More Blake and Lily just to indulge myself on their dynamics.

Though he did not usually exercise idleness, Blake was content to sit on the wooden floor as Lily practiced throwing her knives. She was a good thrower, almost boasting the same level of accuracy he did, and her hair was carefully bound in a bun that sat atop her head. Rhythmically, she would pick up a knife and calculate the throw before hitting the middle or the second innermost ring each time. Blake simply watched, his hands braced behind him on the floor. He'd sparred her a little earlier for fun, his jacket strewn somewhere in the training room where he had discarded it, along with his daggers and knives littered across a table. It was convenient that their interests aligned.

"Don't get too comfortable," Lily teased when she'd gotten to her last knife, turning around to point it at him. "I might have to test you out tomorrow with all this sitting around you're doing."

"I don't get comfortable," he remarked coolly, observing as she threw the last knife at the target, a few strands from her bun coming undone.

She gave him a sharp smile and reached up to pull the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down her back. His mouth went dry and he made an appreciative sound when she neared to kneel in front of him. Now that she was closer, he could see the hint of mascara smudged under her eyes and the gold flecks in them that reminded him again and again of her blood. To think he had harnessed such a thing did nothing but entice him.

"Getting soft?" She said, reaching forward to flick a piece of freshly dyed and cut blue hair from his face. "Or maybe you'd just rather watch."

"Softness is not my specialty," he replied, catching her wrist and holding it firmly so she could not pull away. "Don't test me."

"I don't remember letting you make the rules here." A peal of laughter rang from her and her face lit up in that amused, keen, sly sort of way. "People don't come in this late. If you lose, they won't see it. Maybe it'd help you keep a bit of your pride."

His eyes glinted, tightening his grasp a little. "I don't think it's my pride that will be tested."

"So sure of yourself, aren't you?" She lingered for a long moment before standing up, and he released her wrist, a bit of a red mark flushing against her skin. Before he could pull his hand back entirely, she caught his fingers with hers to urge him to stand. He did. Who was he to deny her requests?

A knowing smile pulled at her lips and she drew away to go fetch her knives.

Sometimes he forgot he was a faerie. He could tune out the weight from his wings if he tried hard enough, and he was only reminded of the point in his ears when he brushed hair back from his face. The thought that he, an Unseelie, was living in the confines of an Institute made his blood seem less and less real. And he did miss the Unseelie. He missed it desperately, but he did not think of it often, his thoughts usually displaced. Besides, he'd gained so much more by leaving it.

"Let's go into the city tomorrow," Lily said suddenly, setting her knives down and hopping onto a table to sit on the edge. "Mosey about. Get ice cream and visit a sex shop and maybe I'll get a piercing somewhere you'll have to find or something."

He must have looked a little at a loss for words because she laughed again and beckoned him closer.

"I'm kidding, Blake," she said, reaching out a hand for his as he neared to pull him closer, her legs long but still dangling off the ground. "I gotta do some shopping. Shampoo, razors, some sneakers, maybe. Wasn't kidding about ice cream if you're up for it."

"Yeah. Let's do that," he breathed, resting his free hand lightly against her thigh. She used her nail to tuck some hair behind his ear, her features pleased as she studied him.

"By the Angel, babe, you're pretty." Clicking her tongue in approval, she let go of his hand to rest both of hers on his shoulders. "I can't let anyone know I've cracked the code when it comes to boyfriends."

"Tch. Pretty is such a Seelie word," he said disapprovingly, though he didn't argue that much. He liked hearing such things from her, even if he acted like he didn't. She was not often generous with her compliments, so he enjoyed them when they came. They made him feel like he was doing something right. He hadn't any other references either, none of the Unseelie girls ever catching his eye. Most of the pure ones had been arranged in partnerships anyway, but not him. His parents cared little about family or bloodlines, despite their purity.

"I didn't know you were so sensitive." Her words became sharp again and nearly a hiss. "Maybe not so Unseelie, huh?"

That elicited a hint of a growl in his throat on instinct, which quieted when she pressed a finger against his lips. His eyes flickered to hers and held her gaze. Faeries usually did not have brown eyes, and if they did, they were never as deep as hers. They were strangely comforting and warm, despite her demeanor.

"How I've disciplined you," she boasted quietly, drawing her finger back to instead curl her fingers in his hair. "Oh, don't look at me with that face, A-"

She had been about to speak his name - his first name, not his family one - but he silenced her quickly with chaste kiss. He did not usually initiate such a thing, but he did not want to hear his dead name and she would not understand if he expressed his distaste. Instead, he was sure she would only tease more and utilize it into oblivion. It was not that he did not like it, but rather it was a part of him he left with his Unseelie identity.

"How pleasant." She pulled back a little and it was then he realized she was holding a dagger to his chest, the tip grazing his shirt lightly. "Distracted?"

He had not noticed her movements, but she was like that to keep him on edge, always playing where any normal person would have held more caution. "That's mine."

Shrugging lightly, she lifted the dagger, the carvings on the Unseelie hilt glittering as the light in the training room hit it. Undaunted, he raised his hand to close his fingers lightly around the blade, not hard enough to draw blood. She didn't try and keep it from him, letting him take it so he could shift the hilt in his hand.

"You wouldn't want to cut yourself on this one," he murmured, studying the blade. It had been in his family's possession for generations. Somehow, it seemed wrong to have ended up in his hands.

"Oh? And why's that?"

"It remembers angelic blood. The more it tastes, the more it wants." Blake's gaze lingered on it before he slid it into a hilt at his hip. "It does not need to be indulged more or I might be more prone to using it."

She slung her arms over his shoulders, curiosity set deep in her expression. "I didn't think you'd bow down to the wants of some weapon. Is it that important to you?"

"I don't know." He really didn't. "Unseelies like that kind of shit."

"Well, I'm not afraid." An exhale left her lips and he could tell her mood was only softened by her tiredness, otherwise she'd be ripping into him with mockery to keep him at a distance. "Enough about your stupid daggers. Let's go to bed, yeah?"

He tried to read into her expression, but it was closed off and just pretty. "Yeah."

Slipping off the table, she took his hand to lead him out, leaving their mess of knives and his jacket behind. They'd pick it up in the morning when they had the will to draw themselves from the comfort of her room where they were alone and undisturbed. Out in the daylight, he often became rigidly aware that he was unwanted, stares at his wings and his ears blatant and oftentimes purposeful. People distrusted him, despite how he'd tried to help them. It seems some could not be pleased.

Her room was fairly close to the training room, which he appreciated, so the walk was fairly short. He stayed in step beside her, letting her lead the way. Her hand reached for her door before she ushered him inside, closing it quickly behind them as if they were in danger of letting some unwanted beast in. Maybe they were, and neither of them spoke about it.

It was a little cold, but he didn't mind. If anything, he was used to it, for the Unseelie was cold more often than not. Lily moved to shut her window anyway, drawing the curtains. He didn't say anything and undid the hilt so he could put it and the dagger on her dresser.

"You hardly did anything, but I've been training all day so I'm going to take a shower," she said, toeing off her socks and then pulling her shirt over her head, fixing her bra strap when it started to slip down her arm. Discarding them into a laundry basket, she shimmied out of her shorts, putting them in as well. "I'll be quick."

He went a little red, but didn't avert his gaze, giving a doubtful look. "Oh?"

She narrowed her eyes and snagged a towel from the end of her bed. "Do you not trust me? Maybe you'd like to supervise."

"I...I'll wait," he said, shaking his head lightly. She grinned, amused, before retreating to the bathroom, towel in hand. Dumbfounded for just a moment, he paused before he moved to lay back on her bed, careful of his wings. Raising his hands, he ran his fingers through his hair. How he'd gotten so lucky, he didn't know.

His vocabulary in all the languages he knew was limited to things necessary for life. There was no preparation for niceties, but he did not think Lily liked such things either. She did not seem to mind his inability to form all of his emotions. Though he hated to be so easily tempted, he could not deny the allure of the Nephilim. That maybe he'd keep falling for something so forbidden after Lily. After this Institute. Sometimes he wondered how bad he was at self-preservation because maybe living with the children of angels would be his demise.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a shower turning on and an exhale was drawn from him. It was a sigh that tried to say too many things at once.