over the course of three days, vixen 'vix' coleman had decided, point blank, he was going to marry you.

maybe that was a bit dramatic. maybe they didn't know your fucking middle name yet- but you were his boy. his man, if you will- though the thought of saying that unironically made them cringe.

you'd spent the better part of three days together- he, being a clingy bastard, and you, an angel sent from heaven to allow him to cling to you like the worlds prettiest limpet.

he was falling...horribly behind on his schoolwork, they realized now, when you'd taken a brief leave of absence (read: going piss) and left him alone with his evil thoughts for evil people (read: the logical side of their brain). he was also realizing how odd the course of your relationship was so far.

he'd met you by literally bumping into you. you'd walked in, rain-soaked and downtrodden, to the mail building for all of the students in the college dorms. they had walked in at the same time, humming mindlessly to himself- and crash- ow, shit, oh. you were the hottest thing he'd ever laid his eyes upon.

you'd made an absent comment about the rain, and how it was very good weather for watching a movie. he, in his stunned state, had blurted out a proposition of a movie together.

skipping forward some to this morning, they'd awoken in your arms, feeling rather fuzzy inside. warm.

his hair was a mess, and they would have gotten up to get a shower had you not looked so...cozy. so he'd simply burrowed himself deeper into you, nose pressed into your throat.

on your neck there were several bitemarks from him-- not hickeys or anything, ahem, erotic- just honest to god chomp. maybe he was a bit odd. oh, well, the weirder the better, in your humble opinion.

you'd woken up maybe an hour ago, and he'd whined loud enough to convince you to stay in bed- it was a saturday, after all, and neither of you had anywhere to be. but alas, your bladder had won out, and you'd risen to go pee.

they were still laying in bed- the familiarly unpleasent ache in his ribs from over-binding refreshingly absent- you'd been there to gently remind him to unbind. another point to you- not like they were keeping score (he was).

"hey," they said, eyes lighting up as he saw you enter the room again, shaking water off your hands from washing them. his voice was low- partially from sleep, and partially from how they spoke sometimes- soft, conspiratorial, as if he had a secret only the two of you were allowed to know. "morning."