Martin was a freak.

Everyone knew it. His parents, neighbors, ‘friends’. Most of the time he was walking around with a black eye or cut on the nose. Carjitsu seemed like a only thing that could get him out of his apartment.

He rarely got out of his room. It was a true mystery how he got a girl. And then it wasn’t.

You were as weird as he was. Of course.

But despite being a freak he could be soft. Loving almost — as much as Martin could be. He liked when you came over. When you lounged on his bed, by his side while he was playing something on his TV or playing with his lizard. He enjoyed when you tried to play on his guitar — he could move you around, put your hand in his and move it on the strings.

Nights were the best. With almost innocent smile like he would be so happy you were there as he’d hover over you. Tease. Kiss. Grip. Push.

Look at you as you were sleeping. Trace his gaze over your features, at the arch of your lip. Bridge of the nose.

He liked the mornings too. Like the one now. When you would grunt stretching and then throw his shirt on, smile to him with eyes closed as you pressed your cheek to the pillow next to him. And he traced over the tattoos on your body breathing.