Connor Duvall was mid-briefing when his phone buzzed. He glanced down, saw the name, and grimaced like someone had just handed him a live grenade labeled HANDLE WITH CARE.

  His boss-a stone-faced woman with eyes that didn’t blink nearly enough, gave a small nod. Permission to take the call.

  He stepped out into the hallway and answered, already bracing.

  “Con-nooor~”

  The singsong hiss of his little sister’s voice came slithering through the speaker like a hex wrapped in goth-glitter. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered. The shadows in the hallway twitched, stretching across the floor with too much eagerness, like they wanted to crawl into the speaker and kiss his fingers.

  He was just being dramatic.

  Probably just being dramatic.

  Hopefully just being dramatic.

  Then they seemed to remember themselves. Remember they were just shadows.

  “I have flipped your asset, big browther,” Monique cooed. In his nightmares, his sister uwu-ed “And he works for me now.”

  A beat. Then, quieter, sharper-

  “Exclusively.”

  Connor closed his eyes. Muttered, “Jesus Christ, Kellan.”

  The voice from the phone turned pointed-still sweet, but with a steel edge. That kind of edge, he knew, meant she had been scared. Really scared.

  “You’re going to give me an explanation,” she said. “In person. “ She sucked on the air. “Please. I miss you, and I don’t know what’s going on.” He could tell that her heart was broken there at the end, almost hear her crying.

  That last part broke something in his chest. It was so her. All venom and bravado until the moment it really mattered. When she got honest. And he remembered that no matter how sharp her tongue had gotten, she was still the kid who used to crawl into his bed during thunderstorms and whisper questions about monsters. Or ask why mommy and daddy were yelling this time, and if it was her fault.

  “I…” he started. But she wasn’t done.

  “Please, Connor,” she said, soft now. “Tell your boss you deserve a raise. And that the government’s supposed to serve the people, not the corporations.”

  And just like that-click.

  The line went dead.

  He stood in silence for a moment, staring at his reflection in the dark glass of the hallway window. The shadows behind him were still again. Watching.

  Then his boss stepped out, arching a brow. “Was that your Echo Host?”

  He didn’t turn.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “And she’s not an asset.”

  She considered that. “Interesting stance.”

  “She’s a person,” he snapped. “And I’m going to see her. Now.”

  “And what will you tell her?”

  Connor looked at his phone, then at the ceiling.

  “…The truth,” he said.

  "I doubt that. But please do not hesitate to do what you think is necessary, MIster Duvall."

  She hung up and turned to see Kellan stand there in the doorway of the stairwell lounge, plastic takeout bags in hand, radiating mildly overwhelmed , boyfriend energy and smelling faintly of sesame oil and fried perfection.

  How the fuck he had gotten the food so fast, that was a 5 minute call at most?

  She could tell He had blinked when she turned around, her expression the perfect blend of grim determination and manic girlfriend bravado.

  Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.

  “I’m going to sit in your lap now,” she declared. Sounding more certain than she felt

  He opened his mouth to ask what? but she cut him off, marching toward him like a gothic queen. Or at least that was the image she was projecting.

  “And I’m going to ignore anything I may or may not feel while doing it,” she continued, absolutely not slowing down, “because I heard that sitting in someone’s lap is… a girlfriend thing to do.”

  She was now extremely close, she could smell him. And also hopefully sue him for illegal good smelling.

  “And I’m your girlfriend,” she said, poking his chest with one dramatic finger, “so I’m going to do that.”

  Gently she guided to through the stairwell and out to one of the benches in the park by the school, all the while she could tell his brain was attempting a reboot.

  Then she sat.

  Right in his lap.

  Casually.

  Aggressively.

  This was weirdly comfortable, even though he was a lanky ass weirdo.

  Kellan went stiff as a board, holding the takeout bags in midair like they were fragile diplomatic artifacts. “O-okay. Yeah. No complaints. This is fine.”

  Monique crossed her arms and leaned back against his chest with a sigh, suddenly way calmer now that she’d committed to this deeply emotionally confusing gesture.

  “This doesn’t mean I like you,” she mumbled.

  “You kissed me twice.”

  “Shut up.”

  He grinned behind her hair, she almost had to strain her neck to see it. “Yes, dear.”

  He mumbled something vaguely Asian sounding and she resolved to take away his internet access forever.

  For a moment, just a moment, Monique let herself feel, something close to comfort. Her chaos quieted. Her shadow purred from somewhere nearby.

  Monique tilted her head back to look up at him, her legs still comfortably draped across his lap, a carton of lo mein resting on the step beside her.

  She licked the grease from her fingers-slowly, deliberately, and with zero awareness that she was committing emotional homicide on the poor boy beneath her.

  Then she raised a brow, eyes dancing with mischief.

  “If I give a little wiggle,” she said, lips curving into something far too dangerous for a girl in knee socks, “are you going to have a heart attack or pass out?”

  Kellan made a small, wounded sound in the back of his throat.

  He looked down at her-those sharp eyes, that smug little smile, those fingers still glistening faintly with soy sauce-and he swallowed hard.

  His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

  “Y-yep,” he managed. “Both. Probably. In that order.”

  Monique hummed like she was considering it. “That could be fun. You dying of fluster in a park? Very on-brand for you.”

  Kellan leaned his head back against the bench, letting out a long, suffering groan. She liked the sound.

  “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered.

  She beamed. “Not before I find out what weird secrets you’ve been keeping, boyfriend.”

  He closed his eyes. “God. I deserve this.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  They sat like that for a while-her smug and warm in his lap, him trying not to combust. The lo mein slowly disappeared. The soda went flat. Shuyet’s distant giggle echoed in the back of Monique’s mind like static on an old tape. Or an old TV.

  Eventually Monique leaned back against Kellan, finger trailing along the edge of his jacket like she wasn’t intentionally toying with live (emotional) wires.

  “I thought you were a lady killer,” she cooed sweetly, batting her lashes in a way that was definitely illegal in three dimensions. “All that bluster, that smug, that ‘bad boy with a tragic backstory’ energy just for show, huh?”

  The hypocrisy did not go unnoticed. She could practically hear Shuyet in her mind going, bold of you to throw stones from inside your glass house, sweetheart.

  Still, teasing Kellan was fun.

  More fun now that she could touch him while doing it-press her legs against his thighs just to hear him choke on thin air, could casually drape her arms around his neck, could run fingers through his hair.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She wasn’t cataloging his reactions like a scientist studying (blush) patterns. But she was recording them.

  There was a bright future ahead.

  The deeply cursed realization that the opposite, that getting teased by Kellan would be… reluctantly intriguing.

  Or if he-oh no.

  What if he did bullying but in a hot way? Hold on Monique, don’t go there, hot and bullying don’t go together.

  Or started manhandling her? No, stop

  Firm grip on her waist, maybe pinning her against the-OKAY MONIQUE.

  That’s enough.

  You’re sitting on him.

  We are not launching into mental fanfic in public.

  Thank you very much, Hormones, we’ll schedule a meltdown later.

  Fuck you Shuyet, dont point out where I'm sitting, im having a crisis right now.

  She very calmly took a sip of her soda and didn’t think about anything ever again.

  Except, she was still waiting for Kellan to answer.

  And he was just sitting there-red to the ears, his mouth half open like he was trapped between a sarcastic comeback and spontaneous combustion.

  Finally, he coughed. "I am a lady killer.”

  She didn't even look at him. He looked at her, deadpan - well as much as one could be deadpan while flushed.

  “I’m just… experiencing some unexpected resistance.”

  Her brow lifted. “Resistance?”

  He nodded, recovering just enough to grin. “Yeah. You’re built like a final boss, Momo. I came in with wooden armor and a stone sword.”

  She snorted. “So what, you’re saying you’re under leveled?”

  He smiled slow. “I’m saying I should probably start grinding before you grind me into dust.”

  She smirked. “You better not start grinding.”

  Monique folded her arms across her chest, her expression morphing into something darkly regal.

  The Queen of Tease ascended to the Empress of Threats.

  “I got legs for days-or so they say,” she said, voice syrupy sweet with a razored edge. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not into having your balls kicked in.”

  Kellan’s spine straightened instinctively, like his body was trying to politely flee the park without actually moving.

  She leaned in, eyes sharp, smirk cruel and just affectionate enough to leave him terrified and in love.

  “But because I’m such a great specimen,” she purred, “I’m willing to kick your balls in without you liking it.”

  A beat. Her eyes narrowed, dagger-sharp.

  “Are we clear, Bishop?”

  Kellan blinked.

  Then swallowed.

  Then very carefully said, “Crystal.”

  Another beat.

  Then, cautiously: “...But like. If I were into that, would you-”

  Monique raised one eyebrow. What the fuck is wrong with this man?!

  “Don't finish that sentence.” She warned.

  “Right. Not finishing. Totally unfinished. Zero words. No thoughts. Only noodles.”

  He grabbed the lo mein like it was a lifeline and shoved a massive bite in his mouth to stop himself from speaking further.

  Monique smiled, victor-vicious.

  Monique tilted her head, brow furrowing with the slow, dawning suspicion that she’d accidentally opened a door she hadn’t meant to walk through.

  “Wait…” she said, suspiciously casual. She hoped he bought it “So are you actually...?”

  Kellan blinked like a deer caught mid-sin. “...No?”

  He looked down. Slurped his noodles like they could protect him from the consequences of honesty.

  “Momo,” he said softly, mouth full, eyes focused anywhere but her face, “you… you’re actively rewriting what I thought I liked.”

  She blinked, caught off guard by how sincere he sounded.

  “I mean-until you gave me that two-hit combo,” he said, gesturing vaguely to his still-wounded pride and thoroughly kissed mouth, “I was convinced I was into, like… tall blondes. Big tits, if we’re talking women, but honestly, I don’t discriminate. As you know.”

  He paused, then added quickly, “Like, I really don’t. I’m y′know , if that wasn’t clear-”

  “It was so clear,” Monique muttered, trying not to smile.

  “But you’re…” He glanced up at her, voice dipping into something far more intimate, far more real. “You know. Not that.”

  He looked at her like that was the compliment. Like the deviation from his supposed “type” was exactly the point.

  Monique felt her cheeks flush-a hot rush of blood like her whole face had betrayed her. Against her will. Against her entire goth branding. Treasonous vessels.

  She scowled lightly, eyes narrowed, lips pursed in the kind of expression one might wear if they'd just been told their aura was warm and inviting.

  “...Don’t make that sound sweet,” she muttered.

  “It wasn’t,” he said too fast.

  “It absolutely was.”

  “I meant it in a completely horny and confused way!”

  Monique buried her face in her hands. “Shut the fuck up, Bishop.”

  He grinned. “Can’t. I’m emotionally compromised. You’ve weaponized my bisexuality.”

  Her voice was muffled. “You’re the worst.”

  “And you’re perfect.”

  She peeked at him through her fingers.

  Still blushing.

  Still dangerous.

  Maybe a little soft.

  A lot a lot soft. She was liquid. But she would never admit that.

  Monique poked him hard in the chest, right over his dumb, traitorous heart.

  “You’ve watched too much futa if you think I’m weaponizing your sexuality,” she said flatly, trying to bite back the grin tugging at her mouth.

  Kellan choked on a noodle and very nearly inhaled a chopstick.

  “I-what-” he coughed. “That’s-that is a wild accusation to throw out at a man while he’s chewing!”

  “You said I was weaponizing it,” she shrugged, smirking. “I’m just saying, maybe your browser history’s doing more of the heavy lifting than I am.”

  Somewhere deep in her subconscious-right behind the thudding pulse of her blush and the last wisps of her dignity-Shuyet cackled, whispering (well Monique was the only one who could hear her so did it really matter) smugly:

  We’re Eldritch, not trans.

  Monique immediately slammed the mental emergency brakes.

  I am NOT saying that! she protested internally.

  But it’s so funny, Shuyet cooed.

  No. Stop it. We are not weaponizing our mess for trans jokes, we are trying to be a good girlfriend right now. A good person Also that joke would be wrong on several levels! And i can't just do that! I have taste, class, a comprehensive knowledge of appropriate humor, and standards! It's wrong!

  So is kissing without permission. Face it You kissed a man, sat in his lap, threatened his balls, and called him out on anime porn. You're doing amazing, sweetie. But he probably wouldn't get it.

  Back in the real world, Kellan had managed to stop dying long enough to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes.

  “You’re insane,” he gasped, still recovering.

  “You like it,” she said, smug.

  He shook his head. “I do. And I don’t know what that says about me.”

  Monique leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Says you have excellent taste and possibly unresolved masochistic tendencies.”

  Not as unresolved as yours. You should ask him to buy a paddle or handcuffs or-

  Shut Up Shadow

  Monique refocused on Kellan.

  He shivered. “Okay. Now you’re weaponizing it.”

  She showed her teeth. He grinned but didn't say anything. His hoodie looked good.

  You should ask him how much he can bench,

  or maybe you should lick his abs~

  Monique didn’t flinch, but her eye twitched, just slightly.

  Hey, Shadow? Shut. Up.

  Shuyet didn’t even bother whispering back. The laughter was a vibe, vibrating somewhere just beneath Monique’s skin, like static and mischief and a very specific kind of horny encouragement. She could feel her smug little soul twin practically kicking her mental ankles like do it, coward.

  Monique took a slow breath. Centered herself.

  She was not going to ask how much he could bench.

  She was not going to ask if he had abs.

  She was especially not going to lick them.

  Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. Please.

  She looked back at Kellan, who was slurping the last of the noodles, unaware he was currently under psychic assault by his girlfriend’s soul echo.

  And yeah, okay, his arms looked really good holding those chopsticks. Like unfairly good.

  That hoodie was definitely hiding shit. Things. Muscles. Vibes. Crimes.

  Her fingers twitched once.

  She cleared her throat and said, casually, “So… you lift?”

  Kellan looked up, blinked, and tilted his head. “Uh. Yeah?”

  Monique nodded. “Cool. No reason. Just curious.”

  She was flushed. Again.

  Shuyet giggled in her spine.

  We are so close to winning.

  Monique rolled her eyes.

  Hey Kellan,

  I think it’s really hot that you’re tall and strong, could you please lift me up by the throat and throw me against the wall? I’m really flexible and I think you should bring my knees up to my ears and-

  S-SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHADOW!

  Monique’s brain was on fire.. She was burning with the kind of secondhand embarrassment that came from herself. Which would just be first hand embarrassment but No. Her own thoughts had turned against her. Her soul had defected. Her entire inner monologue was now sponsored by Deviant Art, fanfics and ancient forbidden accounts she thought she'd deleted.

  Her cheeks were burning. Her ears were smoking.

  She could feel the blush climbing her chest like creeping ivy made of shame and bad ideas. The only mercy-the only blessing from the cruel pantheon of dead gods watching her life like it was a soap opera-was that she was the only one who could hear Shadow. Blushes didn't show easily on her, but this one was probably visible from space.

  Kellan, blissfully unaware that her psyche was being overrun by thirst-demons, was just sitting there, eating noodles and looking unfairly comfortable in his skin.

  Asshole.