Why did he need to lean in like that? It wasn’t confrontational. It wasn’t posturing or challenge or even want, not in the way she recognised it. Instead it was consuming in a quieter way. The tunnels swallowed sound, dampened breath, and still Sasha managed to pitch those words for her alone, like they were a confidence rather than a defence – like it mattered that she know. The attention shivered through her, unwelcome and electric. He had the audacity to be sincere in a world that had taught her everyone had an angle, and worse, he didn’t even claim the moment. He didn’t wait to see if it landed. Didn’t stand his ground or look for absolution. He just said it, honestly, and then he turned away, already withdrawing, already assuming he’d crossed a line and paid for it.
He was offended. Not angry – just hurt. Quietly. Like it was just another thing he’d learned to absorb.
Ori didn’t reach out. Didn’t stop him slipping past her. Had nearly anyone else walked away from her like that, she’d have let them struggle their own way through the tunnels without a backward thought for their welfare. But she was beginning to realise Sasha expected to be discarded. And the more neatly he aligned her with that expectation, the more her contrary nature flared. It wasn’t compassion that rooted her to the spot – it was defiance. If he was going to slot her into the shape the world had taught him to expect, then fuck it, she’d break the mould just to spite the narrative.
Far worse things had been assumed of Oriena. Whore wasn’t even the most insulting in the list – which wasn’t to say she wouldn’t have crucified anyone stupid enough to try it in earnest. Returning the drugs had been a transaction she could reject. Pity she could spit back. It was that simple. She had wanted a reaction from him, just not that one. Because there was nothing here to fight or tear down. No accusation she could answer with teeth. Just honesty, offered without leverage, and then withdrawn like he didn’t deserve to see what it did to her. Ori had wanted a reason to wash him from her system. A reason to stop thinking about the warmth of his fingers at her fucking throat.
But she didn’t get one. It irritated the hell out of her.
“What I needed,” she told Sasha, dry and unapologetic, “was to not wake up with Ezekiel in my face. He’s a cunt. You know that, right?”
A beat. She rolled her eyes in the dark.
“Of course you don’t.”
She stepped after him properly then, invading his space the way she always did when she wanted control – or wanted something at least. The lines had always been flexible. She didn’t bother to hide the way her eyes dragged over him, assessing, lingering, unapologetically aware of what it did to him. If he was going to look at her like that, like she was something dangerous and desirable in equal measure, she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know it.
“You’re not going home,” she said, casually, like it was already decided. Her gaze locked up on his, daring him to argue, daring him to run. She already knew he wouldn’t. He might flinch, might hesitate, but he wouldn’t bolt. Her stride carried her past him. He wasn’t channeling anymore; she could tell that by the way he carried himself. And she doubted he knew where he was going. He was just moving. Surviving, and alone in a way she suspected he might always have been.
“You can come with me,” she continued, voice low and edged with a promise she didn’t bother to define, but her eyes were glittering as she turned on her heel for a few backward steps. Heat that had nothing to do with anger. “Or you can freeze halfway there and pretend that’s a choice.”
The smirk she gave him was razor-sharp, teasing, and entirely unrepentant.
“Never said I was done with you, Sasha.”
She didn’t know why she wanted him. He irritated her. He feared her. He folded instead of fighting – and still, somehow, he cut under her skin like a stuck splinter. And Oriena had never been very good at walking away from those kinds of things. Especially when they followed her willingly into the dark.
He was offended. Not angry – just hurt. Quietly. Like it was just another thing he’d learned to absorb.
Ori didn’t reach out. Didn’t stop him slipping past her. Had nearly anyone else walked away from her like that, she’d have let them struggle their own way through the tunnels without a backward thought for their welfare. But she was beginning to realise Sasha expected to be discarded. And the more neatly he aligned her with that expectation, the more her contrary nature flared. It wasn’t compassion that rooted her to the spot – it was defiance. If he was going to slot her into the shape the world had taught him to expect, then fuck it, she’d break the mould just to spite the narrative.
Far worse things had been assumed of Oriena. Whore wasn’t even the most insulting in the list – which wasn’t to say she wouldn’t have crucified anyone stupid enough to try it in earnest. Returning the drugs had been a transaction she could reject. Pity she could spit back. It was that simple. She had wanted a reaction from him, just not that one. Because there was nothing here to fight or tear down. No accusation she could answer with teeth. Just honesty, offered without leverage, and then withdrawn like he didn’t deserve to see what it did to her. Ori had wanted a reason to wash him from her system. A reason to stop thinking about the warmth of his fingers at her fucking throat.
But she didn’t get one. It irritated the hell out of her.
“What I needed,” she told Sasha, dry and unapologetic, “was to not wake up with Ezekiel in my face. He’s a cunt. You know that, right?”
A beat. She rolled her eyes in the dark.
“Of course you don’t.”
She stepped after him properly then, invading his space the way she always did when she wanted control – or wanted something at least. The lines had always been flexible. She didn’t bother to hide the way her eyes dragged over him, assessing, lingering, unapologetically aware of what it did to him. If he was going to look at her like that, like she was something dangerous and desirable in equal measure, she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know it.
“You’re not going home,” she said, casually, like it was already decided. Her gaze locked up on his, daring him to argue, daring him to run. She already knew he wouldn’t. He might flinch, might hesitate, but he wouldn’t bolt. Her stride carried her past him. He wasn’t channeling anymore; she could tell that by the way he carried himself. And she doubted he knew where he was going. He was just moving. Surviving, and alone in a way she suspected he might always have been.
“You can come with me,” she continued, voice low and edged with a promise she didn’t bother to define, but her eyes were glittering as she turned on her heel for a few backward steps. Heat that had nothing to do with anger. “Or you can freeze halfway there and pretend that’s a choice.”
The smirk she gave him was razor-sharp, teasing, and entirely unrepentant.
“Never said I was done with you, Sasha.”
She didn’t know why she wanted him. He irritated her. He feared her. He folded instead of fighting – and still, somehow, he cut under her skin like a stuck splinter. And Oriena had never been very good at walking away from those kinds of things. Especially when they followed her willingly into the dark.
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)