Mad World
This is wrong, but it ultimately feels right.

Disclaimer: applied :/

Warning: Honestly, I don't know what came over me. D:

You see him for the first time in...you've lost count. Lost count of the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months...years.

And you don't know what to feel. Should you feel anything? Should you be happy because he is finally back after what seemed like a lifetime? Should you be mad because he left you, even if it's for all the right reasons? You feel a strange pang in your chest because it feels like you're seeing a ghost of the past, a nightmare that has come to life, a memory that has resurfaced from the depths of your sicksicksick mind.

"Erza,"

It is a knife, you think. His voice is like a knife that digs into your gut and your name on his lips is the mechanism that twists the knife deeper into your system.

You do not know how to respond. Your mind is blank, still unable to process everything but the background and the surroundings are unbelievably vivid to you. You both are in the kitchen, the stain of last week ever present on the tiled floor. The fridge is ajar and you can see the food stock you've bought just yesterday. You bring your gaze to the counter and the stove; there are heaps of used ingredients laid on the chopping board—the peelings of garlic and onion, an empty can of mushroom, remnants of cheese and bacon and the smell of buttercream and chicken broth hangs heavily in the air.

He's making Chicken Alfredo for dinner, your favorite.

But that is all your feeble mind can process at the moment. You find it ironic how the insignificant details matter more than the man present before your very eyes. He must have sensed—no, he knows—that you are having an internal struggle because he chooses to clear his throat and call your name once more.

Stop, you mentally say. Stop saying my name, you mentally plead.

You subtly lean on the wall for support because the way he looks as you is...what is that look? It is the same look he has for you those past years yet there is something different this time.

It is longing...yearning...pleading...pulling you like gravity.

You decide to shake your head, hoping that the fear would go away as well.

And it did, even by just a little.

You manage to regain your composure along with the little courage to speak.

"It's...been a while," you lamely respond. You cannot bring yourself to say his name because if you do, all restrictions, barriers, self-control will flow right out of the window and you do not know if you can look at your kitchen the same way as before if anything happens or starts that is much against both your principles.

He chuckles as a sign of relief and you find yourself irritated with the fact that you love hearing that sound. You miss hearing that melodious laughter.

You crave for it.

"When did you come back?"

You are eager to know about the details because this man who is running his long appendages over his silky, blue tresses is currently searching for answers. The question is raised because you know he is busy, being the engineer that is assigned to Germany. It all comes back to you in that very moment. He left you because he wants to pursue his career even further and you try to accept even now that this is in fact, the reason.

"This afternoon. Sorry for the short notice." he explains and you nod in agreement. That's right, the ultramarine is an engineer who works in Germany. He left you, but for all the right reasons. And the other causes, you are still determined to know.

He motions you to sit and you comply immediately. You see him setting up the table and even if this is your house, your kitchen, you are not offended by this act at all because you know in your heart that this place belongs to him as well. You are now calm and as you see him serve the food, you salivate at the aroma.

You miss this, miss his cooking, miss the both of you.

He sits opposite to you and after a few moments of silence, the two of you eat.

The meal is silent. You don't bother uttering any word and so does he. The dining area is filled only with the sounds of the clanking utensils, slow and deliberate chewing and the loud gulping of water. When you are full and so was he, you stand up and take the dishes. This is a habit you have yet to break when you're with him. In the past, during meals you are the one responsible for cleaning up so you gather everything up and quietly head to the sink. The sound of running water somehow soothes your tense muscles and you sigh audibly.

You are in the middle of washing the last plate when you hear the obnoxious scraping of wood on the floor. It makes you cringe at the unpleasant sound but you are more aware of a looming presence over you. The heat and towering figure behind you is enough to make you freeze in an instant.

He is right behind you, a hair's breath away from you and the world is standing still.

The sound of gushing water becomes deafening and you are suddenly aware of how ear-splitting your breathing and his breathing are—slow, heavy and restrained.

Your breath hitches when you feel the coolness of his fingers rake softly against your scalp and you shiver as he drags those long appendages to the strands of your hair. You hear him inhale sharply as he sniffs your scarlet tresses and you suddenly feel weak on your knees.

You are about to stop this, stop this sicksicksick moment but you fail because that cool and wet lips of his is suddenly at the juncture where your neck and shoulder connect. You gasp in surprise because the contact is sudden and because he is bold as he continues his course to trail wet kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulder.

You refuse to let out a moan. You can't. You simply just can't because that is a sign of defeat and a go signal for something that should never happen in the history of man.

But he continues to assault your neck and you just couldn't hold it in anymore. The moment those glorious teeth of his bit the sensitive area of your earlobe you mewled out in delight and you hear him growl impatiently as he spins you around to face him.

He stops and he is looking at you with the same eyes during those years you two have been apart. And it hits you finally what that gaze is.

Gluttony. Greed. Envy. Wrath. Sloth. Pride. Lust.

And God, you don't know how many virtues the two of you are destroying right now.

He makes the first move and slides his hand to cup a side of your face. The contact is ecstatic and you cannot deny it anymore. You close your eyes, heart racing as you crane your neck to the side to rest your head on his palm. He caresses your face and traces your lips with the pad of his thumb.

You lean to his touch and unconsciously parts your lips slightly.

"Jellal..."

You open your eyes, breaking free of the sweet reverie when you suddenly realize the mistake of uttering his name.

The effect is instantaneous and his lips is crushing yours in a soft and rough way. His hands exploring your edges and curves are hot and cold to the touch and God forbid, this will lead to something not right. You try to keep yourself sane from the sweet torture as he attacks your neck, leaving his marks here and there. You trytrytry as you focus on the facts.

He is Jellal and the reason why he left me is because—

"I love you...God, Erza I love you..."

—because he wanted to pursue his—

"Love...God, Erza is this wrong...?"

—career in Germany as an engineer.

That resolve is enough to make you snap out of your hazy state. Enough to break his kisses. Enough to push him away.

"Stop." your voice croaks and you are fooling yourself. You know you want—need—this as much as he does.

"Why?"

You remain quiet for a moment, digging for the right answer. His breathing is suffocating you and his heat is just melting you. There is no way that you can come up with a plausible response yet you still think.

It's because you left me.
It's because you went to Germany.
It's because you pursued your career there.
It's because even though our feelings are mutual you chose to let go.
Its because this isn't right. It's because—

"You're my brother."

Your own declaration shatters you like glass and you shrink to the floor and cry.

He follows you down and kisses the knuckles of your hands.

You think this is wrong.

It is sicksicksick and you hurl at the thought of never ever being able to make love to this beautiful man in front of you.

You see him untangle your arms and he leans forward, planting soft kisses on your lips as his face twists in an agonizing manner.

You see that he feels the same way about you and you are afraid of what you both have.

"You're my sister, but I can't take it anymore. I want you, I want all of you..."

His own confession has you hanging on the balance. What should you do? Should you reciprocate his feelings as well? Or stand up, brush everything off and pretend everything never happened; pretend that everything is normal.

You, him, the two of you are not normal.

And is that a bad thing?

Choosing feelings over logic you both sail uncharted waters, the articles of clothing one by one getting lost in the sea. The two of you sink deeper and deeper into the depths of the unknown.

And God be damned, you both are going to hell.