Chapter Text
The air is thick with incense and old ash.
You rub one eye as you stretch, waking up by the sunlight peering through the open curtain.
This is not your room.
It’s not only the heavy smoke in the air that makes it obvious, but the weight sinking the mattress behind, the warm breath against the nae of your neck.
Your hand travels down to your middle where it finds his. He brushes your fingers and moves down, pulling you back against him, fingers splayed over the curve of your hipbone.
“Morning.” He mumbles against you, and you know his eyes are still closed. He stretches his arms in front of you only to hold you closer, tighter against him; his body curves around yours, protective.
You giggle as you try to find room to straighten your legs, but a firm bundle at the feet of the bed barely groans and huffs lowly.
Princess stares at you with one eye barely open before hiding again in a ball, too small for the massive creature that she is.
Of course he sleeps with his fucking dogs.
“How long has she been on the bed?” You ask just to start a conversion. As if you forgot the kind of company you have.
“Since you’ve stopped making all your pretty noises, sparrow.” Ais says in a tone so low, coated still with the drowsiness of the morning, you can feel it rumble in your chest.
He laughs when he notices the way you tense and push against him, without saying a word.
“Once you curled up against me.” He finally gave in. “She didn’t want to be left out, you see.”
“She’ll feel really bad once she sees you making me breakfast.”
He takes his time to answer. You look back at him, and his eyes are closed, his nose nuzzling onto your back, his embrace softer.
Well, breakfast could still wait for a little while.
“Good morning. Ais.” You whisper and he only makes a soft noise in acknowledgement.
He did promise, of course.
What you didn’t know, but assumed, was that the tea cakes were bought from a patisserie around the corner that doesn’t fit with the rest of the block at all.
No one would mess with them, however; not with him watching. And he surely wouldn’t risk not having them.
You know this is a tea shop, even if not a proper functioning one, but still, hearing Ais’ carefully crafted concoctions with the snobiness of an expert makes you laugh: he’s still reeking of sex, smoke and leather, and talking your ear off about the differences in between varieties of black tea.
You know shit about tea.
You might take a liking to learn, seeing the way his eyes shine, his demeanor becomes brighter.
And it makes sense, if you really try to see it. It’s definitely worth the effort after the wide grin, all fangs and bright joy, when you actually enjoy the cup he made for you.
You do not think of anything else. Not for the longest time.
Not until your phone makes such a racket it finally calls your attention, buried in the pocket of the jacket you abandoned over some chair, full of texts and missed calls and the looming feeling that you might have not told anyone you were gone and it’s monday morning.
And everyone is looking frantically for you.
“I should be working.” You mention more lost than nonchalant, staring at your phone. Ais’ candor doesn’t leave his face, even when he seems slightly worried, for once.
“Afraid cops might be looking for you, sparrow?”
“... A little.” You grimace at him, showing him your phone.
He clicks his tongue, stretches up sitting on the chair, cracking his back and loosening the stiffness in his muscles. He looks more resigned than offended; his smile never leaves hissface, never leaves you.
“Let me take you home before I get kidnap charges, then.”
Something inside you withers a little, becomes smaller.
You do have to leave. And he will come back here. To the other side of the city.
Where you cannot see him as much as you’d want to.
It pulls at your heart like a puppeteer string; you swallow the knot down your throat, playing indifference as best you can.
It doesn’t fool him.
“Hey, you’re missing already and we haven’t even lft?” He places two fingers under your cin to lift your eyes up to meet his. The tenderness on his gaze outshines the mischievous smile he wears like a weapon. “You can always text me, you know.” He says before bringing you closer, kissing you without holding you back, so delicately any wrong movement might shatter the spell.
Your head is still buzzing, your mind elsewhere when he lets you go.
Your attention focuses on your phone again; looking at him coming and going as he gets ready to take you away feels like such a bittersweet morsel you’re not so sure you can taste without twisting your face right now.
Your night was far too sweet; it had to end, one way or another.
You can see him getting distracted pulling out his own phone. He smirks, chuckles.
It did what it had to do.
You put your own phone away and take the helmet from his hand.
Your leather clad Cinderella story is over. The engine roars and you get ready to go.
At least the road is long, crowded enough to let you enjoy his embrace for a little longer, resting your body against his. He drives with one hand as much as he can, the other one covering your around his waist.
You recognize your building with the same excitement once would look at their own plain white ceiling at a wonderful dream. It looks perfectly fine but it feels… off. Unfitting.
He helps you off the bike and out of the helmet, only to take your hand.
For a moment there’s only silence. He looks like he’s about to say something, but.
The moment passes.
“What now?” You try to joke; it comes out heavier than you expected. “Should I wait for the next whatever that was to see you?”
He laughs. “Text me, sparrow. Anytime.”
he breaches the distance in between you. You can feel his breathing against your face, his chest barely touching yours.
“What if it’s the middle of the night?”
“Then I’ll send you a selfie, and you’ll have to trust me even when my phone is absolute dogshit in dark rooms.” It makes you chuckle.
His arms find your lower back; he pulls you in against him, your helmet resting against the small of your back.
“What if I’m terribly lonely at night?” You start but he stops you; his lips taste yours as if pure ambrosia flowed from your mouth, slowly, savoring every little touch.
“Tell me.”
“What if-”
“Sparrow.” He says more firmly, but his grin never leaves him. “Sing your little song, and I’ll come listen, Yeah?”
He holds you firmly. It’s comforting, grounding.
Like he’s not going anywhere.
“Yeah.” You finally have the strength to muster.
He doesn’t leave for a long time.
He sees you come in, waits.
You get up to your floor. Throw the jacket onto your couch, and check on the sidewalk from your bedroom window.
Ais is still there.
He sees you come out, raise a hand as a wave, two fingers up before he finally turns to his bike.
The roar echoes like a predator along the muted streets.
You can’t help but to go back to the silly text you sent him. Especially when you have a new one waiting.
‘I’ll miss you and your shithead attitude.”
‘I’m at your door and I miss you already, little Sparrow. Sing loud, sing soon.”
Who knew bikers could be so soft?
Who knew the kind of treasure a shitty job could bring along?
You silently chastise yourself for forgetting to ask something of him. Next time, you’ll remember to snatch that jacket he loves so much for yourself.
Next time.
The idea makes your heart flutter.