Dom x Sen
THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS HAVE VIOLENT ENDSLike most things, Dominic wasn't privy to the snow. Perfect, blank, virginal white, covering sins like the forgiveness of a God Almighty. Like come Monday morning the crimson drops of broken promises wouldn't splash across it's canvas. Like the souls in the heart of Brooklyn weren't as frozen and unforgiving as the weather. Ice made a slippery slope, but they were all accustomed to falling.
There's a cat on the ground, another one of those things he hates, weaving between his legs, padding through his kitchen. Interloper. Freeloader. Heathen. His foot twitches with the thought of sending it away, but he resists only for the draw of nicotine. He breaths in deep, and releases stress in rings. He doesn't hear her, not until she wants to be heard. Her voices slides through his ears like a past forgotten, a whisper of a memory, and he both didn't expect to see her again and can't say he's surprised at the same time. His tongue moves to wet his bottom lip, slim white killer hesitating between his fingers. And he lets her talk, because he'll wonder what she'll say. But it doesn't matter, because he knows her anyway.
He drags in deep, feels the comfort of poison settling low in his lungs, before he makes himself give it up. Before he presses the burning embers to titanium that has seen it too many times, and finally turns around. She's beautiful melancholy, and in a way he expected no less from her. Aged years passed even when he saw her last. Ebony tresses falling against her porcelain skin like night on snow, wilted flowers decorating like stars in the sky. A frame of dark lashes around wide, doe eyes. There's ink on her skin that shows where she came from, curves to her body that claims she's a woman. But when he looks at her, he sees a child; holding bloodied hands up to him, fighting back the tears. Requesting kisses and bandaids and
make it better, only you can.
All these years later, she's still wound up on his doorstep when lost. Cold. Alone.
And he
knows. Knows why she's back, why she's come to him, why she's small and broken. And he knows exactly how to put her back together again. Because time may have passed, but people never really change. And there's no one he knows better than her. Dom sighs, something deep and thick, rubs a hand over the scruff of his chin before he gives a nod. āCome on, then.ā He pushes away from the counter in two slow steps, puts a hand on her lower back and pulls her with him to the living room. To the fire, the couch and the blankets he will drape over her. To warmth, safety, h o m e.
Get up, now. 
