𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 7 - ℬ𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓈

The view outside the theater was rich and posh, almost like everything shone without a speck of dust. This was not too far-fetched, for the mall was brand new—a location chosen with intent. It carried a fresh-lime scent that calmed the mind, but beside Noir stood a better scent. Side-by-side with a gorgeous woman on an escalator going down, Noir was lost in a world of his own. But then came a gentle call that broke him out of his reverie.

"Babe...?" he heard.

"Hmm...?" he said, then paused, after which he added, "About that guy, right?

Claire nodded her head, shooting Noir a curious look, quite similar to an owl staring at you, just hazy.

"Nothing much, to be fair. Just as a quick little chat."

"Really?" Claire moved in closer, their shoulders touching. "He looked rather pathetic to me. Like, don't get me wrong, I am not talking about his clothing, appearance, and such, but, uh... rather his general aura. He seemed... rather..."

Noir cut in as his feet met the off-white-colored floor, which had certain patterns embedded in between.

"His sister is in the hospital. I know not the burden he bears, but he looked quite..." Noir's gaze turned distant, and then with a voice that trailed along, he muttered, "Despondent... to me."

The soft fingers that interlocked with his own tightened, causing Noir to glance to his left. He couldn't see her smile, but he was sure that it was gentle, for the way she looked at him right now caused his heart to thud.

As her plump thumb caressed his slender one, she said, "Good job."

"About what?"

"Nothing."

Noir smiled, deciding to shift his thoughts. "Well, where do you want to go?"

"Let's go there?" said Claire, pointing at nowhere.

"And where would there be?"

Claire gave him a look, quite archly, as he said, in a coy tone, "Use the entirety of your brainpower, Mr. Top Student."

"Mr. Top Student is skipping his lectures, seduced by his girlfriend's words. He even had to sacrifice his sleep."

"What an outstanding stud he is. The greatest man among men."

Noir's face turned into a disgusting frown, the kind that showed his teeth. "Ugh... Claire, the last part—I would rather that you remove that from your vocabulary."

"The greatest man among men was not only known as the greatest for his awe-inspiring intelligence and carved appearance. To those who are rather knowledgeable, he is a forefather and an inspiration well-known around the streets... I mean, at home for his astounding stamina; legends say that he once called it "endless," quoting that "once I start, it never ends." "

"And then, there was one who called herself his beloved; her sole purpose lay in teasing him, cringing him to hair loss, knowing that he couldn't do a thing."

"She was... and is the greatest woman among women, after all."

"To her, daydreaming and breakfast were the same."

Claire chuckled and said, "And the man ate the breakfast well."

"He was a vacuous and inane fool."

"A fool that the woman wanted to chomp upon."

Observing her gaze on his lips, Noir said, "It seemed that the man wasn't as vacuous as the world thought."

Claire chuckled. "Bloody, inane fool."

Hearing her sweet laughter Noir had the urge to remove her mask and seal her lips, just like she wanted. Instead, as usual—a consequence for the men who are called gentle—he shook his head and chuckled.

"So where are we going, again?" he asked.

"There," she answered, pointing at nothing again.

Noir chuckled again, and so there they went.

Noir stood in a room, twice the area of an average living room. His bare feet shuffled across the padded gym flooring, almost dancing, a dance that only a select few would enjoy. A punch came in as a jab with a "shush"; Noir tilted his head to the right, barely avoiding a graze. A white-gloved fist passed a whisker away from his cushioned ear, following which came a cross from the left with a "shish," another act of violence he avoided with dexterity. Noir had pulled his head backwards this time, the gloves curving barely an inch away from his eyeline. Next came another "shush," and Noir tapped the jab with his left glove.

As the fist sank to the floor, an act aided by gravity, Noir, who was back into position, twisted his hips with some force. And whoosh, a punch traveled upwards, although with temperance.

The owner of the black-colored jabs, Claire, skipped a few steps backward on her toes, barely avoiding a white-colored uppercut—from a clean hit, that is. It had grazed past her black-cushioned helmet, and the look in her eyes told him that she definitely had felt the weight. Next, with a rough technique, Noir's left foot stepped forward simultaneously with his left hand. It was quick; it was fast. Barely able to react, his opponent dived forward towards Noir's torso. She stayed there still for a second or two before she pushed backwards, creating some distance. They now stood a few feet apart, and Claire closed this distance again. A jab, a twitch of the shoulders, a cross—none of which came close to Noir, as he used his agility to the fullest, with his body guarded and low, as agile as a mongoose.

A few testing jabs came to Noir as they both assessed each other. Claire had tied her hair into a ponytail, which had magically come out of her pocket. She wore a determined expression, which Noir considered to be something else.

Shush! Shush! Shush! Shish!

2 punches and 2 feints. First came the feint straight, a twitch from her left shoulder, causing Noir to shift to the right; then came another fake one from the right, causing him to step backward, lightly jerking back his neck. Then just when he realized his mistake, came a punch to the gut, thwarted instinctively by Noir's dominant hand. But Claire wasn't finished, obviously; the last came in the form of a cross from the left with great speed. This one Noie couldn't dodge; the punch hit his cushioned chin.

"Got you, Honey," said Claire, with a bright smile, one that Noir could finally see.

Slightly out of breath, she lightly huffed and puffed, but then suddenly her eyes widened, following which her body jerked backwards. Before she could react, a fist stood right in front of her chin; it stopped, then it lightly tapped it, and then it just stayed there.

"Well, there you go, Clay," Noir said, raising his eyebrows, a little less out of breath. "I might not fight anymore, but I still got my cardio and..." He circled his right wrist. "Muscle memory."

Claire pouted, adorably, and then said, "Again."

"Didn't you say it yourself? Best out of 10 wins? Hmm... Claire?"

"Where is the proof?"

"In my ass."

"Present it to me."

"That is a rather sensitive task. The only way I see is to fart."

Claire chuckled with a disgusted look. "Your tongue turns viler by the day."

"The consequences of hanging out with a bastard."

"Shameless excuses," she said, lightly jumping on her toes.

"Says the one who knows no shame."

Noir cracked his neck.

Claire winked. "That is true... Why would I feel any shame in front of my beloved honey?"

As soon as the words ended, a jab came. Blocking it with his left, his right fist shot forward towards Claire before she could react.

Tap!

"8-4"

"Honey..."

Claire smiled, then gripping his tapping wrist with her left, she moved forward, placing her trapezius under his armpit. With a certain fluidity, she lowered her center of mass and transferred her weight forward, and then she flipped her favorite man over. Noir saw the ceiling for a second and then hit the matted floor with a grunt.

"Wow," Noir scoffed, looking at her from the floor. "Your shamelessness truly knows no bounds."

"It is your fault that you are foolish. 8-6," she said with a cheeky smile.

"Impressive."

"8-7. 8-8. 8-9. Well, Mr. Noir Crost, all I need is a single point now. What path would the greatest—"

Before she could finish, using the entirety of his abdominal muscles, Noir shot up.

"2 to go," he said, rotating his shoulders. "Come."

Claire shot forward as agile as a cat; her right fist moved toward her beloved's face. But her beloved gave her a smirk, the kind that he knew she found suited to her taste, as his hands lazily moved downwards. Noir was getting faster and quicker the more he played; he knew it, and she did as well. But although he was getting faster, with the help of his senses that were tuning in, along with the natural advantage of his gender, there were two superiorities that Claire had over him: in every single martial art, her technique was superior to his, and...

"I train every day, babe, and you are clearly rusty."

As soon as her left hand was thwarted, it shot back to normal form instantly and then came the next jab. Noir flicked this one too, but Claire was relentless. With a burning competitiveness that she always had, which Noir had always loved, she lowered her body, leaning to her left, and then came an uppercut. Noir saw this one coming as well; it was slow, or rather, everything was growing slower with time—it moved at a snail's pace, slow but uselessly steady. Left came another jab accompanied by a firmness in her hazy eyes. At that moment, as the punch grew closer and Noir was already moving rightward, he had only a single thought: Cute. I am bound by her cuteness.

But despite his thoughts, his actions didn't change, for losing this way was nothing but a disservice—something that she would hate. She grunted as she moved forward. The pacing of her breaths rang harder as she punched and as he blocked. She kept coming and coming for more, with a single goal, something that Noir somehow dodged. A jab met a tap, and a jab met a dodge; there were many such combinations in the frenzy, half of which Noir barely dodged. In fact, to counter a few, Noir had to clinch, and fortunately this was all but a spar. If she were not to hold back, then perhaps he would have long lost, on the grounds that he held back, of course. But then all of a sudden Noir noticed her ankle twist slightly, causing his face to scrunch into a glare. A cry followed, with which she fell.

The mat was well cushioned and had a near-zero chance of causing an injury, but it didn't matter. Her back didn't touch the ground, nor did her head. They were wrapped in a protective embrace of her beloved, who gently lowered her to the floor. Their eyes met; the lenses were still on. His hands slipped from below her, causing her back to touch the ground. And then, with his eyes curled into crescents, he leaned in spellbound. A light one landed on her lips, then the second with more fervor. His heart melted like clay in those vivid seconds, burning away every other desire but her. His head grew hotter than the outside temperature, unaffected by the AC cooling the room. Looking into her veiled jewels of hers, he knew that she felt the same. Claire's gaze grew hazier than ever, and that feeling provided an ethereal pleasure.

But Noir knew there were more important things than base urges. With restraint, he moved backwards, his gaze meandering over her ripe scarlet glow. Again, he reined in the primacy of leaving a mark. Brushing her face, towards her ankle he went, although not before leaning forward again and whispering, "10-8."

Her face was now beyond scarlet.

Exhaling some of the heat within, he carefully pushed his thumb into her twisted ankle, causing her to slightly wince.

"Barely a twist," he whispered, more to himself.

Then he looked around the room, particularly at the clock; the time was 4:15 P.M. The walls were blue and padded, similar to the floor. Various kinds of equipment neatly line the edges and corners. Just as Noir completed his observations, from the corner of his vision he saw his cat move.

Claire rose up at that moment, diving into his arms. Sitting on his lap, her fingers gripped his sweaty shirt as her lips searched for his. How was it possible for the search not to be immediately found? Their lips met, this time with a fiery hunger, holding each other for a minute. A strand of saliva separated them for a single breath, then dived in again. Claire's fingers curled into Noir's hair, roaming from place to place, never getting enough. A silent desperation met Noir, who reciprocated with all he had, all he could. His fingers wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, with the longing for a drug, a very addictive one, and when her chest touched his own, he held onto her like there was nothing more precious.

Breath mingled with breath for a minute or two, perhaps more, before they separated. And when it did, Claire wanted to dive in again, but Noir, with a gaze worried, gently caressed her face.

"What's wrong?" he said, focusing on every detail of her face.

Claire bit her lips, her gaze heavy and sticky. She did this for a few seconds, peering deeply into his blue eyes, whispering tales of love with not a single word. Then she fell into his embrace, her favorite place. She hugged him tightly, possibly with all the strength she could muster, wanting to never let go. She stayed that way for a few heated moments, her face directly into his sweaty trunk.

Noir chuckled as he wrapped his arm around her delicate frame, placing his chin over silky, prized hair. Then he said as he kissed it, "Is it sweaty? Does it stink?"

She dived in deeper, almost as if she were digging a hole with her mouth. Noir wasn't too sure, but he felt like she kissed the area between his pectorals. She did this for a moment before she turned to her right, with her left ear landing with ardor on his chest.

She said, after a while, her voice soft, "Your heartbeat. I love it too. It calms me down."

Noir said nothing; instead, he closed eyes as if letting every second sink in. He inhaled her lavender-like scent, which hadn't really been muddled by the sweat, and then kissed her forehead. Claire too shifted, her face moving upward, landing a kiss on his Adam's apple.

"I love you," she said quietly but earnestly.

"I know," replied Noir.

"I love you more than anything," she repeated.

Then without waiting for a response, she said, her voice stern but fragile, "My father has called me back home."

"It is fine, isn't it? He has called you before, and you have prevailed."

"But this—this time it may be different." Claire's voice rose, carrying a certain yearning; her hands gripped his black shirt with hunger. "Noir... I, in this life, can give up anything but you. Just you, Noir, that's all I wish for." After a pause, she continued, her voice tender, "Honey, I have dreamt of us. Do you know how deeply I crave you? In three years, at best four, I can see us getting married. The happiest time of our lives. We will have beautiful children, two boys and one girl. The boys will be the elder ones cherishing our sweet angel with all they have. Two of them will adorn your blue eyes, while one of our boys will adorn my golden ones."

She smiled, with a look unique to a mother.

"We will build a mansion, an adobe, in a colder region with a fireplace to keep us warm. Won't that be beautiful? The outsides will be cold, but your warmth will linger by my side as we watch the children grow older. They will crawl, then walk, then run. They will surely be the best of the best; they will surely carry your kindness within, your heart within."

Claire chuckled.

"One day they will get married; they will meet a beautiful person like you. They will leave our mansion then; I can already imagine the sadness then, but you... you will always be by my side, holding me in your arms, exactly like you are right now. And they? Our grandchildren, how sweet would they be? They will fill our old age with her nasty pranks. Visiting our now-rugged mansion, they will ask you to cook. Grandpa... Grandpa... Pizza, please. How cute would those rascal be?"

Her voice turned somber, but not a flicker of regret entered its premise.

"Then I will be laid to rest, with you mourning for me forever. I know... I know... I don't care how messed up it sounds. But I know that if you were to pass away before me, I would wither away. Yes, I would. For sure."

"But—" Tears soaked Noir's shirt as her forehead leaned against his chest. "Anything else without your presence is nothing but a nightmare. It repulses me to no end. I hate it more than anything in this cursed world. Words... how can they describe what you mean to me? They will never be able to describe what you mean to me." She repeated once again, "They will never be able to."

Claire was in Noir's arms, and Noir was in hers. As he felt a sense of serenity, one that he was sure he could only feel with her, he said, "Claire... I may not be the most handsome man ever."

"You are."

"I may never reach even the foothill of the greatest of minds. I may not hold riches or power, the kind that can move the world. But I am sure if you are with me, everything will be alright. A path will always present itself, just like always." He combed her hair and continued, "Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever failed you? I can guarantee you one thing: with me by your side, and with you by mine, nothing could ever go wrong, even if in truth something has gone wrong."

"But—"

"For heaven's sake, fuck the buts." Noir paused, then said, "I need to understand what weighs you down, darling... the burdens you bear. Even if I were to be the smartest man alive, how am I to find a solution then? Why won't you share? How must I plan when I know not the dangers that we face? Hmm...?"

"You don't understand, honey. He will kill you; he will kill your mother. He will kill every person that you hold dear."

"Is that so?" Noir muttered. "So be it."

"So be it? Will you say the same when your precious mother lies cold in front of your eyes? And if so, what about me? What about the guilt I would bear?"

Noir's voice rose for a second. "And what would you do if you were not to be with me?"

"I would... I—" She looked into Noir's eyes. "I would..."

"You already know the answer, don't you? So, then for what purpose does fear exist?"

"But—"

Noir grabbed her tear-soaked cheeks. "I love you, and for me that is all that matters."

"But—"

Noir sighed, then pulled her cheeks, stretching them like dough. Then one of his hands traveled to his pocket, removing a chocolate wrapped in red foil. He opened the wrapper and placed the golden brown toffee into her mouth.

Pulling her cheeks again, he said, "You are quite soft, aren't you?" He stared deeply at her face and continued, "I think I may have discovered a new hobby."

"This is no time to joke around, honeeeeey—"

Noir sighed again as he pulled her cheeks harder.

"Okay, perfect, tell me about your father then. Your fucking gang, whatever. They are getting on my fucking nerves."

Claire shook her head, left to right, like a child, bitter and not ready to talk. Then, closing her eyes, she dug back into his embrace, shuffling and rubbing across his torso as if trying to get into a comfortable position.

Noir chuckled. "What are you? A cat?"

"Honey..."

"Hmm...?"

Clair purred, looking upwards from the position, she was curled in. "Do you know how much I love you?"

Lowering his right index finger and then holding it on top of her right eye, he said, "I am blind, you see. Perhaps you can donate me your lenses."

"Hmph..." she grumbled, then after a while she started chuckling.

His finger traced her nose. He said, "And before you set your expectations? I would prefer two girls and a boy. Hmm... perhaps three girls would be better."

"And what if there were three boys?"

Noir smiled with zeal. "Well, in that case, we would never need house cleaning. We would spare ourselves thousands of solas that would otherwise be wasted. A genius preposition, I must say. One could be the sweeper, the other could be the cook, and the final one could do the laundry. What a lavish life we would lead?"

"Babe...!" Claire uttered. "Stop! Don't..." She paused as if actually considering the proposal. "Wait. That is funny. Lol. Don't say this out loud in public."

Noir laughed, along with Claire, and then he said, "I won't." The very next second, his expression turned serious as he mused, "If we were to have three boys, I would love them with all I have. Well, as a disclaimer, we would need to adopt a girl then."

"I will give you one," said Claire firmly.

"Claire, you sexy, sexy, dirty bitch."

"Pardon?"

"I had an interesting vision. I saw Kevin in it."

Claire's mouth widened ajar, and then it trembled slightly, as if closing a millimeter and then opening the same distance. Finally, she muttered, with a pout, "To me?"

"To you? Yes—oh, no, horrible." Noir's brows tensed as he shook his head repeatedly, then said, "I am reminded of my possessiveness."

"Good. Eww... but that guy? I feel... like my beauty has been tarnished. The more that I think of it, the more I am bloody offended." Then her voice turned softer. "At least you have a good friend."

Noir chuckled, but he said not a word. His gaze traveled all over her body, with a message that need not be said. Claire understood the message; her gaze turned no different from his.

Noir whispered coyly into her ears, "But darling, I swear you sure are..."

"Gorgeous."

Noir could see the desperation that she held. He could see it from the moment he had read her chats, from the tension in her fingers, firm but delicate; from the crystal tears that flowed as she watched [Days Vanescent]; and from the way that she held him, with hunger in her lips, searching for something more than mere comfort.

He knew not of the burdens that entrenched her soul. He knew not of the path ahead. But he did know her ever-growing hunger for him, and he knew that her burdens signaled a bleak future. How could he not when he saw the wistful look in her eyes multiple times, hundreds of times, as they matured? She looked like she would collapse any moment, turning into something she was never meant to be. Would she ever know the crippling fear that entrapped his soul every time he thought of an uncertain future? It killed him. It literally did. And therefore, he knew that there was nothing but a single path ahead. A path that could very well lead to his demise, a path that could take everything away from him—his mother, his precious, loving mother. But the humor lay in a single fact: if he chose not that path, there was nothing left either way.

The world was an empty abyss in those moments. He thought so, as he gazed at the floor.

And then there she was, her golden jewels now on display. A single smile was enough to wash it all away. Indeed, he was nothing but an inane and vacuous fool. Fear, what was it? He couldn't remember. What was there to fear when she stood right in front of him?

Noir chuckled. He realized that he was smitten, obsessed, and bewitched. Call him foolish. Call him insane. He didn't care. For him, she was transcendent, something that mere words could ever explain. As he looked at her smile, as he looked into those wistful eyes that begged something from him, something that only he could provide, a heat inside him grew, suffused with everything that words couldn't say.

This heat turned into a flame, never-ending in nature, and everything that couldn't be said only grew. At that moment, Noir licked his lips, and despite the fact that there was indeed a risk, he lowered himself towards her puckered ones. For what could be described by words could be felt in action.

Noir, that day, shared the entirety of his soul. For him—

This was bliss.