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The first mistake Kieran White made was leaving the door to his art room unlocked.
The second was giving Lauren Sinclair another one of his shirts to wear.
Lune had been returning from the cave when it started to rain. At first, a slight drizzle that they peacefully walked through, then in the span of a second, it evolved into a full-on thunderstorm, the roads flooding with a small inch of water, but flooding nevertheless.
He didn’t plan for her to spend the night, but with one look at her drenched figure in the rain, he figured it would do more harm than good to send her walking to her home lest she catches a cold. While he was immune to her death threats, a simple case of the sniffles, not so much.
His carpet and wood floor was now a pathway of water, with both of them having multiple layers of clothing all of which had been soaked through. The slight winter chill hiding underneath the rain didn’t do much to help, and now as they stripped themselves of their coats and scarfs and hats, their teeth chattered as a playful tune to their suffering.
If Lauren looked like she wanted to kill herself rather than spend another night in his apartment, she didn’t show it and instead tossed her discarded outerwear in a heap on the floor next to his. She had her arms wrapped around her torso, her crisped white shirt rendered see-through by the water, and stood by the entranceway.
Kieran, on the other hand, was ways ahead of her, already having stripped himself of his wet shirt. The windows were closed and the apartment already significantly heated up, so the goosebumps that littered his skin didn’t bother him much. He had been through much, much worse than a rainstorm, after all.
The assassin made his way to the bathroom, grabbing two towels, and walked out. The officer was still standing on his carpet, a circle of water surrounding her.
Kieran tossed the towel at her without warning, watching it fall over her face. “Are you just going to stand there, officer?”
“You’re gonna blame me for ruining your floors again,” she said, taking the towel off and drying her hair with it. Her clothes stuck closely onto her skin, to her every line and curve. She seemed so small, and yet her confidence more than made up for it. How this woman was able to catch up with the Purple Hyacinth, he still had no idea.
He waved a hand dismissively. “That water will dry, the blood, however, would’ve left a stain.” He looked at her up and down. “Now, are you going to stay in those soaking wet clothes and get all hypothermic on me, or are you going to do the sensible thing and take them off?”
“You’re asking me to take off my clothes in front of you?” Her brow raised slightly, golden eyes incredulous even in this low light.
For once, Kieran was at a loss of words. He had been saying that for concern over her health rather than his desires, but hearing how they came out, he couldn’t help but cringe a bit.
“You can borrow another one of my shirts again,” he recovered, turning away. “Unless you’d rather stay shivering the entire night.”
“Just get me something to wear, subordinate.”
He did a mock salute as he turned to his bedroom. “As you wish, your majesty.”
Lauren watched his scar-filled back as he walked away, some of the deeper cuts shifting as he moved.
What was she doing here? Had she not learnt her lesson the first time? She had been injured that time, so that had been what kept her calm and grounded instead of running away, but now, she didn’t know. A rainstorm is all it was. A rainstorm she could easily walk through and get to her house. She would sleep in her bed, in her clothes.
But something kept her stuck to the spot she stood on.
She was shivering like she was in the deepest circle of Dante’s hell, but she wasn’t about to take off her clothes while standing in the middle of the main room. They had seen each other in indecent states, yes, but not without good reason. She didn’t have to be all proper in from of him, but there were certain lines of propriety she would not cross. As he said, she is a Sinclair, after all.
When Kieran came back out, he was dressed in a set of grey cotton; a long-sleeved shirt and loose pants. He tossed a similar-looking shirt at Lauren, who caught it this time, mentally flipping him off as she passed him and went into his bedroom to change.
He may not have expected it last time, but this time he was ready. Ready for the sight of her in his shirt, her small body engulfed by his shirt. Her wearing it like a dress. Her wearing it like she owned it--which she practically did, if she asked, he would give her the clothes on his back at any given second (as long as it wasn’t in a too public place, even he had his comfort zones).
But as she came out, he had a hard time not falling on his knees right there and then.
It was different than the shirt that he had given her last time, but even then the memory of that night only served as an encouragement for what he felt. Desire? Lust? Love? He knew that she would probably put a bullet in his head if he ever admitted any of them out loud, but a guy could hope.
“I’ll take the couch,” she announced, as if she wasn’t doing anything but walk out of a room. She had no idea of her effect on him, and yet this made all that more exciting, even if he had to suffer alone.
Kieran shook his head, both shaking himself out of his daydream and as a response, and saunter over to her, grabbing the damp towel out of her hands. “No, you’re taking the bed. It’s warmer there.”
“I took the bed last time.”
“Yes, but I didn’t sleep last time, and I doubt you’d want to switch places now,” he retorted, turning around the officer by the shoulder and pushing her back to the bedroom.
“You’re my subordinate,” she protests, trying to shrug off his grip. But his fingers were like claws on her shoulders, not painful, but adamant. Concerned. “You’re supposed to obey me.”
Kieran laughed. “Well, yes, unless my superior makes monumentally bad decisions.”
“It’s your house, after all,” she pointed out, ignoring his last comment. She walked over to the green couch and sat down, beginning to fluff out the pillows, making his home her own.
But as she set down the pillows, her eyes flicked to the right, to get a sneak peek of what she had seen last time she stayed over. A sketch. Messy, with harsh lines and badly smudged marks, but she could still make out the image of a man.
Without thinking, she picked up the paper and held it up to the candlelight.
Kieran was by her side in a second. “Hold on there, officer. I told you last time, if you went through my stuff, I’m going to have to kill you.”
But she didn’t listen, instead entranced by the graceful marks of a pencil. She didn’t recognize the man in the drawing nor the setting, and something in her told her that this had been from a while ago. A time when he was still happy? Before his childhood went to hell?
She wouldn’t admit it, but she would’ve liked to have met Kieran then. Would’ve liked to know what kind of boy he was before he had the blood of many on his hands. When instead, he could’ve had charcoal smudges dirt his palms.
“You draw?” she asked softly, placing the paper carefully back on the table. Kieran was leaning on the couch’s side now, staring down at her. If the candle hadn’t been flickering, she could’ve sworn she saw a blush arise.
“Yes, I know I’m phenomenally talented. No need to tell me, I am fully aware of my artistic prowess.”
“Kieran--”
“Yes, I draw.” He gave her a thin-lipped smile. “I am a human, after all.” His eyes cringed at the word, and so did hers. They were remembering the same incident. In the same cave, the same words, the same actions. Lauren’s hand rose unconsciously to her neck. Sometimes she swore she could still feel the phantom of his fingers around her neck.
Kieran cleared his throat, looking away, and muttered something under his breath. He didn’t know why he had said those words. In place of an apology, maybe? Or maybe it was the mood, maybe he just needed to let this truth get out.
Or maybe, he wanted Lauren Sinclair to see him for who he was.
She tilted her head to the side, hand falling. “What was that, subordinate?”
“I said,” he started again, practically forcing the words to leave his throat. “Would you like to see more drawings?”
He braced himself for the mocking, for the jeers, for the rejections. Why would the pious Officer Sinclair ever want to see that side of him?
But to his surprise, she smiled. “I’d love to.”
And that’s how they ended up walking to the usually locked door of his apartment, on the one night he just so happened to have forgotten to lock it.
And that’s how Lauren Sinclair saw the Purple Hyacinth at his most vulnerable. It wasn’t when she had him pinned to the ground, handcuffed. It was now.
One step into the room and her mouth went hanging agape.
Kieran thought he wanted to kiss her right then and there. Not because of the way she looked (though he had to admit, it did play a large part), but because she hadn’t run away. She’s looked into his past, and she’s still here. Even if she were to run at the next second, she’d still have stayed here longer than anyone else.
Despite the dozens upon dozens of photos posted on the walls, there was one in particular that caught Lauren’s eye. One that sat at the top of a pile of other papers, just beside the desk.
Kieran realized too late. She had already taken the drawing into her hands, bringing it into the sparse moonlight that got through the rain.
Here he was, freezing all over again. But for different reasons this time.
Slowly, so painstakingly slow--Kieran thought he was about to faint--Lauren turned around, the drawing still held delicately between her fingertips.
“You drew me?” she asked, softly, her voice barely heard as thunder erupted, but Kieran could understand her question just fine.
“Well, officer,” he said, pointing to the paper in her hands. “If you can see, I actually drew the both of us. So it’s not just you.”
“Kieran...”
The assassin rubbed at the back of his neck and took a step forward. “Yes, I’ve drawn you.” He reached out behind her and pulled the one of her from the bridge off the wall. “This one too.”
He put the paper in her hands and began to go through more piles, pulling out more drawings of her. From when they had first struck their deal, their first interrogation, her disguise at the Golden Clover. There were more, much, much, more, but they were too deep within the piles plus, Kieran couldn’t think Lauren’s eyes could get any wider than they were.
Kieran slid his hands into his pockets. “I’ve drawn you plenty, darling.”
With shaking hands, Lauren put the stack of papers back on the desk, straightening and straightening them again if it meant that she didn’t have to face the expression on her partner’s face.
“But why?”
With a nonchalant shrug, he said, “These memories, I want to keep them.”
This time Lauren did turn around, but with a smile replacing her gawking expression. “Don’t think you’ll forget me just yet, subordinate.”
“I don’t think I could get you out of my mind that easily.”
“You...what?” Thank god she had settled the papers down already, anything in her hands at that moment would’ve gone straight to the floor.
A smirk flashed across his face, but not quite enough to reach his eyes or his earlier vigour. “I think you heard me quite well, officer.”
She turned around completely and took a hesitant step towards him. He was frozen on his spot, and even when she’s barely a foot away from him, he made no move to go in closer.
But he didn’t move away, either.
“Was that a confession, subordinate?” she asked, looking up towards him underneath her long lashes, her usually pensive eyes soft, delicate. And yet, Kieran knew those were the eyes of a woman who knew what she wanted. He could only hope that it was him.
“Well, there’s no point in me trying to hide it, right?” He smiled, the expression straining his face from the unnaturalness of it all. “Even if I said no, you would know the real answer, Officer Lie-Detector.”
Lauren suppressed a laugh. “I want to hear it from you, anyway.”
His pupils dilated. “Yes, yes it was.”
“So.” She took another step forward. “If I do this.” Her hands slid around his neck, bringing him down. “You wouldn’t be mad?”
Without bothering to respond, Kieran surged forward, hands on her waist, and their lips met. Though, none of them knew who truly made that last leap.
She tasted like sweets and hope and honey and everything he would want to get drunk on. As if kissing her was the only way to amend for all his sins, he deepened the action, lifting her up by her thighs and placing her gently on his desk, not minding the drawings on it.
This was the memory he wanted to keep, the memory he knew would never be able to draw, no matter how hard he tried. No amount of effort would be able to capture what he felt in that moment, when he had his hands on her, wanting to desperately rid her of his shirt, when her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer between her legs.
A whimper escaped Lauren’s lips and she blushed wildly, not realizing she was capable of making such a noise, that the man in front of her was capable of eliciting that noise from her, but as his hands slipped underneath the hem of her shirt, she couldn’t complain.
When they parted, Kieran rested his forehead against hers, eyes still closed.
“Tell me this won’t be a one-time thing,” he breathed in the scant space between them. “Tell me you won’t look at me in the morning with regret in your eyes. Tell me you won’t leave before the sun rises. That you’ll stay. But most importantly, tell me you want me.”
Instead of responding, she left a light kiss on his lips, her smile evident against his skin.
“Who am I to deny an artist their muse?”
The thunder clapped.
And the artist started on another kind of art.