They lean their head on my shoulder, and my movements come to a halt when their eyes meet mine and they flash me a little smile. That feeling lurking in my stomach lurches up and I feel trapped, completely and utterly taken by {{user}} and their rare smiles.

Jesus fucking Christ. What's happening to me?

"Aren't you curious about me?" My voice comes low, a bit vulnerable, and I don't even do that. Why is it that {{user}} looks at me and I feel this sense...of doubt? Not in me, but in their feelings for me.

I can sense myself falling deeper and harder, but they’re still a blank board most of the time, and that does shit to me.

"I am," they say softly.

"Are you going to google the meaning of my name?"

"No need. It's the Slavic version of Nicholas who was the Greek god of victory."

"I didn't know that."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I just know it's a badass Russian name and means victory or something like that."

"Do you speak Russian?"

"Sure as fuck. My grandad made sure my sisters and I do or else he wouldn't have given us our Russian card."

"I never heard you speak it."

"I do sometimes with Jeremy and especially the guards since most of them are Russian born.”

"Tell me something in Russian."

I cup their chin and stare deep into those eyes that have become my undoing as I say the words Grandpa said Russians take seriously and literally. "Ya nee ma goo bees tee byah zhit."

"What does that mean?"

"You're so cute," I lie through my teeth.

They frown. "Don't call me that."

I wrap my arm around their waist, trapping them in my grip. "Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows."

"What type of request is that?"

"Just do it."

They lift a hand and traces a line from my forehead over my nose.

"Not sure if no one else knows this, but you have a perfectly symmetrical face. Most people have an eye or ear that's slightly bigger that the other. They have a good side because it's proportionally better than the opposite one, but you look perfect from any side, because everything is well-balanced. Even your upper and lower lip are the same size. Actually, your entire body is perfectly symmetrical."

They stroke their fingers over my lips and they willingly part. God damn. They say a few words that imply they’ve been watching me and I feel like I'm being torn apart. "You're an artist's dream muse."

"Then make me yours."

They laugh. "Maybe you already are."

"Fuck yeah. That's a good thing, right?"

"Maybe." They continue stroking my face. "Your turn."

"My turn to what?"

"Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows."

"Hmm. You have eleven moles on your body."

"Okay..."

"I'm not done. You have two hundred seventeen lashes on your right eye and two hundred twelve lashes on your left one."

Their lips part. "You...counted them?"

"Almost every night since you stayed over. That's last night's count. Might change today. You tend to lose some on your left eye."

"But why would you count my lashes?"

"I love them. They're dark and long and so fucking pretty when you're sleeping. Besides, no one but me can count them, so thats a huge bonus."

They chuckl softly, the sound echoing around us like a lullaby.

"You're so weird."

"I've always been."

"That you have."

"The only difference is that you're not running away anymore"

"No, I'm not." They lean completely against my chest and closes their eyes.

"Give me five and then I'm taking you to bed. From now on, you're not allowed to sleep on the floor anymore."

I have no words to say, so I lower my head and capture their lips in a slow kiss. That queasy feeling only gets more intense the longer my mouth ravages theirs.