Tap, tap, tap.

Wendy slowly began to stir. The faint clipping of shoes on a stone floor faded away, leaving an oppressive silence. All she could do at that moment was listen. Her mind was so muddled that it could have been seconds or hours since those shoes had passed her by.

Slowly, her ear started picking up more noises. A muted sound of footsteps above her, the creaking of wood, the call of a seagull. The stuffy air was pregnant with a heavy stench of salt and mildew. She could feel her body being rocked ever so slightly, agitating a sharp prick in her hand. When she tried to move her hand, she noticed that she was paralyzed.

Huh, she thought calmly. I must've forgotten how to move.

As soon as it came, the thought glided through her mind, noticing instead how light began to permeate her eyelids. As her other senses started waking up, her instinctual understanding of her surroundings began feeding into her rational consciousness—her mind suddenly threw off it's muddy complacency and sharply screamed at her to be scared.

Her hand. It wouldn't move. She couldn't move. She couldn't see. She didn't recognize any smells, any sounds, couldn't tell what day it was, what time.

Tap, tap, tap.

Footsteps again, only this time coming towards her. She focused on the new smell—steel, leather, a touch of sweat, and generic deodorant. There was a faint hint of something else, too. Something she couldn't quite pinpoint, but which made her stomach flip unexpectedly.

The footsteps slowed down and were replaced by the jingle of keys. A doorknob clicked and suddenly the smell of this person overpowered everything else.

She was locked in a room, and here was someone coming to check on her.

Shit! Panic set in. She could feel blood pumping through the arteries in her head and her lungs expanding and contracting faster and faster.

Move, dammit! Why can't I even open my eyes! It was as if her muscles forgot how to act—she could feel them, she was giving them directions, and yet she got no response. As footsteps closed in on her again, she'd never felt so desperate, so helpless, or so terribly afraid.

This person's smell was so strong; he—this person definitely smelled like a he—was right next to her.

He delicately brushed a strand of hair across her forehead and behind her ear. She felt one side of her sink slightly and heard the creak of mattress springs. Wendy focused on slowing her breathing to sound like she was still asleep. She kept herself from gasping when he began tracing the shell of her ear, first with his fingertips, then down to her jaw with his knuckles and up to circle her cheeks. His thumb brushed her lips as the light touches of his fingers gave way to a palm caressing her face.

Everywhere he touched tingled with heat. That smell, the one she couldn't place, was getting stronger the longer he touched her. Her heart was racing. It reminded her of the times when Romeo would grab her hand; the same heat and flutter she got from his touch was happening with this complete stranger.

No, she thought. No, not at all! With Romeo, her heart would skip, her skin would burn, and she couldn't even think. If she wasn't careful, her mind would go blank just from Romeo's slightest touch. With this man, her heart was racing and she felt lines of heat along the path his fingers took. Her mind, though, was more clear than ever. Her senses were getting stronger, her fear was abating, and she no longer felt helpless. In fact, despite her situation, she felt confident. She felt like she could control this man, and yet she couldn't even open her eyes.

"Wake up soon, little tennyo," he whispered. He moved his hand to stroke her hair. His touch was so tender, so delicate, that it almost became soothing. "There's something about you…I don't even know you, but I want to protect you forever."

The bed shifted as he got up. He shuffled with some plastic and then quickly left the room.

"Shun!" she heard a woman shout, muted slightly by the closed door.

"Coming, ma'am," her guard responded. Wendy heard his footsteps lead away from her room. As Shun's intriguing scent faded, her sense of panic returned.

What the hell is going on? Within seconds, her mind was becoming dull again.

Romeo, she pleaded. She was slipping back into that foggy unconsciousness. Find me.

A/N:

I LIVE!

I'm horrible, I know. Life got shitty and I ended up with a total of five days off all summer, like from May to September. Never work two retail jobs if one is at a small business and you're stuck as the manager. I swear it feels like herding cats, but with more drama and no cuddles. I'm working on getting into a real-person routine and updating this at least once every two weeks. No promises though.

I've been so busy that I don't even know what's going on in the manga still (or real life).

Tartaros arc? Gray's…DAD?! EBOLA?!

WTF HOW MUCH HAVE I MISSED

But, as always, THANK YOU SO SO MUCH for your patience and support! It makes my day so much brighter whenever I'm hiding in the bathroom at work and see a "story favorite/follower" email pop up ^_^

Seriously though. You guys have contributed to keeping me from rage-quitting my job. My coworker told me that she had a nightmare that I got pissed about something, tore off my apron, threw it at the ground, and told her that she gets to be manager. I'm bummed I didn't do a dramatic mic drop, but hey, not my nightmare.

Regarding the title & rating change:

Let's be real. I drop f-bombs like a fuckin' trigger-happy B-52 at a test site—thus, not T-rating appropriate. Also, there are already a lot of sexual innuendos, and how I thought I'd deal with the whole pheremone-induced-"Boys Gone Wild"-meets-animalistic-mating thing without alluding to sexual intimacy is beyond me.

As for the title, it sounded a little too tween-series-novel to support the content…or my dignity.

Disclaimer: If Fairy Tail belonged to me, I would have given up my role as barista wrangler long, long ago.

Updated Oct 2014.

Updated Oct 2014