"Are you jealous?"

She used to purr, half-asleep, her eyes lidded with sex and weariness. Her fingertips rested on her perfect body, nude, every dip and curve laid bare to my hungry eyes.

She would always find the energy to ask, even when she stumbled back to our room, half-dead from blood loss and getting taken by any scientist, or Nero, or Weiss, or Azul she'd happened to want. Azul was the worse. She'd come back unable to move.

But she never forgot me.

"Are you jealous?"

Jealous of her fickle love, how impossible she was to follow? In the basest of ways I was jealous. Emotions were gone, but not that one, not her. She could cause fire in a heart of ice.

She used to undress me, run her fingers over my child's body, just to tease me, when Azul and Nero and Argento hadn't been enough. She used to touch me, just to watch me squirm, to get a reaction from me when no one else could. Her full breasts pressed against my tiny body.

She used to ask me, just to hear me answer.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I'm jealous... Rosso, please." Please stop selling yourself short, stop torturing me, please, be mine, please, let me touch you, please, stop, please, Rosso, please.

But it never seemed to have any effect. She'd laugh, and lay back down, turning her bare back on me. From me. Away from me.

"Good."

And the sound would stay in the room til morning.