"Do you want me to start? Or do you want to start?" Kassidy inquired as we sat in a window booth seat.
I sipped gingerly from the vanilla latte he'd ordered for me, glancing out through the large pane at the city walkers and taxis beeping loudly in the streets. I almost felt as if I was owed some answers—I'd already told him more than I intended to. However, the secrecy he approached the topic of his life with made me wary, as if there was something he might tell me that I didn't necessarily want to know. And yet, I could sense the purity in his intentions, the honesty and innocence in his tortured gaze. It was a strange combination.
"You go first," I relented. "Ask away."
I was choosing my cards carefully here—the types of questions he asked would give me ideas on what to ask him.
Kassidy pursed his lips and leaned forward on his elbows, thinking.
"Anything?"
I nodded and gestured with my hands for him to continue.
"I can choose which ones I don't want to answer, though," I reminded him pointedly. "Let's say, for the sake of just today, each of us is owed three answers by the other. Deal?"
"Hmm..." He took a swig from his drink, his gray eyes still apologetic and gentle. "That sounds fair."
Smiling softly, I crossed my legs under the table and willed my elevated heartbeat to calm down. It seemed odd to me that I was entrusting myself to an almost-stranger—the only thing keeping me from backing out was his promise to answer questions, as well. We were both Nen users, and if I knew one thing about the real world, it was that Nen was considered a conspiracy theory, something of fables and fiction. It was one of the main things which bonded me to him, kept the interest alive, apart from his unending torment beneath the surface of every word he spoke.
His fingers tapped restlessly on the table as he thought. The casual tunes of the coffee shop played sweetly around the quiet conversations of other customers, and I examined the peaceful place while I waited, enjoying the soft tones of ivory and brown and musky green around the floors and walls and chairs. This one was much more modern-looking than the last one Kassidy had met me at—I studied one of the walls which had been completely open to passerby-artists, marveling at the montage of random depictions, mostly abstract, and a few faces among the array of colors. Someone and their partner were now painting on it, adding what looked like a crescent moon and a few stars.
"Where do you live in York New? Or do you actually live here?" he asked, his gentle voice interrupting my absent gazing.
Shit, that's a good question.
I bit my lip, deciding whether or not I should answer. Honestly, I didn't even know where I lived—or rather, where Chrollo lived. I knew it was outside of York New, but I didn't know how to answer it in specifics, and specific answers were required for this questionnaire.
"Pass," I mumbled, taking another drink from my coffee.
Kassidy's eyes glinted suspiciously, but a smile hung on the edges of his lips.
"Alright, um..." He trailed off slightly, his brows coming down over his eyes. "I don't want to ask anything that will make you uncomfortable. I apologize in advance if I do."
I shrugged, avoiding his open stare by looking down to the now-messy shape in the top of my drink.
"It's okay. I'll just pass if I don't want to answer."
Nodding slowly, he inhaled and twined his fingers together. His exterior was careful and genuine; I appreciated that about him, despite how business-like and sassy he could be.
"What, exactly, is your Nen ability?" he inquired, his voice sounding almost shaky.
I snapped my eyes up to his and blinked.
"Definitely pass."
Chrollo and I had talked about the secrecy needed in order for me to walk openly in the streets of York New. In fact, even I already knew how fragile the topic of Nen was. To other users, as well, my ability could be seen as a threat, and to anyone who knew Chrollo as the leader of the Phantom Troupe, an Exorcist would be exactly who they were hunting.
But Kassidy seemed so aloof to my affiliations, so unaware of the darkness which followed my every step—it felt cruel to bring him into it, to involve him in something I was so sure he knew nothing about. In front of me sat a man who was searching for someone, and whoever that was felt so far away from my world, my life with Chrollo. I couldn't wrap him up in my drama—it was entirely unfair. But I wanted to help him, if I could.
Jesus, my savior complex is a little too out of control.
"Interesting," he mused, resting his chin on his palms. "How about this—are you in, or near, York New for business reasons?"
I hedged over the inquiry, uncertain. I couldn't continue avoiding questions, and this one seemed vague enough. With a sigh, I shrugged, defeated.
"I suppose...?" My brows furrowed as I looked for the words to loosely describe my associations. "I'm not getting paid or anything... My first intention for coming to York New City was to escape, but I made a, um... connection of sorts. That connection is what allowed me to escape and actually build a life. So, not really business reasons."
Kassidy was quiet, examining my expression, and I watched as a very calculating, and somehow nonjudgmental, emotion shifted his features. I bit my lip nervously and leaned back into the seat, holding my coffee with both hands.
"Every time I think I'm getting a clue from you, I'm even further convinced that you have nothing to do with my search," he muttered, perplexed. "May I ask about what you are trying to escape?"
My eyes stared unblinkingly at the table, and I tried desperately to dissociate while I responded.
"S-slavery." I jumped slightly when a hot drop of coffee splashed on my thighs through my jeans, and I realized my hands were trembling violently while holding the mug. I sniffed and set it back down on the table, grabbing a napkin from the container and rubbing the stain furiously—it was a good thing my jeans were black. "Um, s-sex slavery. Human trafficking."
I didn't like talking about this with anyone but Chrollo, and perhaps Machi and Shizuku or Shal. But if it meant I would get answers, if it meant I might be able to understand his trauma, I would make myself do it. In fact, I felt slightly more capable, stronger even, whenever I spoke it out loud, as if mentioning it somehow made it less of a monster in the pits of my mind.
And if I'm going to defeat them, if I'm going to overpower my abusers, I need to at least be able to speak about them.
Only small steps, though—too much digging at once would surely end in a panic attack.
I felt Kassidy's hand come down over mine on the table, softly gripping it with his warm palm and slender fingers, and I looked up with wide eyes. Strangely enough, I found comfort in the dismal gray irises, that gaze which spoke of every sadness in the world while being oblivious to all evil, an odd desensitization marring the soul of an innocent. Once more, I was struck by how much it reminded me of myself, the only real difference being the purity with which he held himself, a purity I could only hope one day to have.
But it's a relief to be around.
Whatever his mission was, felt like only justice, but for myself, I wanted more than justice. I wanted utter decimation, obliteration, no mercy or deals made—the bloodlust I'd held in my heart for so long couldn't be held back anymore. It was lucid moments like these which were a convincing factor in my resolve that I was more than strong enough to complete my revenge.
"(Y/n), take a deep breath," he murmured softly, his kind voice reverberating around in my thoughts and bringing me back. I inhaled slow and long, focusing on his pleading gaze, and I realized I hadn't been breathing. "Thank you for telling me. I don't need specifics—I'm so, so sorry."
I shrugged and swallowed thickly, allowing my hand to fall limp in his and leaning forward on my other elbow.
"You were going to find out at some point."
Pursing his lips, Kassidy tilted his head and regarded me sympathetically—it was close to pity, but not quite, and I knew his intentions were good.
I'm glad. I don't want pity. I can do this without anyone's fucking pity.
"Still—I know this might sound strange, since we've only known each other for a month or so, but I'm proud of you," he whispered sincerely, squeezing my hand. "I'm assuming, since you're a Nen user, you're devising a plan of some sort?"
I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
"How'd you guess?"
"Your tenacity." Kassidy smiled, a sweet, genuine expression.
"I was going to tell you," I stated hesitantly, pulling my hand away and lacing my own fingers together. "Don't waste a question on it—I'm leaving on the thirtieth." My gaze hardened, and I nearly glared at him. "And don't try to stop me, goodie boy."
He seemed slightly taken aback by the hostility in my tone, but there was an understanding in his demeanor, like he was comprehending exactly what kind of lash-out actions one might take when approaching their own revenge. Honestly, I knew he wouldn't really try to stop me, but it felt like the right thing to say—his brightness could never be tainted by the sort of darkness and murderous desire which soaked my thoughts, and I felt as though I needed to justify my mission.
"Of course not," he relented, sipping from his coffee and leaning back. "Just please be safe. I don't know where you're going or what your plan is, but please, please be safe."
"Don't count on it," I muttered. "You still have one more question."
Sighing reluctantly, he nodded and looked out the window as he thought. I swallowed the rest of what was in my coffee cup, itching to get moving—I felt hot and stuffy.
"I think I'm ruling you off of the suspect list." Kassidy's voice was soft and gentle again. "It doesn't seem fair for me to interrogate you like this—you've been more open with me than I thought you would be. I'll forfeit my last question, though I am still curious about your Nen. You can ask away now, if you want."
Surprised, I blinked, and a smile twitched up the edges of my lips. I hadn't expected that from him—it made me feel safer, more secure. However, I did plan on keeping my Nen a secret for as long as possible, just until I was sure there was no real reason for me to.
"Okay, but let's go to the next museum." I stood out of my seat, and Kassidy nodded, following me to the dish disposal and then out the doors. "Which way?"
The cool air felt welcome on my flushed cheeks and warm body as he gestured for me to follow him to the right, walking up the sidewalk and passing an adorable little fabric shop. On the other side of the street, I saw a canvas and paint store, set on the ground level of what looked like very artsy apartments. My smile widened—I liked this part of York New, despite the risqué drivers and rushing crowds of people.
When I looked back up, I realized I'd lost Kassidy in those crowds, and I groaned, exasperated. My head turned back to the coffee shop, but he wasn't behind me. Some woman ranting on her phone accidentally shoulder-checked me as I backed up, searching frantically.
"I'm sorry!" I called nervously.
Fuck, where did he go?
Suddenly, though, I felt someone grab my hand and twine their fingers with mine. I gasped and jerked my head around, seeing Kassidy's anxious face, but it was slightly alight with humor.
"I said, this way," he laughed carefully. "If you need to hold my hand to keep track of me, don't feel bad. It's not too busy today, but it's busy enough."
Not too busy?!
Hesitantly, I nodded and gripped tighter to his palm, skipping to catch up with him as he set out on a brisk pace towards the next museum. Everything sounded so loud in the city, and even though it was stressful, I still found myself admiring it, but not necessarily so much that I wanted to live in it. I couldn't imagine living anywhere but my peaceful existence with Chrollo.
We crossed another street and turned into the glass doors of another building on the block, this one slightly smaller but still exuding a very modern feel. There was a staff member by the door who Kassidy showed his Hunter's license to, and we were given permission to explore how we liked.
The first exhibit, the one in the main foyer, was just a collection of paintings depicting human anatomy and body positions, some being paintings of organs. I stared wide-eyed at a picture of a man smoking, his neck extended and the white cloud so perfectly enveloping his hazy body.
"It looks like a real photo almost," I marveled.
"These paintings are all incredible," Kassidy agreed. "I like this museum the best—there's even a pottery and a sculpture exhibit, as well."
I hummed, once again walking slowly through the displays with him by my side, no longer holding his hand.
"Okay, so first question." I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. "Do you live in York New?"
He side-eyed me curiously.
"I don't necessarily live anywhere," he answered cautiously, appearing solemn. "I don't have a home—not anymore. I go where my job takes me, and right now, that's here. Although, I do have an apartment. The lease is only for one year, though, and I don't plan on renewing it unless something big changes."
I tilted my head in slight confusion, but somehow his response made sense.
"So, that leads me to my next question." We both turned into another room, this one being very based around psychedelics and wild colors. "Where did you come from? Or, why don't you have a home anymore, I suppose?"
"Pass." His tone was final and unarguable.
Interesting.
His demeanor shifted slightly, becoming more stern and hard, as if a few walls were just built up. It was frustrating, but I was sure it had to do with his job. I wondered how powerful he was, how powerful he must have been to land such an underground position—I knew it wasn't corruption, though. His motives were entirely based on morale, something I couldn't relate to.
The atmosphere in this room was much more playful—I did really like the artistic energy—and surprisingly, the air between us didn't feel tense anymore. Even though he still carried that melancholy glint in his eyes, I knew he was only protecting himself from any perceived threats; for that, I couldn't blame him.
"Fair enough," I murmured, my gaze flickering inattentively over the cartoonish abstract work of the paintings. "Who are you searching for?"
Kassidy inhaled sharply, and then sighed, a heavy sound. His mouth opened as if he were going to say something, but decided against it.
"A criminal," he stated, his gray eyes suddenly looking angry and determined. "A highly intelligent criminal. He's gotten away from me, or I speculate that he's found a way to, and I need to find him again and bring him to justice."
I furrowed my brows.
"Do you work with the police? Or a law enforcement agency?"
"Is that one of your questions?" he challenged.
I huffed. "No."
A soft smile played at the edges of his lips, and he chuckled gently.
"It's alright, I'll answer it anyway," he amended. "I don't work with any public law enforcement agencies. I'm more of an individual worker, but I've been on... teams... before."
"And is that because of your own personal vendetta?" I inquired.
Kassidy didn't speak, only nodded once. I understood—whoever he was searching for had hurt him somehow, and he must have spent his life obtaining the power needed in order to get revenge. However, I knew how exhausting that kind of energy expending could be. I could easily comprehend that struggle, and it endeared me to him, created a sort of kinship between us, even if I didn't know all of the details.
We made a round in the room in silence, and by the time we'd reached one of the pottery rooms he'd mentioned, I had another question in mind.
"What is your vendetta about?" My voice was quiet, approaching the topic with care. "How did this, um, criminal hurt you?"
Kassidy didn't seem to hear me at first, or that's what I thought. For a few minutes, he said nothing, acted aloof, his demeanor hardly shifting. His steps slowed to a stop, and I paused as well, waiting patiently. My gaze traveled to what we'd stopped in front of—it was a rough sculpture, almost like it hadn't been finished, but it'd been spun into the shape of a man's profile, only his extended neck and upwards showing. His mouth was open, and there was a disembodied arm reaching down from nowhere, attached to the man's head. It's hand splayed over his forehead and seemed to drag his eyes open, forcing them into a wide, horrified expression, staring into a nothingness which no spectator could really decipher. It carried a great sadness that I couldn't find the words for.
I looked to Kassidy, noting the sort of glazed emotionlessness in his blank stare. I couldn't tell if he was spitting hatred at the piece for the way it spoke to him or if he was suspended in a moment of admiration. Either way, I understood that he was showing this to me, silently asking me to comprehend.
"Everything," he whispered, and the jagged tone he used pricked my heart. "That's what he took from me. He left nothing behind besides rage—it's a great fear of mine that the rage will consume me, but it is an even greater fear of mine that it will disappear altogether. It's the only thing I have left, the only reminder."
I couldn't reply immediately; a lump rose in my throat and kept any words at bay. How old was he again? Eighteen?
He's so young to hold so much heartbreak. What on earth happened to him?
But I didn't want to ask for details—he never required them from me. The only thing I could do in that moment was feel the utter desolation emanating from his aura, his emotional climate. It shredded and clawed beneath a surface I knew he tried desperately to keep up; it allowed me to fully grasp the depth of the screaming man, with his eyes forced open to see a reality he no longer wished to see.
With a shaky exhale, I blinked away a few tears I didn't realize were building, and focused back on Kassidy's face, a face which was only visible from the side. His lips were parted slightly, his gray eyes wide and furious and so heavily despondent, but they seemed tinted by something, like they were darker than gray this time, but not exactly black.
A sort of murky maroon, maybe?
I tilted my head, but I didn't ask. He turned away for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, sniffing once.
"I'm sorry, Kassidy," I murmured, but I didn't realize the weight of that statement in the moment I spoke it.
"You deserve to know what little I can tell you." He faced me again and sighed, his eyes back to a misty gray. "I can't tell you the complete truth yet, but I trust that one day, I might be able to. Until then, I apologize, and... thank you for listening."
I shrugged and smiled softly.
"Of course."
He smiled back, a sad sort of smile, but it was comforting all the same.
After that, he moved to a lighter topic—I couldn't tell if it was because he'd felt like he'd burdened me with his past or not, but I hoped that wasn't the case. The rest of the museum was beautiful, though. I think he kept me out of the darker areas on purpose, for which I was grateful. Honestly, our day together was refreshing as much as it was exhausting, but I was infinitely glad for the amount of truth we'd shared with each other.
I found myself admiring Kassidy's drive and determination, even though it was heartbreaking. As I'd realized before, he reminded me of myself, but in a purer way. It was easy, being around him and speaking to him even about difficult things. I wanted to be someone he could trust, to be there for him if he ever needed me.
Is this what friendship is?
Although, it felt selfish; I knew I could never be completely honest with him. I couldn't tell him about Chrollo or the Phantom Troupe, but I hoped that I'd be able to make up for it somehow, perhaps simply by just continuing to meet up with him. His energy was beautiful and tragic, a stagnant, murky pool of something I wished to unearth—and he seemed to connect with me. I wanted to help him, in whichever way possible.
The sun was setting in the sky, the time being just before five in the evening, when we'd headed back to our cars; the city never calmed down from its wild thralling. With the temperature dropping, I was practically a ball of shivers after I finally opened the door to the Jeep and said goodbye to Kassidy. Immediately, I blasted the heat, my teeth chattering as I plugged my phone in and picked out a song to play. A muffled honking sound grabbed my attention, though, and I looked up, smiling widely and waving to Kassidy as he drove away.
I'm glad I know him.
The music began softly around the white noise of the air vents, and before I pulled out of the parking lot, I checked my phone for messages.
Just now, from Kassidy: "Thanks for hanging out with me today :) I had a lot of fun, even through the heavy parts. Good luck on your mission. I promise not to try and stop you."
Three hours ago, from Chrollo: "I miss you."
Two and a half hours ago, from Chrollo: "I miss you a lot, pretty (Y/n)."
Twenty minutes ago, from Chrollo: "Come home soon. I might come find you if you don't."
My heart leaped in my chest, and I scrambled to respond to Chrollo first.
"I'm coming back now, don't worry, loverman. It's not like you'd know how to find me ;) I miss you, too <3"
I almost flipped screens to reply to Kassidy, but three dots appeared signifying Chrollo's instant answer.
"I have my ways, as well as my sources. And I'm giving you permission to drive like a wild woman, as safely as you possibly can. Come home."
I giggled quietly to myself and sent another message.
"Duly noted. I love you."
Chrollo: "I love you, too."
In response to Kassidy, I typed,
"I'm glad we were able to hang out, too :) Thanks for listening to me, and thank you for telling me what you told me. And, also, thanks for the luck. I'll need as much as I can get, goodie boy."
With that, I did exactly what Chrollo said, and drove as quickly as possible back home.
......................................................
It was dark when I pulled up beside his black car, eagerly shutting off the ignition and grabbing my phone, as well as the empty bag of food I'd bought on the way back with the money he'd lent me. The night air was still and cold, no traces of the earlier gusty wind to ruffle my hair as I walked up to the porch and opened the front door. Sighing in relief at the feeling of finally taking off my shoes, I hung up the keys and skipped to the kitchen to throw the trash away.
The house was quiet and undisturbed, and I wondered where Chrollo was. Since I was already on the ground level, I went to check the living room, but he wasn't there. I ran past the stairs and down the hallway towards the library—he was still nowhere to be seen. As I did so, though, I heard the sound of a low string instrument playing slowly, solemnly. The tune was vaguely familiar, as if I'd heard it in some distant dream, some dismal lullaby or sonata. My brows came down over my eyes, and I followed the direction of the music.
I was led to a room close to the library, just a right turn down a hallway with an inverted cross hanging from the wall at the end. There was no door to the room—the dark walls twisted into a smaller room, a slightly brighter room, illuminated with a few sets of string lights and a standing lamp. Cautiously, I peered inside, and instantly smiled softly at the sight of Chrollo sitting on a little red sofa and holding an enormous upright instrument.
The playing stopped when he looked up, his wide, nearly black eyes meeting mine, and his hand which held some sort of long wooden piece dropped slightly. My head tilted as I stepped closer, examining his peaceful features and the strange instrument.
"I didn't know you played music," I commented quietly, still smiling.
A gentle chuckle escaped his mouth, and he set the piece down against the couch, running his fingers through his hair.
"I don't very often." He shrugged, his voice velvety and beautiful and comforting. "I can only play a few songs, mostly on the cello, but one or two on the piano."
I hummed and slid out of the oversized jacket, noticing that he was back in the loose gray sweatpants from the other morning, his exposed abdomen relaxed as he leaned back and set the cello to the side. He gestured for me to come closer, and I bit my lip, climbing carefully over his lap and straddling him. With a sigh, I rested my head against his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat—his arms encircled me and I linked my hands together around the small of his back.
"Hi," he whispered.
"Hi." I nuzzled into his warm skin and placed a gentle kiss on his collarbones.
"Did you have a good time?"
I nodded, exhaling blissfully when his fingers stroked through my hair and down my back.
"Yeah, it was good. Kassidy and I are officially friends now."
He laughed softly and pressed his lips to my head.
"Are you hungry or anything?" he inquired, his breath mussing my hair a little.
"No, I ate on the way back."
Pulling away slightly, I looked up into his amber-gray irises and his pale, porcelain face. One of my hands lifted to cup his cheek, and he turned to kiss my wrist. My heart felt calm now, content, at peace being enveloped in Chrollo's secure embrace and finding safety in his familiarity. As I held his gaze, I became aware of the relief I felt around him, the sort of relief that came from feeling slightly on edge about discussing my past all day and searching for the nuances and clues in Kassidy's vague speech, and then finally returning to my safe space, my lover.
"I really did miss you, though," I admitted.
With an endearing crooked smile, he brought his hands down to my thighs, pulling me in closer.
"I was almost serious about coming to find you, my love," he murmured, brushing his nose against mine. "Almost. I missed you more."
My lips twitched up into a cheeky grin, and I pecked his lips once, snaking my arms around his neck.
"Mhmm." I chuckled into his mouth. "Will you play something for me? I like the sound of that, um... cello. It's pretty."
He nodded.
"Of course, love."
Before guiding me off of him, though, he captured me in a passionate kiss, sighing unsteadily. His hands tightened around my thighs, and I wished for a moment that I wasn't wearing those jeans. Tracing my bottom lip with his tongue, Chrollo braced me against his body—I felt his abdomen tense beneath me, and I shivered, twining my tongue with his.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away, and I shifted, snuggling into his side and watching with interest as he picked up the playing piece and brought the cello back in front of him. He began stringing out the same song I'd heard when I walked in, a melancholy, beautifully reminiscent song. Still, it was familiar somehow.
"What is this called?" I asked sleepily, as if it would trigger a memory.
His playing slowed, but he didn't stop when he answered.
"Lacrimosa," he murmured, his arm moving gently with each build and fall of the tune. "By Mozart. It's a classical piece."
"Hmm..." I exhaled and closed my eyes, allowing my limbs to relax.
Even though it was only around seven thirty in the evening, I was tired, and Chrollo's comforting presence made me feel like I could easily fall into a deep slumber. The sound of the music and the exhaustion in my body felt like déjà vu, and I wondered when I'd heard him play it before.
Or sing it...?
"Chrollo?" I mumbled.
"Yes, my love?" His playing became quieter and stilled as the song ended on a dismal chord.
My heartbeat increased slightly.
"I'm scared."
He paused for a moment, chuckling softly, and slid the cello aside carefully, wrapping an arm around me and lifting my drowsy head with a gentle hand.
"What are you scared of, (Y/n)?" he whispered, meeting my gaze with a pair of mildly concerned amber-gray irises, framed by a fan of long, dark lashes.
I reached up and traced his forehead tattoo.
"What if I lose you?" My brows slanted over my eyes. "What if something bad happens on the thirtieth?"
With a soft sigh, he smiled, a gentle, reassuring light settling over his expression.
"(Y/n), I know that this will be hard for you," he murmured, his velvety tones low. "It certainly won't be easy to face your abusers—but I want you to know that I will be with you every step of the way. I'll never let anything happen to you, and I'll never leave you. You will never lose me, my love." His words were honest and sincere, his thumb stroking beneath my eyes as he spoke. I inhaled shakily and leaned into his touch, and I felt my racing heart steady itself. "And when all this is over, when we've destroyed every last bit of that revolting industry, I'll still be here. I will still love you; I will always love you. You are my heart and soul and mind, and I promise to protect you if you need me to, anxious, pretty (Y/n)."
I blinked, and my lips twitched up, lifting my expression carefully. The feeling of worry didn't completely dissipate, but my security, my confidence in my own ability, increased, if only just a little bit. It was moments like that one which made it difficult for me to see the leader of the Phantom Troupe, the cold, calculating killer Chrollo could become—though of course, I knew that it was a part of his identity, and I accepted it. In fact, it was an even bigger relief to understand how dangerous and powerful he could be, if he wanted to.
Possessive lover of mine.
"I love you a lot," I whispered.
Chrollo grinned and placed a kiss on my forehead.
"Do you want me to play anymore?" he inquired, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ears.
"Yes," I answered immediately, bringing my knees to my chest and cuddling further to his body heat. "I might fall asleep, though. We walked around all day. I'm tired."
"I'll carry you up if you do," he promised through a breathy chuckle.
My eyes fluttered closed as he pulled his arm away and started another song, something much lighter and more peaceful than the last one—I was definitely going to pass out there. The combination of the gentle expansion of his chest and the slow movements of his body as he played sent me down into a soothing, tranquil unconsciousness.
Somehow the addition of the music makes me love him even more, as impossible as that might be, I thought inwardly, breathing in his beautiful scent and sinking further into the restfulness of the moment.