"Let go of me—" SLAP.
The demand dies on your lips, cheek already fuming red. Hesitantly, a hand is placed on the burning skin; you are all too bewildered to react, let alone make a noise.
"When I say shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Seated once again, he brings the new glass – the replacement for the broken one– to his thin lips, finally realising that it is, actually, empty. Calloused fingers holding the glass rise abruptly, giving you a silent order that he wants it filled.
Hesitation is clear in your eyes for a second, but the change is rather quick. Horror of going through more if you continue to stay motionless any longer, nevertheless, sets you into action. Silently pouring the red liquid and withdrawing for the night occurs in a dream-like state for you; you wake up only after escaping from his oppressive aura.
He says nothing to stop you.
Taking a deep breath that does little to calm your nerves, you are supposed to go to your shared room with Xanxus; however, given your delicate state, you never make it there. Instead, your feet take you to the balcony at the top floor without your knowledge. You take a few more deep breaths and let the fresh air into your lungs, knowing better than to allow the hot liquid burning your eyes slide down, or the uncontrollable sobs begging you to go out.
The chilly air makes you shiver but you do not pay much attention to it, focusing more on calming yourself down. It does not take you long to dive into deep thoughts and you stand there, wondering your purpose here at this hideout. A far memory of being sent here to keep matters in control between Vongola and Varia plays in front of your eyes. You remember your request to withdraw after making sure everything was stable, but when the implicit but long-term problem between them reached a dangerous level, somehow, you ended up being here permanently. That was when your relationship with the brutal head of the autonomous assassination squad started — though could you really call it a relationship?
You admit that he's not the most sensitive and romantic kind of man out there; hell, he'd never held you lovingly, nor did he utter sweet nothings into your ear during times of utmost privacy. Nonetheless, you had decided to believe he cared for you deep inside; apparently, you had decided it on your own.
This is what you get for acting like a little naïve girl. Finally, you realise: he never sought you.
All he ever wanted was warmth during cold nights.
Yet, why is it that you still desire to be by his side until he no longer needs you?