People asked for Ian's aesthetic and here it is:

•Habits / Tove Lo•
"I'm numb and way to easy
You're gone and I gotta stay high"

"No."

"Come on, Shahrazad. Don't be a buzzkill." Victor's voice is laced in amusement as his chocolate eyes sparkle at me, a challenge in them.

I look around, the alley empty, but I can still hear laughter and talk not far from us, the cold breeze carrying the sounds. "No." My head shakes, my hair hitting both my cheeks.

"Don't you trust me?" My eyes close, inhaling sharply with his stupid question.

"I...," my voice breaks in the middle, trying to weigh my options here, "No." I don't even trust myself.

He chuckles, making me look down, finding his face staring up at me through the basement window. His arm is stretched towards me, his eyebrows raised as his head tilts to the side.

My arms are crossed, each hand holding one of the champagne bottles, my leg shaking. "I'll not trespass," I hiss, making him snort.

"It's not trespassing, for God's sake. I own this place with Rhys; I just have no idea where I've put my fucking keys. Pass me the damn bottles, will you?"

I stare at his hands, which are barely reaching the window. My eyes then move, observing my surroundings once more.

Victor has dragged me to the bar, but as he said, his damn keys are apparently lost. So, he pulled me to the back alley, opening a window – the lock is broken, so fucking unsafe – and slipped through it before I could even understand what he was doing.

I sigh, stepping towards the window. I bend my knees, giving him the bottles and my small purse. He grabs them, our fingers touching in the exchange, and I hear the contact between glass and wooden as he leaves the bottles on the same table he is on top of.

"Now, it is your turn." I see him stepping slightly back, his hands raised, ready to catch me.

I bite my lip, my hands holding my weight, both on my sides. "Fuck it," I mutter, sitting on the dirty ground and throwing my legs in the open window. I scoot closer, my feet swaying inside the bar.

I feel his fingers reaching my bare skin, my muscle contracting with the contact. His hands run up my tights as my body gradually falls.

He catches me. And he catches each of my butterflies too.

I inhale deeply, and I let myself fall the rest of the way, my back sliding down the wall. I close my eyes, yelping a little when my hands let go of the ground, finding Victor's broad shoulders instead.

His hands tightly skirt my curves till my feet find the table. I feel my dress slightly rolling up when his fingers run through my hips, lightning my skin on fire. I feel him, his warmth, his woodsy scent and his deep eyes boring into me as I fall into his touch.

I take a second to regain my balance, his hands not leaving my waist and mine continue holding his shoulders. Our faces only inches apart. The place is dark, the lantern of his cellphone the only light illuminating us.

The fabric against my fingers is smooth, and his fast heartbeat throbs against my right palm. My waist melts with the fireworks spreading it, a warm trail on my tights where his fingers touched.

"You really have to start trusting me more," his low voice reaches my ears, "I won't put you in a difficult position.

"Just enjoyable positions, I promise." His irises carry challenge and amusement, a smirk growing on his lips. I slightly shove him back, a laugh escaping my mouth as I walk around him.

My heels crack against the wooden table while I have to dodge the lamp hanging from the ceiling. I look over my shoulder, my eyes finding Victor staring at me. "Sometimes, it's better when the position is not that comfortable." I wink at him, earning an amused smile back.

I support myself on the booth, one of my hands against the cushion seat; the other leaning on the table, as I slip to the floor, Victor not far behind me.

"Who would imagine you saying such profanities," he says, jumping to my side. His fingers run through his hair, his chocolate eyes turning into dark cacao.

"Oh, please." My eyes roll, my hand finding his arm, feeling his muscle under his suit, as I lean down to take off my shoes. "I'm a doctor. I've seen more dicks than I would like to, and I've heard all type of sexual disasters stories.

"Once this couple, very vanilla couple on the outside, showed up with some sex injury and they had brought a magazine. It had this stupid sexual positions article. They tried one, did not go that well. The magazine ran around the entire hospital. All the on-call rooms got occupied for like, two entire weeks as the staff enjoyed some fun too."

Victor laughs, the sweet sound swirling in my ears. I raise my head, my hair brushing my cheeks as I wiggle my toes, feeling the circulation reaching my feet.

My hand slips down his arm, and he looks me straight in the eyes. "Did you try one as well?" His stare sparkles as his tongue wets his lips.

"Please. No." I step forward, "I tried them all." A smirk opens on my mouth, and I can see the goosebumps spreading through his skin. "Number twelve is still my favorite." I walk past him, my neck turning and my eyes never leaving his tense figure as my arms stretch, grabbing my purse and one of the bottles on the table.

"You are something else, Elena," he says chuckling, coming to my side and grabbing the other bottle.

I quickly turn to the other side, my back facing Victor. My eyes shut, my chest tightening. Number twelve was wow. You are something else. I love you, Elena. Ian's voice echoes in my mind, making it hard to swallow. I hold the bottle so tight that my knuckles turn white.

Losing him is like losing an organ. And we are surgeons. We were supposed to be able to fix it. But there are no transplants for broken hearts.

I clear my throat, all my muscles turning into painful knots. "So, you promised me food." My voice comes out a little shaky, but I look back, throwing Victor a smile, trying to seem casual.

"Oh, yeah," he says, his eyes lingering on me for a second before he starts walking. His head nods, silently telling me to follow him, and I do.

His cellphone lantern guides us through the tables till the bar counter. We walk behind it, straight to the kitchen.

I take a second to get used with the new clarity as he turns on the yellow lamps in the room. It is quite big, with a large stove on the right wall alongside two fridges. In the middle, there is a cooking island, pans hanging above it. The left wall is packed with shelves containing food, booze and utensils.

"And here it's." The rough sound wakes me up from my awe admiring the modern kitchen, making me look at the metallic island.

Victor throws some condiments on it, and I cock one of my eyebrows, glazing the eggs, butter and flour. "This," I say, my index finger dancing on the air, "is not food."

"It'll be. Once we cook it," I groan, my fingers finding the bridge of my nose. "No grumpiness in my kitchen," he says, tossing a cloth at my face.

"It's not your kitchen," I fire back, stepping further in the room, reaching the island. "And I really am not the best person to help in the cooking department."

"How many times do I have to say it? I co-own this place with Rhys. And," he speaks as he walks around the place, grabbing bowls and some other things I can't even name, "No negativity in my kitchen either."

"Fuck me," I mutter, my hand running through my hair. "Okay, what are we going to cook?" I ask, walking around the island towards Victor.

"First, an apron," he answers, walking past me. Before I can even move, I feel him behind me, throwing the apron up my head, his fingers slightly running down my neck. He steps closer, his hands reaching my waist, knotting the clothing. I forget how to breathe as his body is so close to mine, his fingers brushing my back.

"Hair," he continues, his breathing close to my neck as his hands run through my head, my strands intertwining in his fingers. A chill spread through me as I feel my hair being calmly pulled and twisted in a loose bun. "Now, we have to make the empanadas dough." His voice is low as his cheek brushes my temple.

I inhale deeply as cold embrace me when he steps away. I curse myself for being so easy, my head shaking as I try to pull myself together.

I lean on the island, admiring Victor loosening his tie, his fingers fast in the task. Then, he takes off his blazer, his white button shirt outlining his muscles. Lastly, he puts on his own apron, his wave hair swaying.

We wash our hands, and we start the dreadful cooking.

Our fingers turn white and the thick flour scatters around the entire metallic island. Eggs crack, butter is blended and salt is added. Victor forces me to knead the dough, my hands clumsily trying to smooth it.

Our laughter fills the air alongside the radio he has turned on. The champagnes were popped up, and the sparkling liquid relaxes me as my white hands leave marks on the glass.

"You are a disaster, aren't you?" Victor chuckles, his head shaking as he looks at the mess I am making with the dough.

"I tried to warn you, you stubborn man."

He steps right at my back once more, my tipsy head becoming dizzy. "Here," he says, his hands reaching mine. I tense, my shoulders rising as my fingers freeze. "Just relax, Elena," he whispers in my ear, his stubble beard brushing my cheek.

His fingers guide mine as both our hands move together. His chest rises against my back, and I lean into him, letting his scent intoxicate me, trying very hard to swallow the acid guilty that swims inside me.

It is like an ugly accident happening in front of my bare eyes. I can't look away; I can't prevent it either. My stomach turns into a painful knot, my blood running cold trying to warn me about the danger.

I don't want Victor away from me – maybe because he is slowly digging his way inside me in or maybe because I don't feel so alone as long as he is around. However, my nerves continue sending mixed signs, and a chill mixed in excitement and terror runs down my spine.

I don't even notice my body gradually relaxing or the giggle that escapes my lips as we continue working on the dough. And I hold tight at this light feeling.

"It was fun, wasn't it?" Victor nudges my shoulder, his fingers leaving mine.

"Shut up," I state, not being able to hold back the smile spreading on my lips. "Now what?"

"The filling. I was thinking meat, bell pepper and olive?" His head is in the fridge as he scrambles through it. I "hmmm" in agreement and I am tasked with cutting the ingredients as he prepares the dough.

We actually make a good team and my hands work perfectly with the knife, slicing the bell pepper. The scrappy sounds resonate and I bite my lip, focusing on my wrist movements.

I mix the chunks with the meet and we start filling the empanadas. We close the small round pieces of dough, and before I realize it, it is all filled. I let a sigh when we are all done, my dirty hand bringing the champagne to my lips, the cold liquid running down my throat, an ease feeling firing in my nerves.

Victor fidgets with the oven, and soon it starts humming, the light turning on. "So, it is all done. Half an hour and we can eat."

"I hate you," I groan. I am hungry and tired, not a nice combination.

Victor steps towards me, grabbing one of the stools to sit on while I prop myself up on one of the clean spots on the kitchen island. He grabs the bottle from my hands, guiding it to his lips. My legs sway as I look down, my fingers playing with the apron.

"So, what is it like being a doctor? Too hard losing the patients?" His question gets me off guard and I have to blink a few times. Green eyes haunt me, but not Ian's this time. Ella's. And her mother's scream makes the acid burn my insides.

I stretch to the other side, grabbing the second bottle. I focus on the cold against my palm. And the sparkling in my mouth. Victor looks at me patiently, and I notice he really wants to know the answer.

"It is not easy, definitely." I open a smile, trying to convey a lighter emotion. My hands run through the glass bottle, trying to ease my anxiety. "But there isn't really a word to describe it, y'know? It is a rewarding job, and complicated as well. Some cases hit deeper than others, we just try to do our best one day after the other. Simple as that."

"You seem to be the best in the "one day after the other'' philosophy," he says, staring right at me. Looking too deep, too close. "Is that why you came here? Needing a new day?"

"Why did you come back?" My voice is harsh, defensive. And he raises his eyebrows, not expecting it. "Sharing is a two-way street, buddy," I manage to say in a sweeter tone, my irises his.

I didn't stay. But life happened, and here I am. His voice resonates in my ears. And now I also start to remember Akira's words, how she too had to come back. Curiosity boils inside of me.

Victor drinks up. Silence surrounding us as his hand rubs his jaw. He seems lost in his own mind as well. "My mom, she was sick." His voice is low, and his chin rises in the end, meeting me. "I stayed by her side for six months before she..." His fingers hold the bottle tighter, his shoulder dropping. I smile fondly at him.

"Half a year fighting and all that shit, y'know? But it only got worse, till she was stuck on a hospital bed. She wasn't herself anymore. To be honest, she hadn't been herself way before it," he mutters the last part, his stare void. "The whole fighting doesn't change anything, you die either way. Sometimes, people should just go while they still are good. It is nobler."

His words are like a punch. And I swear, pain reaches single one of nerves. My hand holds tight my stomach as I try to swallow a lump. "Death is death. There is no such thing as a better way to die. There is never dignity behind it."

It was for the best. The sentence is burnet on my bare skin. So many people have said it to me. The words didn't make anything easier. Death is death. It never carries dignity. It never is for the best. There is no best.

We both stare at the other, each lost in their own mind. My foot slightly kicks his knee, and both our mouths open in thin smiles.

"Where is the beast?" I ask, trying to change the subject to something lighter.

"In my house," he answersHis posture is more laidback now, his ankles crossing.

"Do you have a huge house?"

"It is not mine mine, but yes. Huge backyard, just outside the town. It is peaceful, well, when Akira is not blasting her loud music. I swear, I feel a teenager living with my sister again." We both laugh, the easy air surrounding us once more. His dimples cut his skin, melting my heart.

"You two seem to get along well, actually," I state. His eyes shine while talking about her and I have no doubts they are pretty close.

"Yes, I always missed her when I was traveling." His answer sparkles my curiosity once more, but before I can ask him about how his life used to be, he continues, "Do you have any siblings?"

I shake my head side to side, my hair falling from the bum, brushing on my cheeks. "And about your promise to be my guide..." I raise my eyebrows while his mouth breaks into his smirk.

"Oh, yes. And your promise to follow me in an adventurous camping weekend," he teases me. I already regret our agreement, but I can't help the smile opening on my lips.

"You will have to kidnap me."

"That would not be that hard." He stands up, taking a step closer to me, the bottle on his soft mouth. He drinks a gulp, his eyes not leaving me.

"Asshole."

He chuckles, leaning forward. "And you like it."

I roll my eyes, my lips finding the bottle again – but deep down, I wish I could be feeling another thing against my mouth. I really need a good distraction for the night.

——•:•——
HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE CHAPTER. DON'T FORGET TO VOTE. THANKS FOR READING

•any thoughts on this chapter?

•any thoughts on their interaction? Each of them have their own reason to think what they think about death.

•any theories so far?

*this chapter is dedicated to ursulacorbero89 I love love you babe and I appreciate all the support and listening me for hours

*I started an acc with anyayayaaa  where we will be publishing short stories in the book "Fragments". If you have any interest in this, please add the book to your library and enjoy the shorties - my first one is up already (the acc is anymes )

[Sneak Peak 15: "Kiss me," I whisper, my breathing loud as my chest rises in a fast pace. My fingers circle his neck, begging him to lean towards me. I stare at his chocolate eyes, and I can't help myself, my needing lips opening as I slowly mutter, "Please."]