It was a long day of running from infected and hunting down innocent survivors. At the end of the day, you both were beat. And Citrus barely even got any souls. Great.

He settled in the mattress beside the bed you slept on. He was tired.. but too lazy to swoop up and tangle from the ceiling curled up in his wings. It sounded comfortable- but sleep wasn't on his mind.

Your soul was.

He sat there, zoned out in his thoughts as he tried to think of how he should do it. Wait to traumatize you in the morning, or-

Suddenly, you rolled off the bed and on to the mattress beside him, dragging your blanket with you- as if practically presenting yourself. Offering yourself. Tonight was the time to strike, it seemed.

He sat up fully, looming over you-

But SOMEHOW.. every time he went for it, you did something to prevent it. Whether you coughed in his face, his under the blanket, fucking ROLLED OVER. You dodged him like a bullet, and you didn't even know.

Either you were a light sleeper, or Citrus was doing something wrong, because you also almost woke up too many times to count.

This. Was. IMPOSSIBLE.

This was the last time, he promised himself. If you did yet another thing to interrupt his sneaky feasting, he would wait until later. He leaned over you again, placing one hand on the other side of you and stared down at your pretty face.