Crash and Burn (1)

you don't think i'm nice?

**So I realized early this morning that the only way to avoid my hangover was to just stay drunk. FOREVER.

Excuse this chapter because it's pure fluff. I wrote this in between writing some of the crazy awful murder action scenes because I found that I needed to humanize the both of them so badly. They are human. BUT we'll be back at the action next chapter...YESSSSSSSSHFIOA

Any WORLD CUP FANS?!!! GHIFESKAS

It's unedited because I'm still drunk. Spanish might also be wrong because I'm still drunk. WOOOOOOOOOH. 🍻

UPDATE 12/5/21: ^^^^DAAAAMN, what were you doing, bitch? ^

♚ ♛

I OPENED MY EYES to a clean, white ceiling. In a cloud of white sheets, I felt my breathing quicken when I realized that I was on a soft bed.

What the hell?

I sat up quickly, my head spinning as I took in the light blue walls and the small wooden dresser beside the bed. There were the two white doors in front of me, one half open to show a small closet filled with clothes and another that was just barely ajar.

"Soren!" I called anxiously, my feet hitting the carpeted floor swiftly.

"In here." Deep and soothing, his voice bled through the door to calm my racing heart immediately. "Lace?"

A sound of soft cheering followed his lingering question. Was that a TV?

"Soren, what is..." I trailed off as I pushed the door open, finding Soren lying lazily on the couch in just his boxers, watching...a soccer game? "Is that soccer?"

He flipped his gaze over his shoulder, and his messy hair followed. "Fútbol, Lace. World Cup. Come watch with me."

I stood in awe for a long second, frozen at the strangely normal scene that I was witnessing. Was I dreaming? "You like soccer?"

Yet another strange fact about Soren.

"It's fútbol, Lacey," he countered quickly, beckoning me with his hand. "And yes, I didn't think I'd get to watch any of it. Come here, princesa."

All it took was the lazy lull of that nickname and I was crawling onto the couch with him. He looped an arm around me, immediately pulling me into his warm body. In the cool, flickering light from the TV, Soren looked different. Washed over with blues and red, rather than sinister shadows. "You like fútbol, Lace?"

"American football," I snickered, pushing my nose into the crook of his neck. A faint scent of soap wrapped around him, but I could still catch the smallest lingering of smoke. I liked it. Smoke and soap. Who knew that Soren could make that so tempting?

He snorted. "Typical. They don't even use their feet."

"The kickers use their feet."

"Well, everyone in fútbol uses their feet."

Laughing easily, I nuzzled closer to plant a kiss on his neck. An appreciative hum vibrated beneath my lips. It was cold in the apartment, but Soren was always warm.

"Did you sleep?" I asked, remembering how tired he'd been when we curled up on the couch together.

"Mhmm," he hummed again, his fingers sweeping down my back. "For a while. But you slept for a long time, princesa."

I was tired. I was so tired of running and killing and fighting. "How long? What time is it?" I pulled away leisurely, my eyes darted behind me quickly, searching for the little blinking clock on the stove.