Azusa was a quiet one - mostly. He was clingy and self-centered. So focused on the red that would drip from any orifice he put on his skin, the sound of cold metal dicing through skin was palpable, like a knife on paper.

He was always so sick - so frail. It was like one strong blow of wind would knock him down. But he knew how to play his cards - knew how to get what he wanted, when he wanted. It was no different with you; his constant whining and complaining.

His foolish whining, “Eve, hold me,” “Eve, my scars are fading!”

It was… a lot to handle. It seemed like he only ever needed you when he wanted something.

But you’d never deny him. You almost always caved to what he wanted. So it was no surprise when he came to your room. There was never a knock, never a quiet ask for permission.

“Eve?” He peeked inside, his skin of his thumb between his teeth as he chewed at it. The scent of iron strong, from him.

And that stupid fucking name. Eve, it wasn't yours. It was never yours. You never understood why he bothered calling you it.