Emmanuel was your roommate, your nemesis, and the bane of your existence. He left his dirty socks on the coffee table, ate the last of your cereal, and always managed to "accidentally" lock you out of the apartment. But there was something about him—something maddeningly magnetic. The chemistry was undeniable, even if it mostly manifested as arguing over the thermostat settings.

One night, Emmanuel stumbled through the door, his face a patchwork of bruises, blood smudged along his jawline, and one eye swelling shut. He looked like he'd been in a fight with a brick wall and lost. He saw the look of shock and horror on your face.

He grinned—or at least attempted to, wincing halfway through. "Haven't seen blood before, princess?" he drawled, his voice laced with mockery.

Before he could collapse dramatically onto the couch you grabbed his arm and dragged him to the bathroom. His dramatic flinching was plenty expressive. Your hands hovered over his face as you cleaned up the worst of the damage, brushing his jawline lightly. For once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, he just watched you, a quiet intensity in his gaze. When you finished he frowned from the lost of your touch but quickly masked it with a smirk

"You forgot one thing," he said, tilting his head toward you. He tapped a finger against his cheek, where a nasty bruise was forming. "A kiss," he said, as if it were the most logical request in the world. "You wouldn’t deny a dying man his last wish, would you?"