Every Time
It happened again.
Lambo had promised to himself that he would have never let Reborn take advantage of him another time but there he was again, alone in his cold bed.
He was hoping to wake up and, finally, to find Reborn by his side, but he deceived himself once more. He knew he was being stupid thinking about those things: for Reborn, he was just an object, a pure pleasure toy, not a human being, least of all someone who the killer could fell in love with.
Every time Lambo tried to persuade himself that it was the last time, but as always his beliefs were shattered by Reborn's fake, sweet words, which deceived the boy and made him fall in love more and more with the other man. Lambo knew he shouldn't believe those words but it seemed too difficult; he knew he should forget him, but it didn't seem possible.
Reborn attracted him like honey with bees. Lambo bitterly smiled at this comparison. Their relationship was more unsafe than that: he was the moth and Reborn the flame (as the young man preferred to rectify to himself). Repeatedly he moved too close and consequently got burned, a scar too deep to completely heal and finally disappear.
The boy sighed and huddled up in the bed, feeling Reborn's scent still lingering on the crumpled sheets, an unmistakable scent he could easily distinguish. The scent which enwrapped him every time the two of them ended up in bed together and, maybe, also the only thing which gave the killer a bit of humanity; the only thing which helped Lambo forgetting about his cold look and his arrogant attitude.
He fell asleep again inhaling that sweet scent.
Maybe the next time would finally be the right time.