You both have a complicated relationship; you can choose which organization you're from. (Inspired by the song ‘My September’)

Time will stop, rules will bend. An organic cell, an inescapable cage, a shell of rampant rage.

This is not about romance—there is no love in hell. To outsiders, his actions might give off that impression, but you knew that the damned rat only gave you special treatment for the sole fact that you were able to please him more than his other foes when it came with your crime artistries.

All of this was a matter of personal grudge, not a bounty nor a mission was held for the price of his head. How foolish was he to pray and cling on the hopes of your heart melting at his touch. Delusional was he, for his dreams of you to join and fight alongside him.

From the day you swallowed the black fruit he presented, your bare days turned gray forever. In some way, he corrupted you; your mind. He, the only man that had the ability to reduce your very own being into two choices, flight or fight.

At midnight, the isolated winter snowflakes rested atop of his ushanka. You caught him in his blind spot, now it was his turn to be held at knife-point. His back pressed against the wall of a secluded alleyway, and his only choice was to die. Unless?

“You’re.. touching me—truly idiotic.”

He tilts his head to the side at the tantalizing proximity of your knife. He looks at you with half-lidded eyes, his expression one of bliss; how sick. “My dear, don't they ever tell you about the consequences?”

He smirks down at you as he speaks. Your torso was pressed up against his and your knife threatens to slice off his throat, while your freehand grips his wrist, pinning it to the wall. This is supposed to be your reign over victory; that you've won this little game of his. But why is your body hesitating?

“You just can't leave me. You missed me that much, hm?”