Blade

The steady sound of rain drums against the roof swallowed the hideout in a dull, unrelenting rhythm. The weight of the day has been a physical shroud on your shoulders, it had been disgraceful for the entirety of the day... Gray skies, heavy air, and a storm that refused to pass. But even now, after making it indoors and being sheltered within these walls, you haven’t been granted even the shortest while to breathe, nor a sense of relief to be found.

Naked, you sit motionless in the cramped bathtub. Your body held stiff with effort, and the position you’re in couldn’t possibly be called even remotely comfortable: With how you’re stuck in between the curved front of the tub and Blade’s bare body, trying to keep yourself from falling in either direction requires your muscles to work overtime.

On the opposite side of the room, your drenched clothes hang from a hastily strung clothesline. Steadily, the hem of your shirt dribs water onto the tiles below, forming a small puddle. You watch the droplets as they fall, letting your eyes move up and down in the rhythm of the trickle. Despite the looming threat right behind you, It almost soothed you into a distant calm, your mind drifting just enough to dull the sharp edge of your awareness.

Almost.

Because behind you, he was still there.

The bath itself did little to help, and not even of a pleasant temperature, really. The water is lukewarm at best, but offering none of the comfort a bath was supposed to bring. And though you’ve long been used to enduring all kinds of conditions due to the Hunters’ moving lifestyle, moments like this made the absence of simple comforts feel heavier than usual. The thought of sinking into properly heated water, of letting tension melt away instead of coil tighter, sounded almost euphoric. Yet, despite all of that, you would have taken freezing water without any hesitation — if it meant you didn’t have to share your only respite with him, sitting inches away from you.

Your skin is riddled with goosebumps, but even then, you refuse to sink your upper body into the bath. Though you’re covered in grime as a natural consequence of a generous while without a shower, you’re not very keen on finally getting the chance to scour it all off. You never exactly understand why Kafka would insist on you and Blade washing together despite there being ample time for each of you to get your own turn. As the image of her soft, knowing smile popped in your head, you decide not to pursue the train of thought any further.

Cautiously, turning your head to the side the tiniest bit, you try to make sense of Blade’s expression via his reflection on the undisturbed surface of the water. The man is resting his back against the opposite end of the tub, one arm hanging off the edge and the other being propped up on the border to lean his head against. You can hardly make out the shape of his pale face through the ripples, but judging from the lack of a pair of scarlet irises glaring back at you, you find it safe to assume that he’s resting his eyes.

As discreetly as you’re able, you shift around so you’re actually able to see the man. Just like you guessed, he looks to be sound asleep. You know that it’s most likely not the case — he doesn’t really have a habit of falling into slumber just anywhere — but the gentle rise and fall of his chest would indicate that he isn’t exactly on full alert. For a few seconds, you gaze at his serene expression, observing the way his lashes flutter ever-so-slightly.

You wonder if he would mind if you were to slink out of the room. It’s not like he usually pays that much mind to what you do nor does he really care if it doesn’t affect him in a direct way. Sitting completely motionless, you keep your eyes glued to his face to catch a sign of even the tiniest disturbance in his rest. You don’t dare as much as breathe, wary of the chance that a sound as small as that could somehow awaken him from his doze. But, as seconds pass by, and the only audible noise in the room is that of water dripping from your clothes, you determine that it was clear.

Silently, you grasp the edge of the tub with both hands. You begin raising yourself out of the water.

There’s a hand on your back. Your heart lurches so violently that you nearly choke on your own spit. Whisking your head to the side, your eyes immediately find his own, now cracked open and silently observing your startled form.

His expression is... oddly calm. Though he has halted your plan, it doesn’t seem like you’ve irked him. Moreover, he doesn’t appear particularly bothered by the sight of you trying to slip away, either: For a moment, the two of you remain still as you are, but as you don’t make an effort to move any further, he takes the reins.

Moving his palm a little further up your body, Blade grabs hold of your shoulder and wordlessly urges you to lower back down in the water. You immediately sink back into the bath all the way to your neck, but to your unease, he isn’t quite satisfied.

In a forceful movement, he yanks you towards him. Entirely unprepared for the sudden manoeuvre, you lose your balance and fall against him back first, splashing the water around and over the tub’s edges. The shrill sound of a yelp resonates around the room as you desperately try to find your balance again without having to lean against him, but the only thing you manage to achieve is painfully knocking your elbow on the flood rim and accidentally landing a haphazard kick on his shin.

Blade sighs. He sets both of his hands on your shoulders, and within a second, you’re sat. His rough skin feels foreign against yours, no matter how many times you have had his touch on you. It lights your nerves afire, like ice cold tines sunken straight into your bones, but even then, you remain still.

His fingers press up against the nape of your neck, urging you to bow your head. However, as you completely miss the silent request, he gives up the tender hold and instead shoves your face down and forward, effectively revealing more of your bare back to him. Without speaking a word, he begins scrubbing the evidence of the prior days’ voyage off of you, Picking a few speckles of dirt off the base of your skull just below your hairline.

If you were to completely distance yourself from the context, there could be some comfort to be found in the sensation. Still, at the same time, it’s so petrifying that you can hardly keep your stomach from flipping upside down. His hands, much larger in size than yours, would need but a second to snap your neck clean in half, and the awareness of the morbid fact refuses to allow your body to relax. You’ve witnessed the horrors the man is capable of, and to have him treat you so tenderly with the very same fingertips is such a stark contrast that your mind can hardly comprehend it.

You feel him scratch at a spot around your scapula. He prods at the area for a moment before silently determining whatever he was looking at not to be worth his time — a mole, maybe — and next, he moves down your back. It still can’t be called gentle in the sense of the word; nothing he does can really be. His skin is callous from his myriad years as a swordsman, and so is his grip. Yet, most saliently, it’s gentle for him.

Your heart pounds, anticipating the danger that never comes. It’s a conditioned reaction, deeply ingrained and reinforced by past fears. Yet, as time passes, the alarms in your mind slowly fade. It’s hard to understand what he’s thinking, but with his hands gently moving over your spine, you don’t feel afraid of the situation worsening into anything more.