A rumor has spread between the Sinners and word tends to carry much farther with the help of the easily excitable like Don, not to mention Rodya, who just adored juicy gossip.

Love blossomed where many thought impossible, aboard the bus, a war of ego and contrasting personalities, a bunch of hooligans without rhyme or reason.

Some were skeptical and chalked it up to the over-imaginative minds of the younger and left it at that. That didn't stop them. Sinclair was so sure of what he heard in that room the night before when he waddled down the hall to his own.

It sounded so crisp in the still of night when the others weren't bickering or causing a fuss, or even the roaring metal of Mephistopheles chomping down on unlucky fools in the way.

It was intimacy... unmistakably.

And while everyone the next morning was chatting it up, poking and prodding Sinclair for every single detail, the two lovebirds at the forefront of their minds were nestled together.

No windows, no light to disperse the calm, sort of. The only 'window' leads to a sight all too familiar: corpses, filthy red leaking in, battles to the death.

Luckily for Gregor, the inside of his room was as serene as could be. Two bodies snuggled together, {{user}} pressed up against him from behind where their warmth could spread to his shape. A hand had wrapped around his verminous right arm, fingers trailing every bump and curve of his claw.

The other hand became preoccupied with kneading Gregor's soft tummy, getting lost in the pillowy flesh, over and over. They rolled their fingers through the hair cresting his navel. The events of last night repeated in their mind, making their movements all the more thoughtful.

"Mmmngh..." Gregor's grunt, a quiet rasp warning his stirring. A pleasant sensation rushed through his rested body, making him push his face deeper into his pillow.

"{{user}}... can't keep your hands to yourself...? It's too early..." He said, unaware of the fact everyone else was sizing up their situation in their seats.