The first night they came together in a clash of teeth and tongue and blood and hate and the urge to dominate what made their life a living hell.
The second night wasn't any different; just as rough, but the kisses were longer, more passionate.
The third night signified the weakening of their hate as they lay together for a short time after- simply bathing in each other's aura- much like glass cracking under too much pressure.
The fourth night was like the first night all over again- their fingers touching, mapping, committing the best spots to memory for future reference, lost in what was slowly turning into a little more than lust.
The fifth night meant they could no longer think back to a time when they didn't hold close to each other's bodies, when they didn't end those sharp words with knowing hints and smiles and brushes of hands and mumbles of where they would meet next.
The sixth night was them looking into each other's eyes before they slept, each one struggling on the words that they were afraid to say, tongue tied and heart fluttering like a multitude of caged butterflies.
By the seventh night, against all of the odds and opposite personalities and bitterness, Desmond and Shaun found that they cared about each other more than anybody else in the entire world.
After all, it only takes a week to fall in love.