Surprise (not really because I promised 😉): a new chapter!

Plus, I want to dedicate this chapter to @ArmyBlink006633 to thank her for the beautiful aesthetics she's made for the characters! You're so sweet! Thank you so much 😘💕✨

I'll post the aesthetics at the beginning, in the chapter Readers' arts, so go check it out once you've finished reading this chapter because I know you want to find out what happens! 😉

'You don't know, how close

I feel when you're losing hope

Wished you could see

The worst in you

Is the best in me'

However, he was still stronger, and I didn't manage to move him more than three inches, three inches that allowed me to catch sight of the knife in Rye's right hand.

From that instant, everything happened in slow-motion and still too fast at the same time, as if my heart had stopped, or maybe it was bolting out of my chest. I wasn't aware of anything else but the sharp blade advancing towards Blade's neck, and every cell of my being was used for only one wish. It was once more the only thing I could do.

But I realized that maybe with Blade near, it was enough to make sparks when slowly, his head turned, and with a swift motion, he grabbed the blade – literally, as his palm grasped the sharp edge.

My gasp of relief to see the knife stopped before his neck ended in a cry of pain as if I was the one stabbed, my fists tightening uselessly. Yet he was showing no hint of pain, all his muscles tensing more sharply than the knife that he twisted, and his eyes widening with a dark look as he was drinking in the agony contorting Rye's features until the cracks of his wrist echoed around.

Actually, I was sure he would have continued if the men around hadn't managed to pull him away, and even being four against one, I didn't know how the guys had dared to because the look in Blade's eyes was scary, bordering insanity. The blue expanse was darker than I'd ever seen it, and the fine line of crystalline framing it was more contrasting with the blood vessels around.

Though what surprised me the most was how the men managed to extract me from him in spite of my tight grip.

The second I didn't have his tense muscles under my hand anymore, I collapsed on the floor. No one had pushed me this time, but my legs, like the rest of my body, were trembling too much.

Three inches, three inches, it was what was shaking me. All the strength that I'd put for those three inches was leaving my body.

Three inches, it was nothing, but if there hadn't been those three inches, the blade would have pierced Blade's neck, exactly at one of the spots I loved to kiss so much and feel the thuds of his heart under my lips. The irony of life was unbelievable and cruel; people were cruel.

The more I was taking in what had happened, what could have happened if I hadn't been here, the more it felt like the knife was stabbing my skin deeper and deeper, except that it wasn't my neck. My left hand was clutching my chest like it could prevent a bleeding here.

As for my right hand, when I remembered I had one, my wide eyes shot down to what I was gripping, and the realization hit me like a bullet.

The gun, I was holding the handle, which was half pulled out of my skirt, and the safety was off.

The safety had been on when Blade had given it to me; that, I was sure. I had checked three times, and I had no memory of when my fingers could have pulled it off. Though it wasn't hard to guess.

What was more difficult to picture were all the what-ifs when the memory of Pete's shadowed gaze looking at me with so much hope was so fresh.

However, I quickly pushed them away like the gun in my hand, as there were too many people around.

"You okay?" Kurt offered me a hand, the deepening creases on his forehead letting me know I looked as shaken as I was, and I had no word to reply, shaking my head up and down as I glanced down at my skirt, and from left to right when my gaze landed on Blade.

He was barely calming down, his chest rising and falling heavily as the men stayed around him and Wayne put a cloth in his bleeding hand, the white fabric turning red instantly.

I was as light-headed as if I'd lost the blood, but I still got up, accepting Kurt's help and rushing where Blade was.

"I thought we'd agreed no more beef between you two?"

My steps and my words were beaten by a large guy stopping at equidistance between Blade and Rye – okay, most guys here were either large, tall, bearded, imposing, and always scary and tattooed, but I recognized this one at the ripped dishtowel on his shoulder. He had been the one behind the bar when we'd arrived.

"Should I tell Otto that you started jumping bad like last year?" he grumbled, visibly annoyed at the drops of blood dropping on his floor.

"No, no, we were just talking!" Rye lifted one hand up, offering a blood-stained grin that didn't help his arguments.

"Oh yeah? Let me tell you a few more things!" Blade seethed, already jumping forwards with his injured hand ready for more than words, and although the guys around were quick to hold them both back, it was enough for my heart to leap out of my chest, and my body to follow.

I didn't care about anyone, weaving through the men surrounding Blade and wrapping my arms around his waist. 

I wasn't sure if I was trying to calm him or myself, yet I buried my head into his chest until all I could feel were the loud thuds of his heart matching mine. I wished to forget everything but him and me, and it was slowly working, our tensed muscles starting to melt closer. We would have probably fused together in a mess of shakes, salty water, and blood if it hadn't been for the faraway voices around.

"Next time, go talk somewhere else!"

"Angel, bring them some ice, and bandage!"

"And brooms!"

I was the first to pull out of the daze, remembering the state of his hand, and surely the reason why I didn't feel his soothing touch engulfing me whole. Though I didn't get time to lean away that Blade was the one tensing with Rye's chuckle.

"I've said it all!"

Blade tore himself out of my embrace so fast that I almost fell down again.

My first reaction was to look behind me at Rye, already expecting my heart to stop again, but he was just shrugging, the same sick smile – and it wasn't because of the blood – on his lips. 

"That fucker's mad! He broke my wrist!"

I fisted my hands as many things came to my mind to retort, and maybe there weren't only words. But I didn't have time as Blade was already rushing to the exit, ignoring, or more exactly, fleeing my calls.

Like when he was fighting Rye, no one could stop him, and the poor waitress that came out from behind the bar with a broom and a tray full of bandages, ice, and glasses of water bore the cost of the force of nature he was, jumping out of his way just in time but dropping her tray on the floor. As if it wasn't enough, she started again when she'd barely kneeled down as the shooting star I was rushed behind him.

"Sorry." I winced, apologizing for him, because, even if I was still discovering parts of him, I knew he wasn't himself at the moment, and I stopped, hesitating between helping the poor girl or running after him.

Well, I wasn't doing either, my body shaking between the two directions, and the young woman probably understood as she offered me a small smile, nodding towards the door, which was already slamming shut.

That was all I needed to grab a napkin she had dropped on the floor and Blade's jacket that was abandoned on a stool. It didn't need words, and if her name was Angel, it definitely fitted her, as she'd appeared out of nowhere in this dark place to remind me to follow my instincts. So after throwing her what I hoped looked like a smile, I rushed after my evil genie.

I didn't have to go that far, and I slowed down as soon as I passed the door, catching his tall and dark silhouette still standing out in the night.

He was in the middle of the parking lot, running his right hand through his hair and pulling on the roots as he heaved out breaths so strong that I could almost feel them making my steps waver in the distance.

He wasn't cooling down though. He was still fighting, fighting with himself, and hesitating about going back inside to kill Rye. As his gaze traveled from the starry sky to the door, it was the first time I could read it so easily, at least until it stopped in the middle where I was standing.

The same wave of emotions was crashing over his eyes, and I approached him with careful steps like approaching a tempestuous sea or a wild, wounded animal. He was both.

Yet I wasn't scared. It wasn't possible for me to be more terrified than what I'd been minutes ago, and the fear lingering like a prick of knife grazing my skin wasn't for me as I spoke softly, handing him his jacket,

"Blade..."

The dread was justified, and before I could stop in front of him, he turned away, shaking his head roughly to wash away the tempest in his eyes.

"It's getting late. You should go home." When he looked back, all that was left was ice, thick enough to cut through my chest. "Pete will drive you."

Pete? Seriously? After the argument they'd had and everything he'd revealed to me? Though I didn't doubt his uncle would have accepted, and maybe it was the less shocking in all of this.

Anyway, I didn't move, not even glancing back to the dark shapes he was nodding towards. My gaze was on his clenched hand. We couldn't see much in the dim lighting of the street lamp a few meters away, but the damp red cloth was enough.

"I'm not going home. We need to take you to the hospital."

"The hospital?" he laughed.

Out of all the reactions I'd imagined, this one wasn't expected. I didn't know how a laugh could even pass through the lock of his jaw, but at least, it loosened it slightly.

"We don't go the hospital for a little fight around here..."

In fact, this was the worst reaction he could have given me, his chin and one corner of his lips lifting, and in-between the two, one word was hanging, sending the tensions in my own body.

I held his gaze, daring him to say it and pleading him to stay silent. 'Princess', it was already echoing in the silence of the darkness all around, and it was in the voice of the last one who had pronounced it: the mocking sneer of Rye. It was so deafening that he could undoubtedly hear it too, and it must have been why he rolled his lips together before finishing his sentence.

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding." I eased out a smile, even though my words were still heavily serious. "Let me at least bandage it. Do you have a first-aid kit?"

"It's nothing. I've got worse before." He was still trying to push me away; it was obvious because the Blade I knew would have accepted immediately, seizing any opportunity to feel my touch and tease me with innuendos about other places needing to be tended.

Yet my evil genie wasn't here tonight; he was buried under a thick layer of ice and a tempest of rage inside, and I would have to dig.

"I wasn't there then. But I'm here now." I grabbed his hand delicately, putting the napkin I was still clutching in it, and holding his wrist with all my shaky strength.

Just like I'd done for the three inches, I wouldn't back down.

"I'm here now," I repeated in a murmur like a promise to myself as a remaining shiver traveled down my spine, and those words were left echoing when he started to walk, his hand still in mine.

There was nothing added, but as our breathings settled in a rhythm, and our feet did too, I took it as an agreement, and when his leather jacket fell softly over my shoulders, it meant more than words.

We didn't talk either when we reached his house, even our movements growing more careful in the faint background sound of a TV and snorings, like we were both agreeing that it was better to not wake Pete and Meteorite and alert them.

Though when he closed the bathroom door behind us, the silence became only thicker in the small space. There wasn't even the sound of my breaths when he switched on the light, and I took in his state.

In the whirlwind at the bar, between his abrupt movements and my shaky self, everything had appeared blurry, not leaving me time to take more than his heartbeat, and then, well, the darkness of the night and its shadows hid all the important details. But here, the bright yellow lighting above the mirror was merciless, every detail jumping out at me and crashing on my stomach.

His impeccable quiff was unrecognizable, the strands tousled in every possible direction – it was more messed than when we would make out, as a measuring scale – and it was the same for the rest of his body.

His forehead was still damp with sweat, a few drops mixing with blood near his jaw and rolling lower to his once white tee-shirt, which was tattered near the collar. The peek of his tattoos that always warmed me whole was now leaving me frozen to the bone, the gun pointing to his heart sending a bang in my chest, and not the good kind.

As for his branches tattoos, there was no need to talk about it when it was covered by the red fabrics, and my gaze instinctively trailed to one of his only inks intact: the snake on his neck. With his figure leaning over the sink to open the mirror cabinet, it gave me a perfect side view of it.

I was paralyzed again as the too-fresh flashbacks added to it, and I only came out of my trance when he turned to me again, his hypnotizing eyes replacing the haunting memories. It was hardly better with all the shadows from his frown to the dark bruise already appearing on the soft skin under, but at least, it brought me to move of a few inches.

I grabbed the first-aid kit in his right hand, closing the cabinet door for him and doing my best to ignore the question forming at the sight of the empty spot where he'd taken the kit, next to his hair grease pot. Did he use it as often as the hair product? We would say it was just men's tidying with no logical arrangement or that it was for Meteorite's recent wounds.

Anyway, it wasn't my most urgent preoccupation, and I quickly rummaged through the small bag to find all the necessary while he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, pulling a stool from under the sink for me. It was the advantage of the narrow space; everything was within hand-reach.

Yet all I cared to reach was his hand as my muscles were too restless to sit, and my hands might have still been shaky, yet my movements were determined, driven by an unwavering force: a need to protect him.

I knew it was ridiculous when seeing my figure still looking as small even in front of his seated frame, and his wounds were making him appear even scarier and more dangerous than usual. But I couldn't help this wish, this want, this need, growing with every beat of my heart, and it strengthened when I opened his hand and pulled off the napkins.

I let out an empty sigh in front of all the blood starting to clot.

It wasn't 'nothing', and the sight once more brought a contrasting impression. It showed how strong he was, barely wincing at the raw wound, and it reminded me how fragile he was too. Every life was fragile.

Three inches, it echoed again and again, making me wish to protect him with all my shaky strength. I wanted to wash away all the dangers like I cleaned slowly the dark blood on his rough skin, and I felt this need to keep him sheltered in something as soft as the piece of cotton in my hand, outside and inside, away from the demons chasing him everywhere.

For the moment, I started with my wet cotton, tapping softly closer to the center of his palm to get a better look at the wound, while the fingers of my other hand couldn't help straying and brushing near his pulse.

"Why?"

I jumped when his hoarse voice broke our unsaid agreement to keep the silence, and my eyes traveled from right to left like to make sure he was finally talking to me before looking down at my hands.

"Um... I think it's better to clean off with soap first to see more clearly, and then, I'll add alcohol." I was not an expert, but I'd experienced quite enough falls and accidents, sometimes in the kitchen, to know the basics.

"No, not this." He shook his head, his frown deepening as if he was trying to pierce some mystery, and it was still between my freckles. "Why are you here?"

I immediately understood this time. He was continuing the conversation from my last words, which were minutes and meters away, when we'd been in front of the bar. From the faraway rasp in his voice, it felt like the words had needed all this time to make their way inside him and come back to me, although he was so close, his gaze diving in mine.

"Why do you stay? After the bar, the fight... when you've seen the low-life I live, I am?" He didn't wince more at his harsh, self-deprecating words than at the cut I was cleaning. "Even Pete thinks I'm hopeless."

"He doesn't." If he had needed all this time to process my words, my reply, meanwhile, was immediate, and I had to pull my fingers away for a second to not press too sharply on his wound. "On the contrary, he has so much hope in you. He believes you can do anything, and so much better than... risking your life," I finished in a whisper, the words already too loud as I wiped off the blood on his hand, but I still hoped they reached as deep inside him as where they came from my chest, and that was why I let the silence carry them.

"You know he's the one who suggested me to ask you on our first date."

I lifted my head so fast upon his words, the hint of a smile sounding as surprising as the confession itself, and when I met his eyes, there was something even more unbelievable: the crystalline blue. I still couldn't read them, but the ice had melted, and the expanse appeared like a lake shimmering on the first day of spring, when you wanted to dive, even if you knew it was still too soon.

"Like always, I didn't plan to listen to the old fella. But then... I don't know. You appeared with your priceless butt and your big shining eyes." He smirked, the smile stretching so much that it engulfed the scratch near his jaw, and if I hadn't been holding his bloody hand, I could have forgotten what had happened just minutes before.

Staring at his eyes, I was actually taken back to the pouring rain, the trash cans, the dripping posters, and that silver lining that was still in the crystalline shades.

"When I saw the poster, it was a sign." He chuckled more in disbelief than at the double meaning in his words.

I still couldn't believe it either every time I saw him appear with his Cheshire cat's grin, when I'd thought I would never see him again, and each time I esteemed it more.

I also had to buy more milkshakes for Pete!

"See! He's a wise man. You should listen to him more often!" I grinned, hoping he wouldn't regret it as I passed the cotton in the center of his wound.

"I think he has too much faith in me..." His voice dropped to a whisper, his devious grin falling into a simple smile, and his eyes were holding the most emotions, gazing at me from so close yet gliding over my features as if I was out of reach. It added an infinity of possible meanings to his words, and I wasn't sure if I should have taken it as one of the most beautiful compliments or a scary warning.

It felt like both inside my body, the warmth rushing to my cheeks, and a shiver running down my spine, while in the middle, my heart was turned upside-down.

I didn't even try to reply in all of this turbulence, glancing down at my hands before I could make a disaster.

"Um... it's going to hurt a little." That was diverting the subject, I was conscious of it, yet his wound was still the emergency, and I had to focus.

Luckily, the cut wasn't too deep to the point it would need stitches, but it was long, meaning it would make him wince with the alcohol-soaked cotton, and for me, with the reminder of how sharp the blade had been.

"You didn't answer my question," he finished in a sharp intake of air through his teeth, and I immediately pulled my hand away, peering up at him.

In two seconds, I was met with his cocked eyebrow, unaffected, unwavering, like his question. "Why are you here?"

He hadn't forgotten, and he wrapped his right hand around mine, stopping my useless movements around his wound.

Was he distracting me from distracting him?

"Okay, inspector." I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to use his sly techniques. "But only if you answer one of my questions."

I was probably crazy, defying the devil like that when the marks of his fight were still there in bruises, blood, and even some tensions. But all I saw was the twitch of his dimple as he was battling to keep his serious expression, considering my offer before lifting his chin in challenge.

"Okay, bring it on."

One question, it wasn't a lot when the curiosity was eating my insides for almost three weeks now. I had to choose carefully and take my time.

However, when I brought the cotton back to his hand, when I jumped more than him at the contact, and even once I was finished cleaning thoroughly the wound, the same question was standing out.

"What did Rye tell you before?"

I knew instantly that I'd chosen the best and the worst question: the best because the stakes of the answer could be felt heavily all around, and the worst because with them, the silence we'd had so much trouble to break was coming back.

"Nothing important."

Here we were again... with his 'nothing' that always held too much, and at this instant, it carried all the same tensions that had made him snap at the bar while snatching each of my unsteady heartbeats.

"It seemed important enough to fight." That was the moment I was sure I'd lost completely my sanity, my quiet voice sealing my fate and locking his jaw as it echoed in the nothingness around.

I was pushing him recklessly, stupidly, madly, and all his muscles were contracting more than if I had poured the bottle of alcohol in his cut. Yet it wasn't only out of curiosity. I still had this need to protect and help him, and just like for his wound, I had to see the depth of it before trying to tend it.

"Pass. It's only between Rye and me. Find another question."

That was it?

My eyes widened to take in his sharp features before dropping like my heart and everything that had been hanging on his answer.

Of course, it could have been worse. He was leaving me another opportunity to get a glimpse inside the mystery he was. Yet that was it; it was just a glimpse, whereas he'd already seeped deep inside me, and I knew his piercing eyes could see my disappointment as I busied myself with the bandage.

It was the only thing my shaky hands could reach, and the clinks of scissors and shuffling of cloths were heightening the heavy silence as I didn't find anything to say, and he didn't wince or flinch once.

I was almost giving up asking another question when I finished tying the bandage around his hand; however, with his hand perfectly wrapped in white gauze, and my fingers already grabbing another piece of cotton to tend his scratches, I realized something.

Entering sneakily was one of my specialties, along with my stubbornness, so with both and the same craziness, I lifted my gaze to his, my voice barely louder than a murmur.

"What's the 'brainbuzz'?"

This question hit close to the first one. It had been the first of Rye's words that had awakened the tempest in him tonight, and there was still a flash of anger falling on his features for a second. 

Yet there was also a breach of hope as his jaw clenched and unclenched a few times like battling the pros and cons of answering my little question, and there seemed to be as many as the freckles his gaze was following on my cheeks.

I had quite a lot with all the emotions of the night, and the more the seconds passed, the more I pictured his answer getting lost in the flushed marks.

"Buzzhead."

I didn't know what was more breath-taking: his sharp tone spitting the words like daggers or just the fact that he was giving me a piece of information, but I didn't even dare to take a breath and interrupt him.

"It's a drug, a mix of heroin and a few others. They deal it a lot at Carrion."

He'd answered, and it didn't enlighten anything.

I had guessed it could be a drug, but in what was it different? Why Carrion again? What was important enough to risk his life when he dealt drugs himself? All the questions were on my parted lips, though I pulled them back between my teeth because I had already used my one chance.

"It's a really bad drug." He inclined his head, making my mouth open again, but with no sound, as the questions were apparently loud enough on my features.

"There's different kinds: stimulant, euphoric, hard, addictive, and more. But this one is really addictive. A lot of people in Carrion South are dependant, and it's basically a goldmine for the gangs there and whoever their supplier is." He shrugged, and for a second, I almost believed he was relaxing until I caught sight of his left fist tightening between our brushing knees.

"But I won't ever touch or deal that shit." For someone who didn't make promises, he sounded as solemn as swearing on oath, his gaze holding the same intensity. "I've seen what it does... I've grown up in Carrion before my mom died... and it was also the drug she was using." He swallowed hard, offering me one of his famous unaffected smirks.

Yet my eyes were on his neck, following the movements of his Adam apple, and then, lingering on the soft spot there, while my fingers were brushing the outlines of his bandage.

The three inches were now justified. It didn't make them less haunting, but I understood his reason and the storm that had taken over him, as my own heart was thundering, and something as fierce as lightning was striking in my own guts.

It wasn't nothing, and it was important for him. Rye knew it, and it was another stab he'd tried.

"Your turn now." Blade lifted an eyebrow, bringing me back to him as his intense eyes were barely coming back fully on me.

His question, I'd almost forgotten it, but he hadn't, and he must have been really curious about my answer if he'd replied to my own interrogation. He had even let me catch quite a good glimpse inside him.

I'd seen a part of his scars, and more than this, I'd glimpsed his heart, the man beyond the ruthless gang leader he was trying to be. There were still a lot of blurs, a lot of missing puzzle pieces to understand everything, and more questions were already forming, but they would be for later.

Now, it was my turn to answer, and in front of these two penetrating eyes, I couldn't say anything but the truth.

Sorry, it's a little cliffhanger again 😬 but I'm sure you already have an idea about the answer 😉 Besides, there's already a lot to process with those two chapters!

Tell me what you think about all these confessions and unsaid oaths! Except for the blood, aren't they too cute? 🥺😍

Also, I want to hear your suppositions about what Rye said to Blade? And your thoughts on the Carion drug? 👀🤔

Like always, don't forget to vote ⭐ if you liked this chapter, and also, go check out the Readers' Arts chapter for the aesthetics 👀

See you soon for the next chapter, which is one of my favorites so far 👀🤫🤭 and in the meantime, keep shining and be peaceful! Love you, my little shooting stars 😘💕🌠