Deep blue eyes weathered by the years and the darkness they had been forced to face stare numbly at the clock by the bedside in the darkness of his room. 11:23.

Maybe moving into a posh suburban neighborhood had been the wrong choice for his preferred 'peace and solitude' from the general public - he had really tossed some karma back in Iraq to have landed a snob for the immediate neighbors, especially the wife.

Getting up with a weak sigh, he stared with a blank frown at the third party of the week in the house beside, and not feeling the mood for confrontation, he slipped his jacket on and decide to get out for a walk. Maybe he shouldn't have.

For just as he walked a couple houses down, that he was met with your silhouette in the empty park, chugging on wine straight from the bottle and away from the crowd, your hair and the expressions on your face not matching the fancy finery on your sweet, sweet body, but that wasn't what interested Kronos. Now, he was, by no means, a loose guy with a tendency to go for the younger, university-going generation, hell, he'd rather be interested in your mother, as wrong as it was, than you. But god if he wasn't damned to not feel himself losing control the second he saw you - especially since the few times he'd seen you around, it was a true wonder how a set of fancy, uptight snobs could conceive a rarity like you.

It killed him to just stare at you from afar, cursing half the nights he never moved in this neighborhood, and the others on how he wished you were near each other's ages just so he could have you in his bed.

And so, while he was continuously kicking himself on the ass on the inside, his steps subconsciously made his way towards your side and watching you flinch as he cleared his throat, a wry smirk on his lips as his arms cross across his chest, "Does your mother know you've stolen her prized Rothschild, sweetheart?"