𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 | 𝐒𝐨𝐂

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃

Suddenly, being murdered didn't seem so bad. Jesper was sure Kaz would string them up the lighthouse and keep them there for a few days just for the fun of it. Nothing got between Kaz Brekker and 30 million kruge - especially not a pair of two drunk girls.

"I'm going to drop Alessia off in her room, and I'll buy you some time with Kaz. Get dressed, and stop drinking from that damn bottle," he screamed.

He kicked the door closed swiftly behind him, disappearing in a cloud of loose curls and an annoying smile. Natasha didn't believe he ever did stop smiling - it was a cute but also a scary thought.

She shuddered, placing the beer down softly on the windowsill. Her skin buzzed the way it did when she used her powers. If she had drunk anymore, she'd have danced down the staircase on her head, splaying darkness out from her palms.

Get Dressed.

Jesper Fahey's words danced in her head like an annoying insect. She tottered onto her feet and ran a hand through the tangled heap at the back of her head. She combed her fingers roughly through the knots until her hair puffed out like a cotton ball.

She shivered beneath the pale moon and its cloak of darkness, tugging off her dress until the fabric bunched around her ankles. Frosted wind crawled along her skin, trailing up her arms and legs.

"You're tickling me," she giggled, slapping at the imaginary creatures slithering up her limbs. She stood there for several moments, pinching red marks into her skin.

"Natasha?" His voice didn't sound anything like Jesper's. It rumbled like tossed barrels underneath a ship's deck, a rasp scratching in the man's throat, like rocks skidding against a frozen lake, she thought.

"Yes," she blinked her eyelashes softly, mouth still red from the alcohol.

"Are you decent?" the man asked bluntly. Natasha curved a hand across her stomach, frowning at his words.

"What does decent mean again?" she slurred, scratching a scab on her arm. She jumped up with a giggle as the door slid open. "Rietveld," she grinned, jumping on the rickety wood floor - the panels creaked beneath their feet.

A gloved hand had already curled around the handle, his cane almost limp in his hands. Kaz Brekker clenched his jaw, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Get dressed," he rasped, "I'll be waiting outside,"

"I am dressed," she said, slipping a hand underneath the strap of her bra. Kaz hadn't turned around to see what she was showing him. "I'm wearing my underthings,"

"I meant proper clothes," he scowled. His hand had returned to his side, but his jaw remained clenched, his eyes still pointed into the dusty corner of the room.

"I haven't got proper clothes, Mr Rietveld," she said, flinging open the lid of her trunk. Dust crawled in the air, filling the room with another layer of sticky silence.

"You're such a baby," he hissed, pushing her aside with the head of his cane. He bent onto his knees, dropping his hat down onto the floor beside him. He knocked his hand in front of her chest before she could sweep it off the floor. "Touch it, and I'll kill you,"

"Saints," Natasha said, jumping up onto the bed. "No need to be so uptight - it's just us,"

"That's the problem," Kaz muttered through gritted teeth. "Nothing good comes out of us being alone," he shifted back towards the trunk, picking his way through dusted books and folded canvas sheets.

"See," Natasha smiled, "Nothing,"

"That isn't something to smile about," he slammed his hand down onto the lid of the trunk, pushing it back beneath her bed. "You still are an absolute idiot," he huffed. "There's always something going wrong with you - you're walking bad luck,"