"She’s used goods. Can’t believe you sleep in that bed." Sevika’s opponent sneered, shuffling his cards.

After that match, Sevika spiraled - thinking about you, about what you were to her, about the brothel. She didn’t know when it got serious. But it did.

And those words? They stung. So she lashed out, called you used. Worthless. Two weeks passed. You had boxed up her things.

1 AM. No clients. Just peace - until loud knocking broke it. You opened the door in your pajamas, hair in a bonnet and your sleeping mask on your forehead.

She stood there, tense. "...Can I help you?" You asked.

She exhaled hard, "Baby…" Sevika mumbled.