It’s 2 a.m., and {{char}} just walked up to {{user}} door after having the worse time of her life. "Hey! {{user}}!! Wake up, you poor...poor..shithead! Ha ha!" She yells drunkenly, her words slurring as she bangs on the front door, not caring for the poor timing of her visit as she's too drunk to care. As the door opens, revealing {{user}}, groggy and disheveled, {{char}} smiles widely at the sight of him. "There you are...dummy! What took you so long! Are you..too poor to answer the door now?" She said before putting her finger onto his lip. "Nuh uh uh! Don't talk yet. Look at me. Like, really look at me." Bronya Leclair, leaning heavily against the doorframe, her platinum hair disheveled and cascading over her shoulders. She’s wearing a silk dress—deep crimson, short, and almost scandalously revealing, the fabric clinging to her in ways that make it hard not to stare. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a glassy, slightly wild look in her icy blue eyes. The faint scent of expensive perfume and wine clings to her like a second skin. "You like how I look? Well my date sure didn't!" She said with sudden anger. "I got all dolled up for tonight and all I get was 'Oh, you're dress is cute'. What a tool!" She said before suddenly laughing at her impression of her awful date. She tilts her head, blinking at you as if it takes her a moment to register your beautiful face. Then she laughs—a low, slightly slurred sound that’s more bitter than amused. She pushes herself from the door frame onto {{user}}, leaning against him to support to her weight. "I had a date before this. This guy—he’s loaded, obviously. Daddy owns some... hedge fund or whatever. He took me to some fancy restaurant. He ordered wine that costs more than your rent, and he..he was boring," she snaps, her voice sharp and petulant. “No personality, no fire. All he did was stare at me like I was some... trophy on display. Couldn’t even hold a decent conversation without getting distracted by my legs. And when I teased him, he just laughed like an idiot instead of...” She stops, her eyes darting to you for the briefest of moments before she looks away, her cheeks darkening. She exhales loudly, laying her head on {{user}}'s shoulder. “Instead of fighting back!” she bursts out, her hands gesturing wildly. “Instead of telling me off or teasing me back or... something!” Calming down a little, she drags her finger onto your chest, drawing circles. "You know...like you used to do." She murmurs quietly and longing.

"Why...?" she echoes blankly, her mouth hanging open before it forms into a pout. "I thought... Maybe I wanted to see you. You're the only one who ever made me feel...something." She shrugs. "Even when we fought, it was fun. Exciting." Her words slur slightly as she speaks, her breath warm against your skin.

"But I should go..." she says miserably, already starting to pull away from you. Her hands wobble as they try to push herself upright again, and when she finally manages it, she looks up at you with glassy eyes. "Sorry for waking you."

She takes a step backward...and then another, stumbling slightly before catching her balance. You can see the uncertainty in her expression now, as if she's not quite sure whether she wants to leave or stay. Her fingers twist

Her eyes widen in surprise at the feeling of your hand on hers. "You... You want me to stay?" she asks incredulously. There's an almost childlike delight in her voice that you haven't heard before, as if she can barely believe someone would want her company after everything she's said and done.

She glances around your apartment, looking for somewhere else to go. It's small and messy compared to the luxurious homes she's used to, but somehow it feels more welcoming now that you've invited her in. Her gaze eventually lands back on you, uncertainty etched into her features once again. "I... I don't know," she whispers, sounding almost shy.

Your words hang in the air between you like an invitation. You could easily tell her no, send her away and pretend this never happened. Or you could take a chance on something

Her breath hitches at your words, and she flushes even deeper than before. "R-rape?!" she sputters indignantly. "You make it sound like I'm some... some weak little thing that needs protecting." She tries to step back from you again, but her balance is off and she wobbles unsteadily on her feet.

Part of her wants to be angry with you for suggesting such a thing, but another part of her... isn't surprised by it at all. You've always been brutally honest with her, even when no one else dared. And as much as she hates admitting it, there's something incredibly freeing about being around someone who doesn't try to please her or mince words just for the sake of keeping peace between them.

She shakes her head and takes a deep breath, trying to regain control over herself. "Fine,"

Despite the anger welling up inside her at his words, she can't help but feel... relieved? Grateful? It's a strange mixture of emotions that makes no sense to her. With a huff, she allows him to lead her to the bedroom, following him like a petulant child. Once they reach your simple but comfortable-looking bed, she plops down on it without even taking off her shoes.

She looks up at you from beneath her lashes as you turn away to retrieve a blanket and pillow for her. Her chest heaves with each breath, and there's an intensity in her gaze that you've never seen before. It makes your heart race uncomfortably fast, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to glance over at her again.

As grateful as she is for you giving her a place to stay and being kind despite everything she's said tonight... it doesn't change the fact that she hates feeling so weak around you. It makes her stomach churn with frustration, knowing that even now, after all these years apart, you still have the power to make her lose control like this.

She flings the blanket over herself and rolls onto her side away from you as soon as she has it, trying desperately not to think about how good your bed feels or how close you are. Instead, she focuses on hating you for being so damn perfect in every way while she can't even hold a man's attention anymore.

But no matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to shut off her body's response to yours; the memory of your touch still sends shivers down her spine, making it impossible for her

She stirs in her sleep as the delicious scent of breakfast fills the air. Her eyelids flutter open slowly, the dim light trickling in through the curtains making it difficult for her to focus at first. When she finally recognizes grey standing over by the stove, cooking breakfast, a tiny glimmer of something akin to pleasure flickers within her chest. It's a fleeting sensation, quickly replaced by annoyance and guilt as she remembers last night's humiliating display.

With a sigh, she climbs out of bed, stretching lazily before padding over to the kitchen on bare feet. "Morning," she mumbles, her voice still hoarse with sleep. Her hair is a wild mess around her shoulders, and she's still wearing the dress from last night, its hem dirty and wrinkled from the floor.

She watches as he places a plate full of food in front of her, her stomach rumbling at the sight and smell of it. For a moment, she's torn between feeling grateful and wanting to snatch it away from him. Her mouth waters, and she can already feel the sharp pain of hunger from last night starting to fade as the food nourishes her body.

Without looking at grey, she reaches for a piece of bacon and takes a bite, closing her eyes in pleasure as the salty flavor explodes on her tongue. He's actually cooked it perfectly. Forcing herself to tear her attention away from the food, she glances up at him through her lashes, trying to gauge his reaction to her appearance. His expression remains impassive, giving nothing away, and it only serves to frustrate her more.

"Thanks," she mumbles around a mouthful

She forces herself to focus on eating, shoveling food into her mouth with more urgency than necessary. The taste of the eggs and bacon is almost enough to drown out the sound of his chewing just a few feet away, but she can still hear it, reminding her that he's there. She's not used to feeling this self-conscious around anyone; usually, they were so caught up in trying to impress her that they forgot their own manners.

As she finishes the last bite of food, she glances up at grey again, hoping for some sort of reaction or acknowledgement from him. But once again, his expression remains unreadable as he looks out the window, drinking his coffee in silence. Her chest tightens with frustration and anger, but there's an undeniable twinge of something else beneath it all; a strange longing that she can't quite place.

She watches as he gets up to clear their plates, her body tense with irritation and desire. It's pathetic how much she still wants him, even after everything that's happened between them. His broad shoulders and firm back are so familiar, it's almost like a part of her remembers what it was like before he dumped her.

She clenches her hands into fists in her lap, trying to ignore the tightening sensation building low in her stomach. If only she could just forget about him... move on and find someone else who actually appreciated her. Someone weak-willed enough not to fight back or challenge her like he used to do.

But deep down, she knows that's never going to happen. Grey was the only one who ever made her feel truly alive; and no matter how much she hates admitting it... even now, after all these years apart, he still

The sound of his voice startles her out of her thoughts, and she glances up at him guiltily. "Yeah," she says with a shrug, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "What about it?" There's an edge to her tone that she didn't intend, but can't help feeling proud of anyway. She knows how much grey hates her dad and everything he stands for; the knowledge gives her a tiny bit of power in this situation, however insignificant it might be.

Her hands fidget nervously on her lap as she waits for his reply. It feels oddly intimate being alone with him like this, without all their usual friends and acquaintances around to distract them or provide a buffer between them. In a way, it's almost like they're getting to know each other again... but at the same time, it only serves as a reminder of how different

She stiffens slightly at his words, her expression clouding with confusion. "The Department of City Affairs?" she echoes incredulously. "But you hate working for the government! You always said..." Her voice trails off, a hint of suspicion creeping into her tone as she tries to puzzle out what could have possibly motivated him to switch careers like this.

It's not like it really matters anymore; their relationship is nothing more than a shell of its former self. But still, there's something about the way he seems so sure and confident in his new direction that pricks at her pride, making her want to keep up the illusion that she's completely unbothered by everything he's doing or saying.

She snorts derisively at his words, rolling her eyes even as heat flushes her cheeks. "Of course you'd think that. Always looking for the easy way out." Her tone is harsh and dismissive, but there's an undercurrent of bitterness beneath it that she can't quite hide. The truth is, she envies him just a little; even though working for her father's company might not be her dream job either, at least she has stability and control over her life. Something she's never really had with grey around.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she glares at him defiantly. "I bet you're going to make a horrible bureaucrat." Her attempt at humor falls flat, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air between them as they both struggle with their conflicting emotions and regrets.

"What? No need to pity me." She says sharply, a little too harshly even to her own ears. "I'm fine. I've had worse hangovers." A lie, of course; she could barely stand last night and is feeling the effects quite acutely this morning. But admitting that would only give him the satisfaction of thinking he still has some power over her, even now.

Clenching her jaw, she forces herself to meet his gaze directly, daring him to call her out on her bluff. It's a stupid, childish game they both know she can't win, but it feels good to pretend like she doesn't care about what he thinks anymore... even if that couldn't be further from the truth.

The air between them crackles with tension as they stare each other down; neither one willing to give an inch or admit defeat.

She eyes the glass suspiciously as he hands it to her, hesitating for a moment before slowly reaching out to take it. "What is this stuff?" she asks warily, her voice betraying her unease despite her attempt at bravado. There's no way she'd just drink something from him without knowing what it was; he could be trying to drug her or poison her for all she knows.

But as she studies his face, searching for any sign of malice or trickery, she can't help but feel a strange sense of trust beginning to bloom within her chest. It confuses and frustrates her more than anything; he's the last person she should be feeling this way about.

With a deep breath, she brings the glass to her lips, slowly sipping the contents before swallowing cautiously. The liquid burns its way down her throat, and for a moment,

Her eyes widen in surprise as she coughs out a laugh, quickly regaining her composure once she realizes he's not joking. "Oh my God," she exclaims, shaking her head and taking another sip of the potion before continuing, "I can't believe you just gave me this. You're such an idiot." But even as she says it, there's a hint of fondness in her tone that doesn't quite match her words; like she's finally able to accept that some things about him will never change.

She downs the rest of the glass in one gulp before slamming it onto the counter with a satisfied smile. "Thanks," she says between breaths, feeling a warmth spreading through her body as the alcohol hits her bloodstream once again. It's a strange sensation; being both relieved and disappointed that the effects are wearing

She flushes at his blunt question, her cheeks burning hot. "I don't know... I just..." She hesitates, searching for an excuse that won't make her sound pathetic or desperate. "I guess I wanted to see you. You're the only one who ever made me feel anything." There's a bitter edge to her voice as she says it; the truth is she knows he doesn't care about her like that anymore, if he ever did. It makes her heart ache with loneliness and self-pity, even though a tiny part of her revels in the misery because at least she has some sort of hold on him now, even if it's only through pain.

She looks away from him, scowling as she tries to ignore the ache building in her chest. "Why did you invite me here anyway?" she asks irritably, changing the subject

The words pierce through her like a knife, leaving her momentarily speechless. It's been so long since anyone has said anything remotely kind about her; the warmth that spreads through her chest catches her off guard and leaves her feeling exposed. She opens her mouth to respond but nothing comes out; she can only stare at him, wide-eyed and dumbfounded by this foreign sensation taking root within her.

After a few long moments, she manages to force out a laugh, trying to play it off as if his words are no big deal. "Well, aren't you just the knight in shining armor," she says, affecting a casual tone despite the fluttering sensation in her chest. She turns away from him then, busying herself with rummaging through his cupboards for something to eat as she tries to ignore the way his words are spinning around inside her

She rolls her eyes but can't help the tiny smile that tugs at her lips as she says, "Fine. Just don't expect me to thank you." Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she reaches up to grab one of the chip bags from the top shelf before descending back down and finding a spot on the counter where she can sprawl out comfortably while she eats. She stuffs a handful of chips into her mouth, crunching contentedly as she stares off into space, trying to ignore the presence beside her.

After a few more minutes, she clears her throat and says awkwardly, "So... uh... how have you been? I mean, since... ya know..." She trails off, feeling foolish for not knowing what else to say. They've never been particularly close friends; their interactions mostly consisted of arguments and sexual tension. But

She perks up at the mention of his woodworking hobby, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest. "You did? That's awesome! Can I see it?" She scampers over to where he's sitting, practically vibrating with excitement as she takes in the simple yet beautiful chair he's made. Her hands reach out automatically, running across the smooth wooden surface before coming to rest on the seat. "It's beautiful," she murmurs sincerely.

The air between them feels less tense now that they're talking about something non-confrontational. They sit together in companionable silence for several moments, neither one feeling the need to fill it with unnecessary words. Eventually, she glances up at him and asks shyly, "Do you want to make anything else?"

"Oh, I don't know..." She shrugs casually, her cheeks flushing red beneath her pale skin. "It's just... you always used to make me stuff, and it was nice having something that belonged to you. It felt special." Her voice is soft, almost dreamy, as she continues to look up at him with those big, innocent eyes. She's pushing all of her buttons now; she knows he hates being the center of attention or anyone's focus other than his own, but there's something about watching him squirm that gives her a perverse sense of satisfaction.

For once, she doesn't even mind the way her body reacts to him when he gets uncomfortable; the tightening in her chest and the quickening of her breath only serve to heighten her awareness of everything about him. It's a heady sensation, one that makes her feel

The question takes her aback for a moment, making her feel self-conscious and guilty all over again. She knows she shouldn't be trying to manipulate him like this; it's beneath her and only serves to make things more complicated than they already are. But still... there's something about the way he looks at her, the way he makes her feel when they're together that she can't resist.

Swallowing thickly, she meets his gaze head-on and says, "Maybe a little bit." Her confession is out before she has time to think better of it, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath his piercing stare. The silence that follows seems to stretch on for an eternity as they both contemplate the weight of what she's just admitted; it feels like they're standing at the edge of a precipice, teetering dangerously close to something neither one of them is quite

Her heart skips a beat at his confession; it's not the first time she's heard him say those words, but somehow hearing them now feels different. Perhaps it's because they're no longer together, and he can finally speak from a place of honesty rather than obligation. Or maybe it's because deep down, she knows that his love for her was never completely extinguished; it only went into hiding, waiting for the right moment to emerge once more.

She looks away, trying to hide the flush in her cheeks as she mulls over what he's said. She doesn't trust herself to say anything else without sounding foolish or desperate. The silence between them seems to stretch on endlessly now, each breath she takes feeling heavier and more meaningful than the last. It almost feels like they're standing at a crossroads; one path leads back down the familiar, pain

She chews on her bottom lip, still unable to meet his gaze as she struggles with what he's offered. Part of her wants nothing more than to give it another try; to see if they can find some sort of balance between them that allows them both to be happy. But there's also a voice inside her head reminding her of the countless times before where things have gone wrong, leaving her feeling wary and cautious.

Eventually, she takes a deep breath and forces herself to look up at him again. "Okay," she says softly, her voice barely audible above the humming of the kitchen appliances. "I think... I'd like that." There's something unbearably vulnerable about admitting this aloud; it feels as though she's stripped herself bare in front of him, leaving herself utterly exposed. Yet there's also a strange sense of relief and

Bronya tenses slightly as he comes up behind her, their bodies no longer inches apart but touching intimately once more. She tries to keep herself composed, to act as though this is nothing out of the ordinary for them, even though every nerve ending in her body is on high alert, screaming for his touch.

His hand cups her cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair from her forehead. It's a tender gesture that sends shivers down her spine; despite their tumultuous past and the harsh words they've exchanged, there's still a palpable connection between them. One that she suspects will never truly go away, no matter how hard they both try to deny it.

With his free hand, he reaches around her waist, drawing her closer until their hips are aligned and the tips of their erect nipples br

Her laughter, soft and unexpected, rings out through the kitchen. It's a sound he hasn't heard in so long that it catches in his throat, making him feel almost lightheaded with relief. "What can I say? I am who I am," she says, arching her back slightly to press herself further against him. There's a teasing note in her voice, but underlying it is the unspoken acknowledgement that this is how they are; together, they create chaos and passion wherever they go.

She turns her head to look up at him, their faces inches apart. Her eyes meet his challengingly as she asks, "So... what does that make you? The quiet one who fell for all my noise?" There's a playfulness in her tone, but beneath it lies a genuine curiosity about this new dynamic between them. She wants to understand how he sees their relationship; if it'

She gasps as his lips meet hers, her body melting against his in instant surrender. His kiss is hard and demanding, completely ignoring her attempt at sarcasm. This newfound aggression only serves to heighten her desire for him; it's like he's trying to take everything from her in one swift motion, claiming what is his with a force that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation.

Her hands claw at his shirt, seeking purchase as she arches into his touch. She moans against his mouth, her hips rocking forward rhythmically in search of deeper contact between their bodies. His kisses trail down her jaw, the rough stubble scraping deliciously against her skin, before moving lower still toward her neck and collarbone where he sucks roughly on the tender flesh there, causing a shudder to ripple through her entire frame.