna stir up arguments with a dude I barely know and who hoarded Pastis like it was made of gold before quarantine

the particularity about these days is that each morning I heard the shower and found that there was no more hot water when I tried to wash up, and he skipped dinner altogether on Friday night.

Day 7:

I wake up and for the first time in three days, the shower isn't what wakes me up. Instead it's the TV, a bit louder than comfortable. (btw I'm picturing this in the second apartment I made cause it's what I pictured first)

I slept kind of... groggily last night, so I look for yoga exercises in my Instagram saved collections and stretch for five minutes.

As I grab my bag to retrieve my toiletries, it suddenly clicks: He's been grumpy and tense all of a sudden, a hot shower every morning, his muscles and shoulders coiled... He needs a massage. I let my fingertips linger on the baby oil bottle as I process my epiphany, seriously considering offering the massage right now.

I quickly shake off the idea as I gather my toiletries and go shower. I notice he uses a grunt as a greeting, so I use silence and proceed to the bathroom.

I notice he's watching a Netflix show, sitting on the carpet with his back to the couch, which is bad for his condition but... his loss, I guess.

See that sass? It all disappears when I rub myself with baby oil after my shower and exfoliation. I purse my lips and shake off the scorn from his attitude. He was like a wounded wolf who'd snarl at anyone approaching him with help, and I need to keep him happy just long enough to remove the bear trap.

As I get out, I'm met with his clothed chest, nearly colliding with him. I look up to face him.

"Did you use all of the hot water?" He asks, visibly trying to stay amicable.

I blink and frown. "How are you feeling? Physically?"

He frowns minutely. "I'm fine."

I shrug, maybe now's not the moment. "Yes, there's still hot water."

He turns around as I walk past him back to my room. "Why did you ask?"

I turn around, letting the daylight from the kitchen illuminate me, which is uncomfortable without my glasses. I squint at him and gesture towards his upper body.

"You've been tense these days, and it's affecting your mood," I observe, trying desperately not to spark an argument.

He purses his lips in a matter-of-fact way and shrugs. "It's not like anyone can do anything about it right now."

He enters the bathroom before I get a chance to reply and I imitate his last gesture as I go to my room.

I put back my toiletries and go to the kitchen to make tea for the pair of us. As I grab my mug, I go to the bookshelf to choose something to read. As I settle for the Van Gogh book that started it all and take place on the loveseat, he exits the bathroom and a wave of sauna emits from the open door.

"Maybe crack a window?" I suggest, making him smirk. He's still tense.

I roll my eyes at his stubbornness and keep reading until he comes back to the living room with his tea and presses play again on his TV show. I'm sitting facing the TV and can see from the corner of my eye that he's fidgeting.

I get up suddenly, put the book back in the shelf and place the mug on the coffee table. He notices my moves and follows me down the hall with his eyes. I put a drop of baby oil in the palm of my hand and rub it so that it doesn't leak on the carpet and go back to the living room.

I sit directly behind him, holding him down by the shoulder when he's about to move, and fold my legs behind his back. He's wearing a T-shirt, so it's easy to get access to his shoulders.

I spread the excess oil on his cervical spine and shoulders.

"You're aware this isn't going to do anything, right?" He asks with insulting disdain.

I stay silent as I start the real massage, which is deep tissue. He's startled at first, but then he complies and leans forward, bracing himself against the coffee table with his forearms and his forehead on them.

I apply pressure on his shoulders close to his neck, on the back of his neck, and his cervical spine. After a moment of hesitation, I start using my fingernails on his scalp, starting between his shoulder blades with my hands and finishing at the crease of his skull with my fingernails. At that moment, I hear a faint but very present guttural noise rumble in his chest.

I keep massaging him until his breathing deepens and his muscles feel like dough. At that point, my legs are both asleep and it feels like torture.

So I lean forward and I whisper (it's something I do when I just finished a massage so they don't get startled by noise after such relaxation), "Wake up, Little Wolf."

He rises so suddenly, my chest is pressed against his back and I have to hold on to him to avoid making him paraplegic by falling on his already damaged spine. He turns to me and our faces are an inch from one another's. It takes us a moment to recover from this, but he offers me his hand to help me get off the couch, and I accept it.

"That felt fucking great, thank you." He stated in a still sleepy voice.

I press my lips together and make a salute gesture. "Anytime!"

Before I can see his response, I back into the hallway and go to my room, closing my door as I get there.

I avoid him for the rest of the day to reflect on what never happened.

Day 8:

I stay in bed today. I scroll through end-of-the-world memes and turn over, keeping the blinds shut. I wake up at nine but let noon stroll by without leaving my room. It's Sunday, so I know he's not working. I hear bustling in the kitchen, it being adjacent to my bedroom. I hesitate to get out several times, but end up staying in bed until 2:30pm.

At that moment, a Messenger bubble pops up, still grey so I didn't know who was the sender, but the message said, "Come out, come out, little mouse."

When I scrolled down the notifications, it was his name above the message. I smiled despite myself and shuffled out of the room, dragging my feet.

I found an outside-dressed Douaïb waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the table.

He was drinking his beverage and scrolling through his phone as though he hadn't just texted me. I pressed my lips together, poured myself a tea, and sat down next to him. Just as I pulled out my phone, he put down his.

"I'm going out today, wanna join?"

I took a sip, considering it. "Where are you headed?"

"Just shopping, thought you might wanna join for... whatever you might need." He adds the latter eyeing the Silmiya T-shirt as though he were judging my fashion sense.

I look down instinctively and then back up. "I hope some clothing stores are open, then."

He downs the last of his drink and says, "Alright, we depart in ten minutes."

I nearly choke on my drink. "I haven't even washed up yet!"

"Too bad, guess you should've gotten up earlier." And he arrogantly strolls to his bedroom, leaving me to a nearly full mug of steamy tea and no hygiene whatsoever. I leave my tea and go get dressed in a top, jeans, and a hoodie. I wear my cap to hide the rebellious, unheated hair, and slip on my ankle boots before grabbing my wallet and empty travel mug. I pour the tea in it and meet a cockily ready Douaïb at the door, waiting for me while looking at his watch.

He pokes out his bottom lip. "Not bad, you've still got a minute."

I roll my eyes and push past him to the outside corridor.

We make it to the car and I plug in my phone to share my playlist, singing and rapping along to some of my tracks. This is a weirdly relaxing environment, where I insist that my songs are good while he goes on rants to prove that I only listen to commercial music.

When he parks in the Centre of Algiers, we separate as I go to Meissonnier and he goes to wherever he needs to.

It's only at that moment that we first exchange phone numbers.

"It's weird that we're only now exchanging phone numbers."

"There wasn't a need before now." He states, matter-of-factly. "Now, remember to wear the mask if the market is crowded."

Being in a cheerful mood, I grasp at the occasion. "Awww you care about me, don't you?"

He fights an amused smile. "I don't want my apartment contaminated because of you is all. Call me when you're done, and don't buy veggies, I will."

"Okay, guess I'll see you later." I avoid making a remark about how we sound like a married couple.

°°°

In the market, I look for any clothing stores that might still be open, and I get lucky with one that I'm used to visiting. I buy two pairs of pyjamas, both shorts, and three tops. I also stock up on underwear and a cute bra. The latter was only because the wire in my current bra was attempting to stab my boobs.

I also buy more toiletries, mainly wax, due to the fact that I had just bought shorts, and other necessities I felt I was lacking.

I seriously consider buying a hair straightener but the shop isn't open anyway, so the decision is quickly made.

After all of that, I decide on buying groceries to at least participate in my presence in his apartment.

When I'm done, I call him and we meet at the car again. My fat shopping bags earn raised eyebrows as he gets into the car.

That evening, I make pesto pasta (pre-made sauce, let's be real) while still wearing his PJs.

We have dinner in the living room in front of Colombo, which we both find out is each other's guilty pleasure. As I collect our now-dry plates, he stops me.

"I'll wash them, you go do you."

"Do me?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"I'm sure you're all excited about your new clothes, and whatnot."

I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. "You'll get your T-shirt tomorrow, but you can still do the dishes," I offer cheerfully.

He rolls his eyes at me, "Sure thing, just leave them here."

"Thank you," I sing as I walk past him to my room.

It's about 11pm when I say that, and while he's busy dishing I take the advantage of sound to wax my winter legs the most that I can before choosing some light blue shorts and a burgundy T-shirt. I wear his sweatpants again and go have a bath to melt the sticky wax off my legs. As I walk by the kitchen, I see that he's cleaning up around the sink, so I fill up the bath and pour some essential oils that I bought from the market (for no particular reason).

I come out of the shower smelling like cinnamon with baby-soft legs and PJs on fleek around 1am, so he must be sleeping. Right... Tomorrow's Monday.

Day 9:

I wake up early Monday morning and stretch, noting how much good it did me Saturday morning. I make sense of my belongings and finally decide to place them under my bed as opposed to on the desk chair. I open the closet mirror and check my hair... Not catastrophic. Definitely preferable to whatever the boxer braids did to it. I then go to the kitchen to start on breakfast when a folded piece of paper catches my attention on the table.

"I went to the office today, I'll be back before 7. -- El Dib."

I raise my eyebrows slightly. This can only mean one thing: Original audio on my TV shows, baby!

I spend the day watching The Tudors, which was high up on my bucket list. And just when things were about to get real with Anne Boleyn, I hear the keys get inserted into the lock. I slump into the couch a bit deeper and grab a handful of popcorn (cliché, I know, but I spent the past three episodes munching on salted popcorn).

He's carrying a cardboard box which I can only guess contains his work computer. People have been carrying those around since working from home became an option at webhelp. Over the cardboard box was a pastry box, which was odd. I paused The Tudors and went to help him with the pastry box, placing it in the kitchen and, as per my habit, opening it immediately to assess its contents. At that moment, I can't quite say if it's his cologne or the cake but I quite feel like jumping him.

"Is it somebody's birthday?" I ask from the kitchen.

"It's my sweet tooth's birthday and you have to celebrate it with me," he announces from the living room as a sound of glass bottles echoes throughout the apartment.

I stick my head through the frame. "Got thirsty?"

He smirks and pulls out a bottle of Jack. "Very. Care to join?"

I shake my head and go back to face the cake. "Want a piece? And, more importantly, can _I_ get a piece?"

"What?" He asks from his bedroom.

I skip through the corridor and push his slightly ajar door, which takes us both by surprise. He's shirtless with a tank top in one hand and his button down in the other. His eyes travel down to my bare legs and my askew t-shirt with some surprise marring his gaze. Did he think I had hooves or something? I let my eyes skim across his chest and deem him attractive enough without being skeletal... Not that it's any of my business or anything.

"Cake." I state, raising my eyebrows at him, making him look up.

"Sure, I'll take a piece." He murmurs, malice creeping on his features. "The cake sounds nice too."

I was leaving but retreat a few steps to make eye contact with him. "I do hope you don't drink and drive."

"Never on duty," he winks as he wears his tank top and strolls past me, making sure we're both in the threshold at the same time.

My heart skips a beat but I would never admit to that ever happening. I hand him the knife I had brought. "I'll only have the cake, please."

He stays in the threshold, keeping eye contact. "Just the cake, huh?"

"Yeah, I don't drink." I murmur. He's close enough to hear me breathe.

Thankfully and unfortunately, he leaves and a breath I didn't know I was holding leaves me. For some reason, I go to my room and discreetly tap some of my lemon and jasmine perfume behind my ears, on my collar bone, and on my wrists.

When I go back to the living room, he's sat on the couch with a tumbler of Jack (probably) and a piece of cake. Another piece is on the coffee table with a mug of reheated red tea. I sit cross-legged and take the plate, trying desperately not to notice his fleeting looks at me.

"Let's see what you were watching, shall we?" He announces. Alcohol makes him more of a tease. "Ew, English."

I roll my eyes and finish chewing before answering. "I had to take advantage of your absence somehow, didn't I?"

He gives me the look that's specific to Douaïb, where it's a mix of exasperation and malice. As if I'd said exactly the aggravating thing he'd wanted me to say. I grin at him and he smiles back, taking a sip of his drink and smacking his lips frankly. He flips through shows and movies, trying to decide on what to watch.

After some time, I get antsy and groan. "Come _on_, just pick one, if it's bad we'll criticise it, how about that?"

He narrows his eyes at me and fights a grin. "I don't really feel like watching anything right now."

I press my lips together and my eyes fall on the chess set. "Teach me how to play chess, then."

He raises one eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be sure?" I ask.

His malice is still present as he shakes his head and goes to sit at the chess table. "No reason, come over here."

He spends three quarters of an hour teaching me in a mock-game where he explains his moves and tells me how I can counter them. Having him explain something with pedagogy brings me back to when I first met him as my new product instructor at work, and that feels... nostalgic? The word doesn't really fit, but that's what comes to mind.

After nearly an hour of teaching and a second tumbler of Jack later, he locks gazes with me as though to connect our minds.

"What?" I ask, wary.

"I have a proposition for you." He announces, leaning back in his chair.

"I do not like this." I murmur over my mug of cold tea, making him bark a laugh.

"Not _that_ kind of proposition. Well... not _exactly_ that kind." He concedes, trying to throw an innocent look but failing crookedly.

I roll my eyes and exhale from my nose. "Alright, what's the proposition?"

"You know the rules of the game now, and I know you've got enough brains to string them together. So my proposition is, the winner of this game gets to ask for a favour, and the other one has to comply." He takes a sip of his tumbler to punctuate the end of his sentence.

I raise my eyebrows. "Sounds interesting."

"It's a deal then!" He exclaims, presenting me his hand to shake.

"No contact, coronavirus!" I exclaim before taking his germaphobe hand in mine, making him grimace some.

The game starts, and the beginning is hopeful for me. I haven't exactly thought of the favour I'd ask for if I won, mostly because I never like to be too optimistic. It looks like the end of the game for him, but with his four remaining pieces he decimates my side of the board. The smirk on his face is unmistakeable as he takes my king. He'd planned for this all along. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Spit it out."

"Are you upset?" He drawls, swirling and then downing the last of his drink.

"I'm upset at myself for accepting this disguised deal," I murmur, folding my arms over my chest.

He goes to the kitchen and starts washing his tumbler and plate. I notice he hasn't taken my plate so I join him there and wait for my turn to wash my dishes.

"My favour is so small, it's not even a favour to me, really," he slurs in his tipsy demeanour as he asks for my dishes without turning around.

"I do wonder what it entails," I sing as I hand him my plate and mug and lean back against the table, folding my arms over my chest.

He finishes washing the dishes silently, dries his hands, and turns around, leaning back against the kitchen sink. "A kiss is all I want."

I tilt my head to the side and give him an indulgent smile. "That's all? Child's play."

"Is this a yes?" He asks incredulously, momentarily losing his cool.

"I don't have a choice, do I?" I ask back, subconsciously biting my lip.

He advances on me, earning an adult version of his name, and stands a literal inch away from me. Our eyes are glued to one anothers. The kitchen is dark, so the only light comes from the corridor and the balcony. The sliding door is open, so why do I feel so warm?

Subconsciously, I lean back further against the table, making a chair groan as it slides into the table. It's at that moment that he places his hands on my hips, sliding them towards my back and up between my shoulder blades, making my t-shirt ride up slightly. My arms fall to my sides, and just as I was about to cup his face...

Ding, ding, ding!

He closes his eyes in frustration, and I feel his hands tighten, as though wanting to be fists, on my back.

Ding, ding, ding!

He leans back, and again I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. He answers his phone dryly as I go put the chess pieces back on the board for something to occupy my sweaty hands.

"Yeah, yeah, hold up a second," he mutes his microphone and turns to me, "this is going to take quite a while, don't wait on me, okay?"

I squint at him and nod. "Yeah sure, go ahead, take your time."

I quickly finish putting away the chess pieces and grab my phone to go to my bedroom.

That night, I can't fall asleep, even with ASMR. My heart is racing with what almost happened.

Did I _want_ it to happen or... No. I'd just lost a bet, was all. And he was tipsy. Probably not master of his actions.

Somehow, that did not convince me...

Day 10:

I oversleep. It's mostly because it took me so long to fall asleep last night, and for good reason. What reason, you ask? I have a crush on my host, that's the reason. I sit on my bed and find it is nearing 2pm. I shrug in no particular direction as I make my way towards the bathroom. I don't exactly think about the fact he's already working in the living-room as I shuffle lazily to go wash up. I vaguely notice he's not at the set-up computer, so I'm only half-surprised when he's in the shower as I get in and get hit in the face by the steam.

"Sorry, I didn't notice this was busy," I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Oh good, you're awake. I need you." He announces, shutting off the water.

I quickly close the bathroom door and go sit in the kitchen, waiting for whatever he needs from me. I only wait two minutes as he comes out of the bathroom... Only holding a towel to his waist. Is this a test?

"I think I knotted a muscle in my side, I stretched and did everything but it won't stop bothering me. Think you can do something about it?" He asks, as though yesterday had never happened. Maybe it hadn't, and I just imagined it... Or maybe he simply doesn't remember it or doesn't wanna address it.

"Sure thing, step 1: go wear pants." I muse, following his lead of not mentioning or acknowledging yesterday.

"Just pants?" He asks, a hint of yesterday's malice discernible in his tone.

"Do you want to feel better or not?" I ask, growing a teensy bit frustrated. I, myself, acknowledge that I may be overreacting, but there isn't a way to stop it.

"Alright, give me a second." He concedes, going to his room.

I try to remove from my mind that there was a bump on his towel as he left. I make myself tea and sit there, waiting. Five minutes pass... Then ten... Is he wearing pants or pantaloons? Just when I resolve myself to go knock on his door, he shows up in the kitchen and winces at his sudden whipping around.

"Well, aren't you coming?" He asks, as though I were supposed to know what he meant.

"Coming where?" I ask, setting down my untouched tea.

"Might I remind you that I'm on my supposed lunch break and that I need to start working again in less than 45 minutes? Come to my room." And he leaves without waiting for an answer.

I follow him, making a stop by my bedroom to retrieve the baby oil I'd first used on him. I find him laying on his stomach sideways in bed. I tilt my head to myself. Is this really happening? This looks like the beginning of a porno.

"Okay, which side is it and where?" I ask, oiling my hands.

"Left side, right above the kidney area, next to my shoulder blade."

I kneel at the end of the bed and start spreading the oil from my hands to the desired area, pressing occasionally to ask for directions. I massage his pain away, earning some guttural moans which only make my job more difficult (while it usually encourages me to keep massaging). Knowing he can't see me, I bite my lip when he moans and take glances at his hands. They're of the water type. Earth and fire hands are thick and usually have short-ish fingers, like mine. Water and air hands are thin, with long fingers and usually good nails, which was the case with him. As I undo the knots in his side, I decide fuck it, might as well do the whole back. I make his skin absorb all of the oil, and do his shoulders, the back of his head with my nails like last time, and when I work from his cervical spine to the small of his back, I hear his first snore. Really? I look at the alarm clock and it's 2:39pm. I keep massaging until it's 2:45 to give him time to freshen up before work, and maybe grab a bite.

When that time comes, I lean forward towards his ear and run my fingers through his hair, "Doudou, wake up. It's a quarter to three."

He groans and turns over on his side to face me. "I told you not to call me that."

I fold my arms over my chest. "Well I don't appreciate being an unpaid masseuse first thing in the morning, either."

He laughs out loud. "It's hardly morning, sleepy head."

I give him a scornful half-smile. "Oh, look who's talking, you've got pillow marks all over your cheek and it's only been twenty minutes."

"What can I say, you're a magician," he muses, throwing me a flirty glance. "Where did you learn that anyway?"

"It's intuitive, for the most part. And the rest is what I wish was done to me." I immediately regret the latter part.

"You need only ask," he sings as he surveys me, making eye contact with me in silence.

"And you need to get back to work," I change the subject because for some reason this is making me uncomfortable.

He gets up and gives me a hand to get up without falling, cause I was quite literally on the edge of the bed. Before I leave his bedroom, he grazes my arm with his finger, making me turn to him.

"Hey um..." For a moment it feels like he's going to mention yesterday. "Thanks... For fixing me."

"Physically," I intone, grinning at his confusion.

"Chess tonight?" He asks, winking when my eyebrows jump in surprise.

I smirk. "Sure."

We do indeed play chess that night, but no favour is mentioned. It's an easy day, and I couldn't be happier about that. I go to sleep with a smile on my face and a sense of relief.

Day 12: I wake up groggily, and the first thing I notice, before opening my eyes, is that my bed seems to be wider. As I open them, I bolt upright. I’m not in my room, I’m in his. What the hell? I don’t remember how I got in here, and, worst of all, I don’t remember anything that happened after the game of chess… I sit up; look at the alarm clock—only to find it turned off. Curious. I shuffle to my bedroom, only to find the chair turned over and my phone plugged and on the desk. What happened? What the HELL happened? I grab my phone and find it turned off. But it was plugged in, why’s it off? It’s even saying low battery. I make my way to the living-room and find an unexpected sight. Every electronic device is off, and I confirm by turning the light switch that the electricity’s been cut off. That is normal for Algiers, the unexpected sight is Douaïb sleeping in the couch, he hasn’t even bothered to set up the work computer. I’d venture to guess he’s already texted or called someone to signal it. As I walk by the kitchen, I notice a clump of broken glass in a bowl of newspaper. I frown. I really need to ask him what happened… after washing up. When I face the bathroom mirror, I understand a good deal of what I’m feeling. My eyes are red and puffy, my face is sticky, and my gaze is even a bit downturned despite the obvious confusion on my features. Last night comes to me in flashes…

Day 11: I wake up to find myself starving. I go directly to the kitchen, where I find the last piece of the birthday cake on a plate on the table and one missing chair. I instinctively look at the balcony and find it with its occupant smoking. This reminds me that I still have an untouched pack of cigarettes in my backpack. I go fetch it and join him on the balcony. I sit with my back to the railing on the floor and extend my legs before me. We’re silent for a while, gazing at the faraway harbour with grey clouds looming above it. He lives in La Grande Poste, a bit higher than the Poste, so the harbour is visible, as well as most of the Centre of Algiers. “Slept well?” He asks, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the floor. “Can’t say I didn’t,” I shrug before taking a long drag of my cigarette. “You?” “Like a drunk baby,” he chuckles as he gathers his belongings to go inside, probably to start working. “Need anything?” He asks, poking his head back from the kitchen. “That Van Gogh book you have,” I say, making eye contact. He smirks and brings it to me presently. Hours go by and I tear through the pages, not noticing when lunchtime comes and goes. It’s only when the evening prayer is called for that I notice I’ve been reading for five hours. And I somehow didn’t finish the book. I go to the bathroom to freshen up, since I went directly to the kitchen upon waking up. The evening comes as usual, when 8 chimes, he starts packing up the work computer while I serve dinner. Sautéed veggies, tonight. We go for a game of chess. I’m getting better at it. Not that I’m winning or anything, but games last longer and he frowns more. This time, we move the chess set on the couch as well as drinks (sparkling water, for me, Pastis for him). We sit side by side as he gets increasingly tipsy and I get increasingly flirtatious. Do I control it? I’d venture to guess that I do. I just don’t really care about the consequences. At some point during the game, I drop one of the defeated pawns from the coffee table onto the carpet, so he leans down to pick it up, instinctively placing a steadying hand on my bare knee. He places the pawn on the table but keeps his hand on my knee. I grab his hand softly and intertwine our fingers, making him look up at me. Our faces are inches apart as he breathes Pastis in the space separating us. I get up suddenly, too suddenly in fact, sending my empty glass crashing on the floor. I gasp and cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, so sorry—” I move to go pick up the pieces but he grabs my wrist firmly. “Stop this, you’re barefoot!” “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking!” I keep apologising, because I’m mortified. The logical part of my brain tells me it’s not a big deal, but the anxious part keeps apologising and being mortified. He grabs me by the shoulders, about to speak when he stops. “Are you… crying?” Am I? I instinctively bring my fingers to my cheek. I am indeed crying, but… why? I know this won’t matter in a few minutes. I have been feeling a bit cooped up, but nothing major, and I’ve definitely felt worse. Before I can control my actions, I burst into sobs and he pulls me into a tight hug. I cling to him and cry my eyes out while he feebly rubs my back. I calm down, but stay in the hug, and he doesn’t pull away. His caresses go from my back to my head. “Are you okay?” He whispers after some time. I nod against his chest, and he pulls away, first wiping away my tears and then locking eyes with me. “Do you want to talk? About it or about anything else?” I don’t answer. I simply lean up to his lips and kiss him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s taken aback at first, and I remember faintly thinking that I should have asked first, but then he wraps his arms around me, walking and making me walk backwards towards the chess table (now barren, since the set is on the coffee table). When I feel the table poking the small of my back, I slide my right hand from his cheek to his chest. He breaks off the kiss and lifts me up swiftly, making me sit on the table. We make eye contact again and his eyes look hazy. He grabs my jaw and leans in for the most feral kiss yet. I faintly recall biting his bottom lip, making him chuckle through a kiss. I also faintly recall hearing the fridge turn off in the kitchen. As we slide our hands under each other’s tops, we break the kiss and… it’s still dark. I remember we don’t really care, and are about to kiss again when my phone rings from my bedroom. It’s dark but I know that, like me, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine. I caress his bearded jaw and drag my nails across the back of his neck and up his scalp. “I need to go check it,” I whisper, poking the tip of his nose with mine. “Fuck it,” his voice is raspy. “I’d rather not, it could be important,” I murmur, placing a soft kiss on his lips and extracting myself from the embrace. “Careful, there’s broken glass on the floor.” “At least I’m not barefoot!” He calls behind me. I poke my way around my bedroom and find my phone lit up. I was right. It was important. My sister called me. As high as my spirits got from that make out session, my heart dropped to my stomach. It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve last spoken to her, and I miss her the most. And if she calls me at this time of night… She must miss me too. At that moment, I feel so guilty and so angry with myself that I throw my phone across the room and kick the desk chair, making it fall over. The sound brings a flickering candle light and a concerned Douaïb to the room. I faintly remember him kneeling and cupping my face. He asks me a question but I don’t hear it, I just let tears roll down my cheeks, with the occasional whimper. He grabs my hand, making my focus on one thing at a time, and leads me to his bedroom. He sits me down and I remember him saying something about sleeping here tonight. He’s about to leave but I take his hand. “Will you stay with me? Until I fall asleep?” My voice is lower than I remember it being. It takes him a full second to consider it before he blows out the candle and lies down in the middle of the bed. I curl up against him and he caresses my shoulder. I fall asleep in minutes.

Day 12:

I don’t know how to feel. On one hand, he seems to… care about me. On the other hand, I need electricity to come back as soon as possible to know why my sister tried to call. I only realise how hard I’m gripping the sink when it digs so hard into the heels of my hands that they feel numb. I remove them from there and wash them under warm water. I wash up and sit on the edge of the bathtub. Eventually, I slide on the floor and rest my back against the bathtub. I don’t cry, because I’ve dried out. But I still sit on the bathroom floor for a while before I hear rustling in the living-room. I still don’t move, even when I hear him calling for me.

After some time, there’s a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Hey… You in there?”

My voice gets lost in my throat, so I knock on the bathtub glass loud enough to hear from the other side of the door. Apparently, this worries him, because next thing I know the door flings open. Did he expect to find me in a pool of my own blood? I mean—yeah, he wouldn’t be wrong in assuming that. I can’t bring myself to alter my features in any way, so I kind of just… stare at him neutrally. His initial surprise and assessment of my situation fade, and he kneels in front of me, eventually sitting cross-legged.

“D’you wanna talk?” He asks finally, breaking the silence.

I shrug one shoulder. “Talking isn’t going to help when I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

He comes to sit to my left, right under the window. “We could just stay here, if you want. Or go somewhere more comfortable.”

I finally manage to twitch the corners of my lips into an attempt at a smile. “Can we go for a smoke?”

He stands up and extends his hand towards me. I accept it and rise too quickly. I find myself an inch from his chest. I look up and realise he’s got an arm around my shoulders, ready to support me in case I break.

I keep his hand in mine, and murmur, “Thank you… Thank you for everything you’re doing for me.”

He places his hand on my cheek and kisses my forehead. I lean in to hug him, and he caresses my back. I take long, deep, steadying breaths. This feels right.

We stay in that embrace for a few minutes and then take warm drinks to the balcony and smoke, while talking about anything but the situation at hand. The situation being me. I go through five cigarettes of my pack before snuggling close to him. In fact, we’d only taken pillows and blankets to the balcony, meaning we were sat together in the comfiest setting I had ever experienced. The day is sunny, and we can see the differences in depth in the sea. At some point, I doze off against his chest, and he hums a tune.

I wake up at some point, I remember, and plant a soft kiss on his lips. I remember this because right after that his embrace on me tightened.

The evening goes by without electricity. We skip dinner and spend the evening playing chess to candle light. When bedtime comes, my heart skips a beat.

“Uh Douaïb?”

“Yeah?” He turns around in the middle of the corridor.

“Can I… Can I sleep with you tonight?” I ask, praying to God he won’t misunderstand me.

He squints and walks towards me. “Are you okay?”

I consider brushing it off. “I—I don’t want to stay alone. At all.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and we go to his bedroom. He goes to sit on one side of the bed and before I go sit on the other side, I consider another option for the end of our evening. I stand in front of him and cup his face, planting a deep kiss on his lips. He snakes his arms around my waist and I kneel on his lap—well, I sit on his lap and kneel on the bed on either side of him. We break the kiss and stare into each other’s eyes in the darkness. The only light comes from the full moon reflected on the harbour, and it only lights up the left side of his face.

In that moment I realise that I am not romantically attracted to him.

I certainly enjoy his presence and his aura. He’s a great kisser and an even greater friend. But I don’t feel romantically towards him. Maybe it is too early to decide on anything, but so far… that’s how I feel.

We go to sleep in each other’s embrace after a few minutes of cuddling.

Day 13:

I wake up and find a weight on my side. Opening my eyes, I see a familiar arm wrapped around me. I snuggle into the embrace, waking him up. He nestled a kiss in the crook of my neck. I turn over and straddle him, planting pecks all over his face, giggling. We stop after some time and he sits up. Our faces are inches from one another’s. He closes the space between us (or I close it, I can’t be sure) in our softest and slowest kiss yet. I unconsciously place my hand on his thigh as he draws his right arm around me, lying atop me. He kisses down my neck and my collarbone, revealing my shoulder as he slides the hem of my t-shirt, trailing kisses. I run my fingers through his hair, smelling peppermint. We are about to kiss again when the sound of the call for prayer stops us. It serves to wake me from this dream-like situation.

“We should check if the electricity’s back,” I murmur, caressing his hair.

He kisses the crook of my neck again. “What good’ll that do?”

“You could work.”

“I’m tired of working.”

I smile at him. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“How will they know my electricity’s back?”

I smirk at him. “I could rat you out.” I flip him over, straddle him, and fold my arms over my chest.

He smirks back at me and runs his hands over my thighs. “You wouldn’t dare. I’d report you.”

I lift an eyebrow. “What would you report me for?”

His hands lift the hem of my burgundy t-shirt. “Misbehaviour.”

“Does this include calling you Doudou?” I intone, lowering myself to hover over his face.

He reaches up to brush my hair out of my face. “And turning me into a sinner.”

I blink several times and bury my face in his collarbone as I snort and start laughing. I’m quite literally lying atop him and we spend the morning (well, afternoon) in bed, not doing much but physically enjoying each other’s presence. We don’t do much more than cuddling and kissing, before we’re both hungry and thirsty enough to go eat.

¤¤¤¤¤

Late at night, as we are playing another game of chess, the same sound that announced the cutting of the electricity alerts us of its coming back. I bolt to my bedroom and turn on my phone. I find the missed call, but no message aside from the occasional Messenger chatter.

I immediately call my sister. It rings three times before she picks up.

“Are you okay?” I ask at once.

“Where are you?’ She asks back.

“I’m safe and healthy. You?”

“I am too. I miss you. Please, come back,” she pleads.

“I love you.”

I hang up before hearing the rest. I don’t want to argue with her. I want to leave on good terms with her. I lie back on my bed and sigh deeply. There’s a soft knock on the door. I pick up the chair I hurled three days ago and admit him in. He sits on it and I sit back on my bed.

“Are you okay?” He asks. It sounds like he doesn’t want to prod.

I figure he has a right to know. “My sister called my three days ago. I miss her but I don’t wanna be home.”

He shrugs one shoulder and pokes out his bottom lip. “You can call this home, if you like.”

I exhale sharply and smirk humourlessly. “Thank you. I’ll have to leave after the quarantine, though. That’s what brought me here.”

“You could stay beyond that. I could have just driven you to Maria’s after a day,” he observes.

I take a deep breath, focusing on anything in the room but his eyes. “I figure we’ll find out in a while.”

He presses his lips together and stands up. “I guess this is good night. You’re free to join, if you like.”

I nod. “Thank you… I think I’ll stay here tonight. I need to think.”

His eyebrows jump and he smirks. “This is never good.”

I chuckle and go hug him. I plant a kiss on his cheek as I pull away. “Good night.”

He smirks. “Good night.”

Day 18:

I wake up in his arms, and gently extract myself. I go to the bathroom and take what I call a 360-shower. The kind where I remove all the hair and exfoliate all the skin. I get out in his bathrobe, feeling fresher than I have in days, and he’s setting up his work computer. I lean towards him and kiss him good morning, which he returns mechanically. We got used to each other’s presence and each other’s ministrations.

We spend a day that quite resembles our earlier ones, where we weren’t so focused on how much we wanted to give in to our sexual frustration. It’s still there, but it can be calmed down. And we calm it down at every opportunity. Might as well, considering we’re quarantined together and we have already established our mutual attraction to one another. What I fear the most in our current situation is developing feelings for him. That would ruin everything. I love him as a friend, and he’s an amazing kisser, but mix in romantic feelings, and everything goes to shit.

I’m not just saying this to sound edgy, I know myself and I know how he is at work. And, worst of all, I don’t know how he is outside of work. I would get extremely jealous. I’d be hurt at not knowing what he’s doing when he’s not working or away from me. I wouldn’t want him to know all of my doubts, so I’d hide them and it’d eat at me from the inside. Whereas now, I only care about hygiene, and he’s great at it.

As I was saying, we spend quite a normal day. It’s as if we were married, in my ideal image of marriage. Exempt of romantic feelings that would poison the mood and create needless arguments. I admit my view is unconventional, but it’s what suits my personality.

We silently enjoy each other’s company, him working, me reading. It takes me a few hours to finally go wear pyjamas. I wear the second set of PJs I bought when I went out. A sky-blue tank top that’s kind of flimsy, so I’d need a bra with it. I wear the cute one (black with lace coming down the sternum) that I bought on that same day. The shorts, because wearing pants to bed would be nothing short of suicide for me, that I bought are dark green with back pockets. I wear my hair in two tight buns, when though it’s already almost dry.

I go back to the living room on tiptoe and rub Douaïb’s shoulders, sliding my hands down his chest and nestling a kiss on the base of his neck, just above his collarbone. He places a kiss on my cheek as I pull away. I sit back where I was and pick up my book, but his typing stopped. I look up to see him looking at me and quickly bringing his gaze back to his screen, a smirk lifting his beard.

“What is it?” I ask, genuinely confounded.

He exhales sharply. “Cute.”

“And that’s funny?” I ask, letting a giggle overcome me.

He slides near me on the couch and slaps his knees. “Come here.”

I put the book back down and go straddle his lap slowly. He runs his hands across my thighs and gives me what I realise is his most genuine smile. It spreads a warmth within me I haven’t felt in years, and alarm bells go off in my mind, but I shush them. This is a good moment, and I don’t want to ruin it.

I smile back at him. “Are you okay?”

He brings his hand to the side of my face and brushes a loose curl from the back of my neck upwards. “I’m more than okay.”

I kneel up a bit higher and kiss his lips softly. “As am I.”

He gets up, lifting me with him. “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”

“But work—” I object, making him chuckle.

“I guess they’ll have to spend the last hour without me,” he smirks, taking us down the hall.

I vaguely recall seeing pinkish and purplish hues reflected from the setting sky and the harbour.

That night is different from others we’ve spent together. It is slower, fuller, and more intense. We don’t ‘have sex’; we make love.

And that’s what terrifies me.

Day 19:

I wake up sore and groggy. I go run myself a warm bath first thing in the morning. I wake up earlier than usual, so it gives me time to think. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, however, because the first word that comes out of my mouth today is one that’s been repeated countless times yesterday.

“Fuck.”

What’s the most painful about last night is nothing physical. It’s the realisation that I developed feelings for him. I need out, I need—

“Hey, you in there?”

I whip around to face the closed bathroom door, making rippling water sounds. I don’t want to hurt him, especially not after all he’s done for me. He needs me, too. I can’t leave him… Not like that… Not after last night.

“Hello?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m having a bath. You woke early,” I remark as an afterthought.

“Bed got cold,” he muses. “May I come in?”

_Please don’t._ “Of course.”

He sits on the edge of the clear water bath in which I’m hugging my knees. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “You mean… am I sore or something?”

He nods. “Yeah… Any regrets?” He adds this bit as an attempt at humour, but I know he’s at least mostly serious.

I attempt to make my chuckle believable, but I can tell he’s hiding the fact that he doesn’t believe me. “Not a single one.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead. “I’ll let you enjoy your bath. I’m in the balcony.”

“I’ll join you when I’m done.”

And I hoped that was true.

I remember that day in flashes.

Me about to join him in the balcony, interrupted by my phone ringing.

Crying immediately, drawing him to my bedroom.

Jumping in the car with wet hair, on my way to the hospital.

Trying to ask for their names…

Fainting. Waking up with an IV drip. Crying some more.

I cry a lot that day. And he’s there. Near me.

I see her bruised face, asleep, bandaged head, IV drip, heart rate monitors beeping.

The only one I’ve ever loved, in a comatose state.

The ones I’ve lived with, dead.

I’m truly alone now. Alone, and wishing my sister would wake up.

Alone, motherless, homeless… Involuntarily, this time.

I don’t want to go to my dad’s. I don’t want to go back to Douaïb’s.

That night, I join him home to pack up my things. I’d already called Maria to ask if I could move to her place. He doesn’t understand, I explain I need a sister. He says he understands.