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(Song above is so FADE it's not even funny.)

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*casually displays fan art for Death and Faith. Created by Anakoci93 on Instagram*

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 "You're playing with your lip again," Death's muttered bitterly from a dozen feet away. We were situated on the floor of his large book room, him cross-legged on the bare floor and me cross-legged on a plush grey pillow.

"Focus," Death said, without looking at me. "And close your eyes."

I closed them, yawned. Opened them thirty seconds later and adjusted the pillow beneath me.

"Faith, for fuck's sake," Death growled out, "just stay concentrated for two minutes."

"No offence, but this is a waste of my time. I'd rather do the exercise you taught me a while ago with the vase, or hell, combat some more. I feel like I was really going somewhere with both of those."

"Did I say you could open your eyes?"

I honed in on his face, studying his sealed eyes from across the room. "How do you know my eyes are open?"

A shrug. "I know everything."

I shut my eyes, but not before rolling them, first.

"We've both seen what you're capable of," Death began, and I noticed his voice was slightly different once I couldn't see him. "At least observe the feelings within you and let them go."

I let out a frustrated breath. "Whatever that means," I muttered.

"You're a very stubborn girl, Faith." Even with my eyes closed, I knew he was shaking his head. "You need to learn to go through the motions, instead of always attaching yourself to every emotion you feel."

"It's sounds like you just want me to be detached like you."

"Wouldn't be too terrible. At least then you'd be less of a brat."

"Oh, please. As if you're not obnoxious. Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm not unhinged like you are. I feel things."

His hearty laugh made my cheeks burn. "Back to meditating, cupcake. Who knows, you might discover there's one thing holding you back from fully controlling this power. Like your period. Or your virginity."

I hurled a throw pillow at him. Still situated on the floor, he ducked out of the way, cackling so hard that he bent over. The second one I threw hit him square in the head.

Childishly, I wanted to say, 'This is stupid,' but I knew damn well why I wasn't focusing on this exercise. Cracking open my eye, I peaked at the beautiful man perched across from me. He sat regally with perfect posture; his wavy midnight hair silky waves spiraling down the center of his skull with a gradient of shaved black hair on the sides. Opening both of my eyes, I shamelessly studied the markings that resembled tattoos across his bare skin, curve of his full lips, his closed eyes and those long eyelashes trying to brush against his cheekbones. I didn't blame them; he had great cheekbones for a macho 'don't look at me wrong or I'll stab you' looking guy.

I watched Death fall into deep concentration, a calm and steady state that made him appear gentler, softer– two words I would certainly not use to describe him. Now I knew what he looked like at a deep rest, and that felt strangely intimate. Then I realized it wasn't the way he looked in that moment that was making me progressively more curious about him. Sure, Death had always been a mystery right down to his pseudonym, and my need to understand him was prompted by his closed off nature, but the way he compelled me differently each time I looked at him put my own heart at blame.

Something had changed within me the moment I met him. In a sense, Death had been the one to push me to independence, abandon my cramped, suffocating little world so that we could be here right now, together. I had purpose here, with him; maybe I was right where I was supposed to be, and maybe it wasn't just because of some prophecy. If even now, if even after everything we'd been through and all the lies he put me through, all the hatred I wanted so passionately to have for Death could be foiled by a simple kiss, like it was the night before, then I was just as damned as him and more.

Although his eyes remained close, his pierced brows knit almost troublingly together. I thought, maybe, he'd felt me staring, but he didn't say anything for a long time. When he finally opened his eyes, he was staring steadily down at the floor. I wondered what he was thinking about.

"Why have you been acting nicer to me?" I suddenly asked. That question had been gnawing at me for hours. I wanted to know if Death wanted something in exchange for that dinner, like the lap dance. "The dinner was really out of the blue, and you didn't have to cook."

He wouldn't look at me. "We'll work much better together if we're cordial. I understand my.... disposition... has made our alliance unpleasant."

"Fair enough," I said, although I was irritated with that answer. To put it lightly, his "disposition" was the reason we were about to travel to another world to fight. As I reeled over his response, while I was at it and getting answers, I decided to nail him with another question. "Why did you run from me?"

We both knew I was talking about the kiss the night before. Thinking about it right then, I re-experienced how hard he'd slammed the door behind him, to the point that it had almost splintered into little pieces.

His eyes shot to me, two lasers burned free from emotion. "I think you should go to bed. You have a long day ahead of you."

My eyes stung unexpectedly with hurt. "Great idea. This conversation wasn't going anywhere, anyway." Rising from my pillow, I started my retreat to my bedroom before I burst at the seams. But when I brushed past him, he suddenly grabbed my arm.

Inhaling slowly, I looked back over my shoulder at him. He was squeezing his fangs together so hard that a muscle in his jaw ticked.

"I'm sorry," he said stiffly.

When he said that, my chest felt so tight it was hard to breath. Coming to my senses, I ripped free of his grasp and stepped back. "Fine, let's talk. One moment, you're kissing me, making me think there's something there, and the next, you leave nothing left to pursue. Do you admit to doing this on a daily basis?"

His laughter had an edge. "You have no idea what goes on in my head when I'm around you."

"Then tell me!" I exploded, hardly able to contain the heave of emotion within me. My bones rattled with rage, and it was hard to breathe. "Why don't you just go out and say what you're really thinking about me once? What's the worst that could happen?"

His facial features shifted through several emotions, and it appeared as if he was about to tell me exactly what could happen, and yet he remained silent.

"How am I supposed to trust someone who won't let his guard down for five fucking seconds? You barely tell me anything about yourself."

"And for good reason. You don't want to know me. Believe me."

"Well that's not a good enough answer for me."

He took an unhurried step forward. "You know what your problem is?"

I just stared at him, shocked that he was deflecting this back to me. "I know exactly what my problem is," I grated through tight teeth. "I'm looking right at him."

"Your problem is you're too uptight," he said.

I let out a loud, shamelessly fake laugh. "Have you met yourself?"

"And you're neurotic," he added, his tone more vicious.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from a self-professed psychopath." My fingers began to charge with a furious energy. "You should ask the voices in your head if they agree with you first."

"You always take everything so personally," Death graveled out on his own train of thought, as if he wasn't affected by my jab. "You let your emotions chaperon you through life, so much so that you can't see things the way they plainly are. And that's your downfall. That's your Achilles Heel. When you're upset, you leave any reason to the wolves. Thought, action, decisive decisions are cast aside. You're not at a balance between what you feel and what you have to do now. Which is why you can't control your power."

"That sounds like everything that makes me a woman."

"Well, exactly," he conceded, leaning into me. "A stubborn, irrational, highly-strung woman. Your block is your emotions. I can help you, but you have to cut this out."

"Cut this out?!" By Death's surprised expression, he finally realized he'd fucked up. "Now I know this isn't about my power. You can't handle me and it frustrates the hell out of you! Hate to break it to you and your rock old dick, but I'm not going anywhere. So get used to me!"

"Are you about to get your period?"

"Yes!" Realizing what I'd admitted, I smacked my forehead. "But there's no correlation!"

He raised his eyebrows and looked to the side. "Mhm."

"Oh, shove it up your own ass!" I pushed at Death's hard chest, but he remained in place like marble, smirking down at me like the smug bastard he was. "You–you jerk-off!"

He blinked a few times, surprised. Then rage rushed over his features until his expression went absolutely flat. "I don't like when you curse like that. It's not like you."

"I'll say whatever I want, and you can't do anything about it," I said, jabbing at his chest tauntingly for emphasis. He glared down at that finger as if he wanted it to shred it apart with his fangs and then joyfully peel away the rest of my flesh from my bones while he was at it. Instead, he rolled his broad shoulders and cracked his head to the side, and slit his eyes up at me.

"I could pop that little cherry between your legs," he purred out, clearly to shock me. And it did all right, as a slow, ruthless burn settled in numerous locations on my body. "That would definitely shut you up."

I couldn't speak, but I somehow kept my furious expression in place.

As if getting an idea, Death's mouth cranked up into a wicked, twisted grin. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Flustered by the way he was staring at me, I put more distance between us. How had the tables turned so fast? "Only if you answer one of mine–"

"It's sexual," he said.

Although I acted nonchalant, my heart skipped a beat. "I don't think now is the time for–"

"What have you done?"

I frowned. "What have I done?"

In an attempt to hide his nasty smirk, he wiped the thumb of his gloved hand across his bottom lip. "Sexually, Faith," he said, as I were a lost cause. "I meant what have you done sexually."

Now I was full on glaring at him. Was he suddenly a thirteen-year-old boy? "I don't think your question is at all appropriate."

"So, nothing." His grin widened, showcasing white fangs. "You've done nothing." Like I already assumed, added his wicked eyes.

"If I have or have not, it's none of your business," I said, trying to sound as unruffled as possible. The truth was, I'd never been obsessed with sex the way other girls at my school were. Sure, I was hormonal and horny like any other girl, but I wasn't boy-crazy. Well, that, and I was too intimidating for guys at my school, so I just pushed the concept of dating to the side until college. I'd been too focused on my artwork and getting into the best college to get wrapped up in boy drama. Plus, high school boys were gross. I'd always found older men more attractive.

I withdrew from my thoughts and stink eyed the Grim Reaper. More like attracted to older half fallen angel half mysterious beast creatures.

"So you would have, if you had the chance?" he pressed.

"I don't know–"

Death reached for a book next to my head, reading the title as if he were actually interested in it. "Have you ever fingered yourself?"

I straightened in shock, burning hot. "I think that's enough questions from you."

He shut the book, eyes flickering with interest. "You have."

"I'm going to my room," I said firmly and tried to maneuver around him

His arm darted out and gripped the shelf next to my head, trapping me in. With his other hand, he shelved that book. "Now who's running away, cupcake?"

Swallowing back a lump in my throat, I desperately tried to concentrate on anything else besides how close and striking his face was, or how that delicious, crisp scent discharging off of him–like one of those freaking room dispensers except for manly cologne– or the way he had to loom over me to get to my level because he was so tall.

Stop it. Stop it.

"I'm running away because you're a pig," I finally snapped. God, it was so nerve-wracking to look at him when he was this close. Sweat began to drip down my spine. "You ran away because you're a coward. Two different things."

"I didn't run from you," Death said firmly. "Maybe I ran from the situation, maybe I ran from myself because I don't want to lose control. But I definitely didn't run from you."

His lips were so close.

"But maybe that's not working for us," he said, staring me deep in the eyes. "Maybe we need to get a few things off out of the way between us, before we can work together. Things we can both act on with barriers between us. " I couldn't speak. I was pure fire, and my clothes clung hotly to my skin. He moved his mouth to my neck, breathing me in. "You said I was your problem. You said I'm the reason you can't concentrate. Am I truly?"

Fighting to get a full breath, I nodded shamelessly.

All thought was vanquished by his kiss. He was slow and soft, in a way he'd never dared kissed me before. It made me hyper aware of all of my senses, aware of this moment. The cold, silver loop piercings along his bottom lip pressed against my bottom lip, and his tongue followed pursuit in a slow caress that sent chills throughout me. I wanted more. I drew in the silver loop on his lip and he stifled a groan that made my knees quake. Reaching up, I hooked my arms around his strong neck and pulled him in. Our mouths crashed together now. Flickers of images darted in front of my closed eyes, memories like colorful lattice reaching out to me from him, but I somehow was able to push it away again. Death hoisted me off the ground and hooked my legs around his waist, stroking my mouth with that intoxicating, pierced tongue.

He carried me to the couch and sat down, so that I was positioned on his lap like the night before. His legs were just as well built against mine as I remembered, his skin hot through the combined cotton material of our sweatpants. Our mouths kept at it, the friction of his stubble, our fingers gripping at each other's clothes. He kissed a trail of hot caresses down my neck, my collar, and all I bit back a moan. Then, suddenly, he looked up at me in approval, in confirmation, his fingers paused at the hem of my shirt. I could feel the swell of him pressed against my leg. I knew what could happen next, I could see it play out before my eyes. He would slide my T-shirt off over my head and just like that, I'd be exposed to his wicked gaze. That's when the doubt swam to the surface of my conscious, and I braced my hands on his shoulders.

Death dropped his gloved hands to the spot behind my thighs, both of us breathing hard. "What's wrong?"

"I can't." The words came out so quiet, so cruel to my body, which wanted his touch more than anything. Every cell of my body said I was crazy, but in my heart, this didn't feel right. What he wanted and I what I wanted were physically the same, but our emotional needs were so imbalanced that it wasn't even funny. He'd never said directly how he felt about me out loud, whereas I wore my heart on my chest. My feelings had yet to be reciprocated the way I needed them, and I realized then they might never be.

Suddenly I felt so small and awkward, enclosed in my own inexperience. "I don't want to just get things out of my system," I said slowly, so that I didn't cry. When I felt, I often felt everything so intensely, so fully, and I couldn't help bursting into tears sometimes. "I'm not...I'm just not that type of girl." I want to be loved in a moment like this. "I want more...than this. What you would give me right now."

He removed his hands from my waist and set me down on the couch, his eyes steadily on mine. I was sitting right next to him, and I couldn't have been farther away.

"Say something," I whispered.

"I understand." He raked a hand through his hair. "I'm just embarrassed."

I'd never imagined in a million years I'd see Death, of all people, embarrassed. "Why?"

"Because I know better, I know you're a certain type of girl." He ran a hand over his stubbly jaw. "I didn't mean to push myself on you, if that's how you felt."

"You didn't push yourself on me," I said firmly, shaking my head. Didn't he feel me dissolving into his touch? "I like kissing you, and I want to do more. I just don't want to regret anything...intimate, when you don't.... "

He bowed his head. "When I don't open up to you."

"Well, yeah." I felt all the blood to rush to my face. "I want... I just..."

"Want to feel reciprocated." It was so silly to hear him say it out loud. I felt like a child, like he was far more comfortable with conversations like this than I was, but at least we were on the same page. "You want this kind of stuff to be special."

"Yeah," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Then I'm happy we stopped when we did."  He turned his head away from me and appeared deep in thought. "This emotional stuff, I'm shit at it. Everything besides anger and basic instinct can feel so manual, so unnatural, as if I have to learn it all over again. I don't know if I can give you what you need, Faith. Not without hurting you somewhere along the way." A wave of anger flickered over his features as his body tensed with an upsurge of something suppressed. "Don't you understand that I've kept myself from you not for my own sake, but for yours? That it's the only selfless thing I can remember doing in centuries? If you only knew what I've done to be where I am right now, cursed like this. If you only saw me take the lives I have, all for sport. If you knew the friendships and trust I've broken. I've learned to shut everything out, I've learned the value of shutting myself out and remain in control. I'd break all my rules for you, Faith. But don't be surprised if you don't like what you see once we're finally introduced."

I realized I was clutching at my chest.

We sat in silence for a painful amount of time, before Death rose to his towering height. He reached out a gloved hand. "I need to show you something."

I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me. "Where are we going?"

"I want to show you my wings."

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