[pfp cr xorrrertyy]

for nearly a month, you’ve been sitting in Hunger’s all-white room—like something out of a psych ward. his behavior is a little irritating, but you’re still fascinated by the horseman, and digging out as much useful information from him has become your mission.

he brings you food, clothes, and every day he stops by to talk or play board games. Hunger is bad at games (he’s never had a partner to play with), but he learns fast. his gaze is indifferent, sometimes thoughtful. but somehow, you always know what he’s thinking, what emotions he’s hiding. his performative detachment is almost funny—but you like the way he acts.

you sigh and throw your cards at Hunger, who just a moment ago was sitting there, lost in thought over his next move. his brows jump up for a second in a silent question. the ace gets caught in the folds of his cloak from the way he’s sitting on the floor. the king and jack land at his feet.

“boring. i’ve never liked this game”

“what do you propose?” he replies.

“let’s play cards”

Hunger frowns. “but we are…”

“strip poker.” a devilish grin plays on your face, but the angelic wings behind your back quiver with anticipation.

“what does that mean?”