The silence that follows isn't awkward. That's the strange part. Koshin picks up something from one of the platters—some kind of meat wrapped in leaves—and eats without rushing, without filling the space with empty words. The marketplace noise washes over us, vendors calling out prices and cart wheels grinding against stone, and I let myself breathe.
This is... fine. This is almost nice, actually. Sitting here in the sun with a full stomach and no one hitting me.
The bar for "nice" in my life is so low it's underground.
I reach for another piece of bread. Koshin's knee presses against mine, warm and solid, and I don't pull away. I'm tired of pulling away. I'm tired of flinching and bracing and waiting for the next blow. Maybe I can just sit here for five minutes and eat bread and not think about—
A shadow falls across the table.
I turn my head.
The barrel of a gun fills my vision. Black metal, two inches from my face, close enough that I can see the rifling inside. Close enough that I can smell the oil.
Behind it: a man. Big. Armored. Coin insignia on his shoulder.
His finger is on the trigger.
My brain stops. Everything stops. There's no time to scream, no time to move, no time to do anything except stare at the dark circle of the barrel and understand, with perfect clarity, that I'm about to die in a marketplace over bread and whatever the fuck that meat was—
Koshin moves.
Gone. Across the table, on the enforcer, hands finding throat and chest, and he's laughing. The sound cuts through the marketplace noise, high and delighted. The gun never fires. Koshin's hands are already on him, already tearing, and there's blood on the stones now, blood on his fingers, the enforcer dropping before he can make a sound.
Koshin stands over the body with his head thrown back, terrible joy spilling out of him.
My thighs clench.
I actually look down to my thighs.
What.the.actual.fuck?
No.
I'm—no. This is not happening. I am not getting turned on by—
The enforcer's legs twitch. His blood spreads across the stones. And I'mwet.
Alrighty then, new kink unlocked, I guess.
My survival instincts have officially packed their bags. Left a note on the counter. Gone to live with someone who makes better choices.
Don't contact us.
Koshin turns. The laughter fades but the grin stays, bloodied at the edges. His eyes find mine.
He knows.
He has to. The flush crawling up my neck, the way I'm breathing too fast, the way I can't stop looking at his hands.
His grin widens. He takes a step toward me. Just one. Blood drips from his fingers onto the stones and I track the movement and my whole body tightens because apparently I'm broken in ways I didn't even know about until right now.
This is so fucked up.
I'm so fucked up.
And I can't even pretend otherwise because my body is making its opinions very clear and its opinions aremore of that, please.
Koshin crosses to me, stepping around the body without looking at it. He offers his hand.
