Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts like this:
 
Prodigal son Qimir Lorenzo-Rwoh returns to LA on a Thursday afternoon. Speculation runs rife as to why he's turned up now, one month into summer break and five hours away from college.
 
The elusive, handsome and popular son of hotshot criminal lawyer Vernestra Rwoh, who lives in the most exclusive part of Sherman Oaks, is apparently planning an open house party Saturday night. Ostensibly an end of year party for his fraternity bros, hanger ons and schoolmates, but rumour has it high school students won't be turned away either. It'll be no-holds-barred, all-access to alcohol, free use of his pool and basement.
 
So of course it's all anyone can talk about the next day at lunch. Osha's in her junior year of high school at Sherman Oaks High, so she's more focused with getting her grades up to scratch, sitting her SATs and integrating herself into extracurricular clubs before college applications need to be sent out in the fall term. She's already anxiously toiling over her personal statement and outlining an application essay tailored to impart maximum emotional damage.
 
“Every teen in SoCal knows who he is,” she overhears Rose hiss to Finn, who's on the fencing team but still, sadly, not elevated to jock status. “He has like, three fan Tumblrs. One of them is entirely in Korean.” 
 
Osha idly wonders what it says about a college junior that his return to his hometown is accompanied by a rager. As if he's trying to reassure himself of his eternal high school king status. It's almost sad, in a way, this pursuit of immortality.
 
She thinks all this while Mae is trying to convince her to attend over a tray of the cafeteria special; cardboard pizza, ugh. "It'll be fun, Oshie." Mae sends her a meaningful look. "I think we're owed some fun."
 
Osha's gut twists, whether from the pizza or the reminder. No, I'm not, Osha doesn’t voice out loud. Mae would start up about her attending therapy again and Osha just... can't. Four, no, five sessions is enough.
 
Jecki joins in, nowadays exclusively taking Mae's side. "It's a good idea, Osha." Mae sends a soft look, quickly squeezing her hand.
 
Osha rolls her eyes. "This feels like an intervention," she says pointedly. Mae and Jecki exchange looks.
 
"It is," Jecki says flatly.
 
Oh well, what could it hurt?

A lot, it seems.
 
Osha takes in a deep breath, eyeing the massive house in front of her. Spanish-style white facade, stonewashed white brick, wrought iron balconies and terracotta roof tiles. It’s monstrous at three storeys with a pool and supposedly a basement game room and gym.
 
Parking had been absolutely abysmal; Osha, Mae, Jecki, Yord and Mog had parked two blocks away and made a miserable trek in heels (at least for the girls). Mae and Jecki whisper between themselves as they hesitate at the edge of the lawn, contemplating whether to go in. Whether they'll be allowed in.
 
The music is already pumping at 9pm and even though it's early, people, mostly students of the high school and college variety, are spilling out the entryway and onto the lawn. The air smells like the vestige of summer heat and smoke. The stars are twinkling far above; this far from LA, they can see a smattering of lights nestled in the velvet night.
 
"Come on," Mae tweaks Jecki's pointed ear. "The invitation went 'round the whole school. Everyone is going to be here."
 
And indeed they are, as three more groups roll up and are welcomed in warmly. A group of guys thump each other on the back and cheer, toasting with red solo cups.
 
"See?" Mae pecks Jecki's mouth, lightly. "Nothing to worry about."
 
Osha sidles up to Mae's side as they walk ahead, studiously avoiding Yord's inquisitive gaze. He's been eyeing her up all evening, probably hoping for a repeat, but she's not about to go down that path again.
 
Once—okay, twice—during their inter-school Model UN was enough for a lifetime. She blames the smuggled vodka that the two of them had slugged from the bottle before they'd clumsily mashed their faces together. It devolved into frantic pawing, clothes being hastily pushed out of the way and before Osha knew it, they were fucking.
 
It was... okay. Yord clearly had gotten more out of it than she did, which was good for him. They'd fallen asleep in the same bed, the utter lawlessness of the MUN clearly affecting them as well, and woken up to do it again. It wasn't better the second time, and once again, Osha didn't come.
 
And now there's this awkward energy that hovers over them; almost expectant on Yord's part, horrifyingly mortified on Osha's end.
 
It's an experience she's not keen to repeat. Not only because the sex kind of sucked, but also because Yord now has Expectations. He's talking about them going to college together, which, no. They're alright as friends, and that's how Osha wants to keep it.
 
She feels completely different from the girl she was last year. She'd bleached her hair and brows in a fit of grief shortly after Mama died, not even recognising the girl who stared back at her in the mirror after she was done.
 
She'd dressed with care for tonight. A khaki-green velvet halter top criss-crossing over her collarbones, grey low-rise stonewashed denim shorts with chains clipped on her belt loops, black briefs poking out the top. White platform heels borrowed from Mae. Her platinum blonde braids are up in twin buns, except for two strands at the front that frame her face and trail down to her exposed navel.
 
Osha's dressed up, dolled up, tits out and she feels like a fraud. Breathe in. But this is all about letting go, about getting over her fucked up feelings of guilt the way Mae has. Breathe out.
 
Mog breaks the silence, hopping awkwardly on one foot. "Shall we go on?" he asks, gesturing to the entry.
 
Mae snorts at his use of 'shall'; Osha elbows her and takes the lead, stepping forward to lead the line of awkward juniors.
 
"Hey! Mae A and Mae B!" Jocks cheer as they near the steps leading up to the mansion. Mae rolls her eyes.
 
They're an anomaly in Sherman Oaks as the only twins, and female at that. The amount of jokes, dirty and otherwise they've weathered through the years is enough to completely harden them against any insinuations. Mae is a self-avowed lesbian, so it's not like those dicks will ever get the threesome they're craving.
 
They thread their way inside, dodging dropped red solo cups and a felled vase. Ouch, that's going to hurt, Osha thinks as she eyes the cobalt ceramic pieces scattered all over the floor. No one’s bothered to sweep it up yet.
 
Bass thumps through the house, almost rattling the walls with its intensity. The lights are off, table lamps and floor lamps on. Some enterprising individual has rigged up LED strip lights in every room to flash with the music, which must have taken a bit of time and money to do. It's also an epileptic's nightmare, Osha thinks sceptically.
 
Mae has to yell over a Drake song to be heard. "Let's get a drink!"
 
They shake off Yord and Mog, leaving them to their own devices and sure enough, they're swept up by the debating team and student council. Yord glances back for her, anxious, and Osha speeds up and tries her best to melt into the crowd.
 
Osha grabs on to Mae for guidance as she bulls her way through the crowd, greeting people here and there. Mae's the one with a social battery, whereas Osha prefers to slink in her shadow.
 
They reach the cavernous space that must be the kitchen. Osha's mouth drops open as she looks up, and up. Almost the entire ceiling is a skylight, displaying the moon in its full majesty. Even with all that space, it's crowded; someone has dragged a ping pong table in the corner, pushing the dining set to the wall. A rousing game of beer pong is underway, alternate boos and cheers elicited from the crowd that rings the competitors.
 
Osha gets her drink, a bottle of peach-flavoured soju. She sniffs it for posterity and is almost knocked back by the sharp fruity smell. It's meant to be drunk in multiple shots but Osha supposes no one time for that here, too focused on getting buzzed as fast as possible. Mae doctors herself a screwdriver and Jecki elects to crack open an apple cider with the bottle opener on the keys clipped to her belt. it's non-alcoholic, which makes sense as she's their DD.
 
Osha's glad at least one of them is being responsible, because she's sick of being the dutiful daughter. Just one night to let loose, and she'll go back to nursing her mom's hurts. Mae had negotiated with a family friend to keep Mother Koril company tonight while they go out; she and Osha usually trade nights off so at least one person has a social life. Increasingly, it's been Osha who's getting the short end of the stick, only because she doesn't actually go anywhere.
 
She takes the first sip of her drink and it goes down surprisingly smoothly. She's never tried soju before, but there's a first time for everything. Mae has already downed her screwdriver and seems intent on making another one, but she's bumped out of the way by a few seniors. She seems raring for a fight but is dragged away by Jecki, the juxtaposition between Mae's height and Jecki's small form making Osha chuckle.
 
Osha grabs another soju quickly before it can run out, for Mae. The kitchen is well-stocked with all varieties of alcohol, generously paid for by Vernestra Rwoh's hard-earned money. Franzia boxes are stacked by the enormous glass windows, Basil Hayden and Smirnoff cluster on the Carrara marble counters, as well as casks of Corona, Heineken and Budweiser. A sparkling crystal punch bowl filled with red liquid and lemon slices, probably sangria, perches precariously on the main island overseen by a gigantic metal and glass light fixture. Goddess knows how much alcohol is in there, so Osha plans to steer clear. 
 
There’s also glass dispensers of various types of chilled fruit juice, and an icemaker dispensing cubes in fancy shapes. She supposes the more expensive alcohol is probably locked up, like Chivas Regal and Moët & Chandon, but it's still a respectable showing. More drinks are probably in the massive stainless steel French-door refrigerator.
 
She jogs to catch up to Mae and Jecki, dodging clumps of rowdy people, bottle almost sloshing over the rim. She quickly sucks on it as she walks, and almost bumps into Yord. 
 
“Hi,” he says, smiling, but Osha’s spotted her out and she almost leaps over a couch to make it to the lounge room. 
 
“Hey, guys,” she says, breathless as she hands the unopened soju bottle to Mae. She doesn’t bother opening it herself, instead handing it to Jecki who pops off the cap with military expediency. 
 
“Thanks, Oshie.” She sighs after she takes a sip. “Really thought I was going to get banned from the kitchen back there.”
 
Jecki rolls her eyes and drags both of them by the hand onto the dance floor. “What's the use of coming here if you're not going to dance?” she demands primly. 
 
Osha nurses her drink as she sways to Olivia Rodrigo's Brutal, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home. Mae is belting out the song, jumping up and down with Jecki. Osha chugs her bottle, wipes her mouth and joins the circle. 
 
Soju is not meant to be downed in one go, so Osha sways as the alcohol hits her head. She’s not drunk yet, just a little fuzzy and she feels her mouth stretch into a loopy grin. The Weeknd comes on next and they wiggle to the bass and synth, sweaty hands linked and giggling breathlessly. They spend who knows how long dancing to song after song, until they collapse in a sweaty pile on one of the couches; it’s a tight squeeze, all three of them trying to fit in one seat. They get a dirty look from a small group of senior girls next to them, who vacate the space. Osha breathes out a sigh and flops over, before remembering herself and launching upright. 
 
The tipsy haze is still there, but now Osha is feeling a bit dehydrated. “Hey,” she tries to grab Mae’s and Jecki’s attention, but in the three seconds it’s taken her to right herself, they're already necking.
 
“Right,” she mutters, and gets up so fast, she almost slips. As she's leaving the living-room-turned-dancefloor, someone calls her name. 
 
“Mae A! Hey, here!”
 
Well, Mae's name to be precise; Osha's long accustomed to it and responds with a, “Yeah?”
 
Osha turns, and her world tilts on its axis.
 
It's Imri Cantaros calling her, but Qimir Lorenzo-Rwoh is behind him. He’s staring at her contemplatively. Osha blinks, as if to ward away the hallucination, but it's still real. This is Qimir in the flesh.
 
Osha's not ashamed to say her mouth drops open a little. The rumours of his hotness are not greatly exaggerated. She's sweeping him up and down with her eyes, painfully obvious. The less said about his sculpted face the better, although Osha does notice that he has little silver hoops in her ears. Her chest flutters oddly.
 
Qimir's wearing a loose white tee with a faintly stitched logo that drapes over his broad body beautifully, emphasising his shoulders and arms. His legs are clad in faded ripped denim jeans, flashes of gold skin and muscles peaking tantalisingly from the gaps. There’s a heavy silver watch on his wrist and rings on his fingers. He’s wearing pristine white sneakers, the kind that are probably eye-wateringly expensive and designer.
 
"You're wrong," Qimir says in a surprisingly husky voice. He cradles a Corona in the crook of his elbow, forearms veined and corded with muscle. "She's not Mae A."
 
Osha blinks, surprised. This is the first time she's met this guy and he can already pinpoint the difference between her and Mae? Sure, their hair is completely different, but Mae switches weaves like clothes and people always see her as an extension of her twin anyways.
 
She ignores the little flutter in her stomach, stomps down on it with a lead foot.
 
"Oh, word?" Imri squints at her, then shrugs. "Whatever." He heads off to the kitchen to find another drink, bumping into a girl and laughing when she swats at his arm playfully.
 
Seeing that his attention has shifted, Osha turns on her heel to walk away. "Osha, isn't it?" he says.
 
She swerves back, eyes wide. "Yes?"
 
How does he know her name?
 
"I've heard a bit about you," he continues, lifting the bottle to his lips. His throat works as he swallows, and Osha's eyes trace his protruding Adam's apple, the little beauty marks dotting his neck.
 
"Huh?" Osha says smartly. Her brain is misfiring being in such close proximity to him; he's more magnetic than she thought he'd be. Being near him is like crossing the event horizon of a black hole.
 
“Why do you let them call you the wrong name?”   
 
Osha's eyes shoot to his face at the question. His expression is a mask of calm placidity, no curiosity to be found. but the corners of his eyes crinkle.
 
Blindsided, Osha just shrugs.  “Seems easier that way.”
 
Qimir hums, then empties his bottle in one go, swallowing heavily. Osha's transfixed by the fall of his hair, the line of his collarbones.
 
“See you later,” he says, and walks away.
 
Osha can only stare, nonplussed, stock still and rooted in place by the pounding of her heart. How strange, she thinks, and endeavours to put it out of her mind. 
 
No one had really seen them ensconced in a corner near a long hallway, so she resumes her mission to hunt down the kitchen, in search of water to clear her head. And maybe cool her down a little. The dance floor had been very hot, after all.

Later, by Qimir's estimation, only turns out to be an hour or so

It’s almost midnight, the full moon hanging heavy in the sky and shining down on them through the skylight. The party is in full swing, house almost heaving with the mass of bodies. People are spread out every which way, thronging the pool and crowding the baseball court and basement game room. The pounding of the speakers is so loud Osha can barely hear herself think, and the high of earlier has faded slightly. She wants to leave but she doesn't want to go home, the familiar dread of facing her mother who is now a ghost of herself spreading tendrils through her gut.
 
It's Mae who drags her from her funk, metaphorically and literally; she's been hugging the wall for over ten minutes, staring up at the stars idly.
 
“Shh!” Mae holds a finger over her lips and titters; she's completely sloshed. “They're going to play a game.”
 
Osha is puzzled. “Who's ‘they’?”
 
“Them, Osha!” Mae waves her hand towards the group of college students ascending the stairs swiftly, unnoticed by the others but marked out by their college gear: Cal caps, jerseys and beanies (in the middle of summer, no less).  
 
Osha wants to know who the hell is inviting high school juniors to an exclusive college student game. It's a little bit fishy…
 
“I got an invite for all of us.” She gestures at Yord and Mog behind her, herded by Jecki.
 
Osha relaxes, knowing the guys will be there with her. While she's still awkward with Yord, and Mog's kind of a wimp, it's a relief nonetheless. “Okay,” she breathes out and nods. “Okay. But if anything happens, it's on you.”
 
They scramble up the stairs into the massive theatre room (!) on the top floor. Osha thinks it's odd for it not to be on the ground floor, but rich people do what they want, even if it defies the realms of expectation.
 
Sliding through the double doors, Osha is immediately hit with a wall of smoke, smelling of rank herbs. Her eyes water and she resists the urge to cough, seeing a tell-tale joint being passed around the rapidly assembling circle. The long leather couches are pushed to the walls, making more space.
 
“No way,” Yord says, almost turning back but for Jecki’s hold on him.
 
“No takebacks!” 
 
For such a tiny girl, she sure does have an iron grip. She leads Yord over and sits him down, Mae bracketing him. Which means Osha doesn't have to be right near him, thank god. She wedges herself in between her twin and a pretty-faced boy with brown skin and soulful eyes.
 
Osha scans the room, her eyes snagging on Qimir, who’s having his turn with the joint. His lips purse, the end of the joint burning bright red. He inhales deeply and smoothly then exhales a set of rings. His sycophants clap for him adoringly, two girls already hanging off him. He rolls his shoulders, displacing them, then he seems to spot her. He raises a lazy hand in greeting at their side of the room. A flurry of whispers start.
 
That wasn't directed towards me, Osha attempts to convince herself. 
 
“Let’s get this show on the road, baby!” Ezra Bridger hollers, elbowing his way through the doorway, with two cases of Heineken clinking in his arms. He sets them down and passes bottles around, popping off the top of his own in the process. He clinks it with Sabine’s, who rolls her eyes fondly.
 
Osha leaves her bottle untouched, tucking it between her crossed legs. She’s had enough tonight and she wants to keep a clear head. Just in case, a little voice chimes in and she ignores it.
 
Cal Kestis rolls his empty bottle in the middle of the circle, and Osha’s stomach drops. Oh hell no. Anything but-
 
“Seven minutes in heaven!” 
 
The crowd whoops and claps. Friends nudge each other, secretly making bets. There’s certainly ways to rig the bottle, but Osha hopes she’ll slip under notice for tonight. She's surprised they've even been invited up here; this is the crème de la crème of Sherman Oaks: sons and daughters of politicians, CEOs, lawyers and doctors. The who’s who of the social scene. Mae is popular by sheer force of her personality; Yord’s parents are upper-middle class lawyers, Mog’s an English transplant whose parents own multiple NGOs and Jecki’s mom and dad are professors at Cal. 
 
Once the noise dies down to a manageable level, Cal explains the rules and Osha blocks it out, well aware of the mechanics of how the game works from previous (mildly mortifying) experience and fiction. Jesus, can they get anymore Euphoria tonight? All they need is someone fucking their best friend’s ex in a downstairs bathroom.
 
Osha misses the first round, only hearing a chorus of groans and boos as Cal leads resident goth hottie Merrin to the Linen Lovers closet. It’s no secret that Cal’s been pining for Merrin since he was fourteen, and he now he has a chance to make his dreams come true as a college sophomore
 
“Good for him,” Jecki says under her breath. “He's kept his reputation clean and he's currently studying Mechanical Engineering at CalTech. The crowd is only booing because they're jealous.”
 
Osha agrees with her, toying with the sweating bottle between her legs. The condensation is slicking her calves and she shifts, uncomfortable. She looks around to see if anyone else has forgone drinking like her, and locks eyes with Qimir. He's not drinking either; she supposes he wouldn't, as alcohol and weed don't exactly mix. He raises an eyebrow, pointing his head at her drink. Osha shakes her head slightly. He quirks an arrogant grin, then grabs his neighbour's empty bottle. They yelp, but the room quietens as the bottle rolls into the middle. 
 
With Cal gone, Imri steps into the role of gamemaster. “Alright, so no one can claim foul play!” He claps his hands and flourishes the bottle, then crouches down and spins it.
 
Osha's attention is riveted to the bottle as it spins, and spins, and lands…
 
On her.
 
She immediately flushes with the weight of the room's attention. She can back out now, and no one will yell foul. They're not invested in her pairing like Cal and Merrin. 
 
She would back out if it was Yord. 
 
But Qimir, she glances over at him. He's impressively blank faced, tapping his fingers on his thigh. He's patient, giving her a moment to consider; It feels like a predator waiting for its prey to consider either yielding to claws and fangs, or lead them on a merry chase.
 
Osha stands up. 
 
Yord, languid and relaxed as he always is after at least two drinks, realises what's about to happen and tries to jump up. Mae yanks him down with a hiss.
 
"Don't be a hero!" she whispers harshly. Osha will take any excuse at this point to avoid any confrontation with Yord (and his inconvenient feelings) so she follows Qimir out the door, to a chorus of hoots and whistles, and into the spacious Linen Lovers closet. 
 
There's little fairy lights hung on the wall, flashing soft and dim gold light down on them. It's oddly romantic. The door clicks shut softly behind them. It doesn’t have a lock, Osha notes.
 
They stand in awkward silence, Qimir leaning against a shelf with his arms crossed, corded muscle in his forearms standing out. He's just as casual as she is tense; he's practically a stranger and she's in his house, in his space.
 
"Hello," she starts, crunching her shorts in her hands before she catches herself, wiping her sweaty palms on the material instead. A few thumps rattle the door she's leaning on and she hears Qimir's friends jeer. She steps further away from the doorway, which unfortunately brings her closer into his space.
 
"Hi," he says back, eyes crinkling. Up close, instead of across a room, he's startlingly beautiful; his reputation as Sherman Oaks High's hottest graduate is upheld.
 
“I gave you an out,” he drawls, confident in his presumption that she’s here by choice. And he’d be right.
 
“I know,” she says simply, pulse beating in her palms.
 
He grins devilishly, a dark emotion gleaming on his face, something almost ravenous. He's blindingly handsome, with straight white teeth bared like fangs and dimples etched deeply in his cheeks. It lends him a feral air, and Osha’s sense of being prey intensifies.
 
“It's up to you,” he says magnanimously. “We can either pretend that you had the best seven minutes in heaven of your life or…”
 
He bites his lips slightly and Osha is entranced, a heavy ache starting in her stomach and spreading through her body. “We could make it real.”
 
She can't deny that she's not tempted. Qimir is clearly here for a good time, not a long time. It's not like he's going to stay in Sherman Oaks over the summer; even if he does, he'll be gone by August.
 
Osha is hot all over, sweat sliding down her spine and stomach fluttering as Qimir saunters closer. Half desire and half fear, mingling together to produce a twisted sense of anticipation.
 
His shaggy hair curls against the nape of his neck, his bangs feather over his eyes and his eyes are dark, intent on her. A half-smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and she can barely see his dimples in the gloom of the closet. His eyes gleam yellow in the soft glow of the fairy lights, reflecting on the hoops in his ears.
 
Qimir’s in her space now, filling the air with a cedary scent, something sharp and smoky. That, combined with the musk of his body, is enough to parch Osha's mouth. Her lips part, staring up the bulk of him outlined by his white shirt and ripped jeans. He's watching her watch him, well aware of his effect.
 
"So," Qimir says in a deep voice and tilts his head. "What's it going to be?"
 
“I...” Her voice trails off. She wants him, so much that it strangles her voice. 
 
Osha reaches for him instead, and he meets her halfway, rushing in like he’s been starved. His pink lips are plush and soft. They catch her mouth once, twice, wet and ruinous. His broad hands rise to her face, thumbs sliding up her jaw and over her cheekbone. Her mouth opens wider at the feel of his thumbs pressing in at her pulse, a moan vibrating between them. His tongue slips in and slides against her own. It’s like he’s trying to devour her. She feels his tongue like it’s a direct line to her cunt.
 
One of Qimir’s hands leaves her face and slides down her back slowly. She arches into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He reaches the bare skin of the lower back and she moans again, electrified. He groans into the kiss as he palms her ass over the denim shorts. 
 
Osha takes her chance to do what she’s been wanting to all evening; she grabs two fistfuls of hair at the back of his head and pulls.
 
“Fuck,” he pants into her mouth. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His pupils are blown wide, devouring the dark brown of his iris. He goes back to kissing her, both of his hands on her ass now, squeezing, then clutching the small of her back, fingers digging in right where her Venus' dimples are. Her skin is crazy sensitive, each brush of his touch trailing sparks.
 
Osha has never been so incredibly, unfathomably turned on. She's almost panting with desire, heart galloping in her chest so fast it almost hurts with its intensity. She keeps her grip on Qimir’s hair, but brushes the other one over his shoulders, down the veins of his arms as it wraps around her.
 
He’s playing with the exposed band of her underwear, slipping his fingers underneath. She gasps at the feel of his bare skin on the curve of her ass, her cunt practically throbbing with arousal. Her knees are weak, and it’s too much, too fast, so she pushes his chest. He draws away reluctantly.
 
Qimir’s mouth is wet and half open, his hair mussed. There’s a flush riding high on his cheeks. Osha doesn’t look down. He thumbs his lip, like he can savour the taste of the coconut lip gloss now smeared over her mouth. His eyes are dark and hooded, gleaming in the scant light.
 
Then he has to open his mouth and ruin it.
 
"You taste just like her, only sweeter."
 
Osha's head spins with the whiplash of emotions that overcome her at his statement; first puzzlement, then comprehension, and finally a sharp, blazing anger.
 
What the fuck is he playing at?
 
"What do you mean?" she says heatedly. But he's already gone, the door snicking shut and leaving her abruptly cold.

It's cruel to toy with her, Qimir knows, but he can't help it. She's like a little lost fawn, stumbling around, looking for a guiding hand. Or a bullet.
 
Was it terrible of him to twist the knife? Maybe, but she wouldn't be as ensnared as she is now. Twisting herself to follow after him, desperate for answers.

Chapter Text

"What do you mean?" Osha asks again, stalking behind Qimir. 
 
The hallway is long and full of drunk teenagers, stumbling and laughing and raucous. Everyone wants a piece of him but she pushes through, elbowing who she thinks is Cal Kestis in the gut. A breath whooshes out of him and she tosses an apologetic look back, before squeezing sideways into a gap between two bodies.
 
Mae tries to grab her arm but Osha shakes her off, mind too clouded with fury.
 
She follows Qimir around a corner without thinking, and as the doors shut, she realises she's in his room. He's tricked her, trapped her in his chambers. Like Bluebeard, he's lured her in and now he's going to slaughter her. The metaphorical little death.
 
Oh, this is a bad idea.
 
Osha inches towards the door but he's not keeping her here, leaning against an obscenely-sized four poster California King bed. Her attention is drawn to the stuffed pillows, the silky-looking sheets and the fluffy duvet. There's a massive mirror leaned up against the wall, adjacent to his bed, and her breath stutters when she realises what it's for.
 
Focus, Osha, she chides herself. She's here for answers.
 
Feeling like an automaton, she repeats herself again. This time, Qimir bothers to answer.
 
"I meant what I said." He crosses his legs. It emphasises the muscle in his thighs, bare skin of his legs peeking out through the rips in the fabric. He's taken off his shoes; he’s barefoot, feet sculpted beautifully. He tilts his head, scanning her.
 
“Mae.” Qimir says her twin’s name with relish, a bit of schadenfreude. "You really do look like her," he marvels. "Right down to the dimples on your back." 
 
Her brain makes the terrible leap, her suspicions confirmed. Yet, her mind won't compute, refuses to let her process and internalise it just yet. 
 
"Mae's a lesbian," Osha says stridently. "She likes girls."
 
"Everyone wants to try me at least once," Qimir says with a casual air, but his eyes are sparkling. "I mean," he gestures down his body, biceps flexing and veins standing out, "can you blame her?"
 
He drops his arm, prowling closer to her. His bangs fall over his eyes, casting them in shadows. 

"After all," he continues softly, "isn't that why you followed me here? One taste wasn't enough?"
 
Osha wants to slap him silly, but his words strike a chord in her, the part of herself that's still achingly wet and throbbing. Anger hasn't banked her desire, only serving to fan it higher. And below it, a shameful undercurrent of jealousy; isn't it enough that Mae has everything first? She just has to take this too?
 
"Mae has a girlfriend," Osha says weakly, hands curling into claws as she fights the urge to tuck his hair to the side, trace the beauty marks on his face. She won't touch him, she won't. 
 
"Jecki's my friend." And has been, way back before she was ever Mae's girlfriend. Osha owes her for guiding her through the haze of dispassion that had settled over her after Mama died.
 
"She said they were on a break," Qimir shrugs, wide shoulders lifting up and down.
 
Lies, she wants to hiss, at Qimir or perhaps Mae herself. How can she trust that he's telling the truth? Osha would know if Jecki and Mae had broken up, nearly three months ago. Wouldn't she?
 
She can't say for sure, because she'd still been mired in grief then. If Qimir had come across her, not Mae, perhaps she would have done the same thing...
 
"I didn't fuck her, if that's what you're asking." he says, seeing where her thoughts are heading. He leaves the sentencing hanging, letting her imagination fill in the rest.
 
What does fucking mean to a guy like this? Osha thinks.
 
Out loud, she asks, "Then what did you do?" Osha tightens her arms across her chest.
 
Qimir's gaze strays down and lingers, unashamed. She fights the urge to cover her breasts with her hands, certain it'll just give him more ammo. She did choose to wear this tube top, after all, and her midriff is exposed for casual viewing. 
 
"I just gave her the best head of her life." He bites his lip, the very picture of a college fuckboy. Osha's skin prickles with heat then cools, a mingled rush of rage-lust rushing to her head. 
 
"Think you're that good, do you?" Osha elects to say, instead of yelling at him to stop looking at her like that. Like he's undressing her with his eyes, already mapping out the places he's going to kiss and suck.
 
Her hips still burn from where he'd grabbed her earlier, fitting perfectly into his broad hands. They'd traced patterns while they kissed, calluses rough against the soft skin of her back.
 
He tilts his head again, like it’s his signature move. Only arrogant bastards have signature moves, but Osha can’t deny it’s effective. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"
 
And it shouldn't turn her on even more, that he's still trying to shoot his shot while she's raging at him.
 
Most boys think they're God's gift to women but really, they're mediocre. She doesn't know if Qimir is the same, whether he overestimates his prowess or if he’s as skilful as they say.
 
"Why? So you can add the other twin to your collection?" she says scornfully, shifting her feet; they're starting to ache in her platform heels.
 
"I don't collect anyone.”
 
"You can't fool me with your charm." Osha shuts her mouth. Shit, she’s given away too much.
 
He steps closer again, rolling his shoulders. They're tantalisingly broad in his white tee and she wants to map them out, feel them under her hands again. "You think I’m charming?" he asks jauntily.
 
"I think you'll say whatever to get what you want. I'm not my sister." She finds herself taking two steps closer to him, unable to help it.
 
"No," he says, husky. His gaze is a caress, she feels it at her throat. "You're definitely not."
 
Qimir draws near, like he's sucked into her orbit. His hands find their way to her hips again and she hisses at the heat, the way he grips so tightly it's almost painful. 
 
“What do you want, Osha?” he rasps, the words rumbling through her. 
                                                       
Why should she want him? After all, he's already sampled her sister.
 
But he didn't fuck her, the devil on her shoulder says. You could; you know he'd make it good. 
 
Osha shuts her eyes against the shiver of want that courses through her, from the tops of the braids to her toes, flexing in her heels. 
 
Like before, he's offering her a choice. And also like before, she's sorely tempted. He's a hurricane blowing into her life, upending everything she once thought was true. Challenging her assumptions, opening her up to desires she shouldn’t feel. Not in the least because he’s three years older than her—
 
Qimir’s hands move up, scrambling her thoughts. He ghosts them over her ribs, glancing her breasts, sliding his hands until they’re cupped around the back of her head. The same position he kissed her in before. His eyes gleam as he peers down at her. Osha’s heart pounds, words jammed at the back of her throat, stomach twisting.
 
“You stayed here to do something,” he says evenly. “Do it.”
 
Do what? Slap you, spit in your face?
 
Fuck you?
 
“Kiss me,” she demands, jerking her chin to face Qimir head on. 
 
He yanks Osha forward and kisses her wetly, licking into her mouth. It's electric, her whole body abuzz and little noises fall out of the back of her throat, soft moans that stoke the fire burning in her chest.
 
Then they're moving and she's stumbling as he half-carries half-drags her to the bed. Her world spins and they're landing on the mattress, plush under her bare knees. The sheets smell like lavender; clearly no ordinary fratboy’s bedroom. 
 
He probably has a housekeeper to keep his room neat, she thinks resentfully, but Qimir’s back to kissing her and the thought dissipates as his hands roam all over. 

Osha's desperate to climb on top of him, climb onto him. His hands are all over her ass again, his favourite place, teasing the sensitive skin at the crease of her thigh where her shorts ride up. 
 
The tube top is easy to remove, shucked down her chest by rough hands and catching on her waist. She's not wearing a bra, so she's exposed to Qimir’s hungry eyes and he feasts. 
 
Qimir lays open-mouthed kisses on her breasts, swirling the nipple with his tongue and teasing the other with his fingers. He switches between them until she's writhing and squirming, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He disengages, ducking under her hands and pulling his shirt off. 

He doesn't afford her any time to admire him; his hot skin slides against hers, his bare chest rubbing against Osha's nipples with delicious friction.
 
Her shorts are still in place and so are Qimir's jeans. They've been grinding against each other for a good ten minutes now, unable to move on to the next stage because Osha can't keep her hands off him. His scent is enticing, musk from his skin and smoke and cedar. She breathes him in, mouth open and panting like an animal.
 
“How do you want it?” he asks, stroking down the curve of Osha’s back. 
 
“Want what?” she breathes, thumbing Qimir’s left nipple with her nail. His breath stutters and he traps her hand against his chest with his own. His fingers are broad and callused, covering hers easily. 
 
“My fingers,” Qimir says boldly, and Osha flushes. 
 
“Who says I want that?” She tosses her head, single braids sliding over her chest. Her other braids are half-pulled out of their buns. She gasps at the sudden pressure on her crotch, Qimir’s fingers circling over the denim for a moment. 
 
“This does,” he says, probably feeling the soaked state of her underwear even through the fabric of the shorts. Osha shifts at the evidence of her need, eyeing the thickness of his fingers. 
 
“I-” she says, then falters, nodding instead. Her cheeks feel hot, her heart beating a fast tempo that she feels pounding all through her body. She's hyperaware of the slide on fabric on her skin, the heat and strength of his body, the softness of the sheets under her legs. 
 
“Use your words, Osha,” he says commandingly, and yet it doesn't feel patronising. He's been transparent about her voicing her desires, so she obliges him. 
 
“Please use your fingers,” she says sweetly, words souring on her tongue even as she says them. 

It feels too much like defeat, but Qimir doesn’t let her linger on that too long as he unbuttons her shorts and shoves them down her legs. She kicks them off the side of the bed, and all she’s left in are her black high-waisted briefs.
 
“Look at you,” he murmurs, smoothing a possessive hand over her stomach, then dipping down. “So wet for me.” 
 
Qimir doesn't bother to take her underwear off at first, content to tease her with soft touches that barely satisfy the ache in her cunt. It's only when she's so aroused that she's leaking onto her inner thighs, that he decides to move them one step further. 

He cups her ass under the fabric and slides them down to her knees. Osha lifts one leg, then another and they fall down until they're hanging off her feet. With one little flourish, they're gone.
 
Now fully exposed before him, she hesitates. He's still half-dressed and he's eyeing her like he wants to push her down by the back of her neck and fuck her silly. Her cunt clenches at the thought of him just taking her.
 
“Come here,” Qimir whispers, hungry look still in his eyes. Osha shuffles closer and he guides her hand down to the zipper of his jeans. She lets it hover there for a moment, just to make him sweat, before her other hand joins it and pulls down. Qimir exhales a sigh, pressure relieved on his dick.
 
Osha makes out the mass tucked away in his trunks and she almost chokes. Holy fuck, he's hung. It must slap his thigh when he walks. 
 
Wanting to slap herself for thinking something so depraved (you've literally got your hand on his dick, her mind reminds her), she traces a finger down the bulge. It jumps and she almost flinches back.
 
“Never touched a dick before?” Qimir smirks up at her. He's goading her, she knows he is, but it still works. She takes him up on the challenge and pulls his trunks down, he assists by lifting his hips and rolling down his jeans. It's a group effort, and by the end of it all he's just as naked as her. 
 
And oh, is it glorious. Muscles ripple in his abdomen and thighs, smooth golden skin lightly furred with hair and generously dotted with moles. 

His cock is completely erect and leaking at the head. Osha leans down to take the head into her mouth, almost transfixed, but he tuts and stops her by the hair, grabbing on her buns.
 
“No, no, no,” he teases her. “My turn.”
 
Qimir manhandles her, spinning her around until she's sitting on his lap, legs akimbo. His cock is flush against her back, the hard heat of his body behind her. 
 
The mirror is in front of them, and the sight of her smaller body caged in front of his makes her head spin. They make for a beautiful contrast; her darker skin and platinum hair against his gold skin and dark hair. 
 
She’s split open like a peach, thighs splayed out and vulnerable to Qimir's wandering hands. He snakes his hand down to her cunt, pressing on her clit. 
 
Osha jumps, a shock of pleasure zapping through her, and almost closes her legs around his hand. 

“None of that,” Qimir breathes, looping his arm around her thigh and holding her wide open and exposed.  
 
That light pressure is nothing compared to how it feels when Qimir slides a single finger inside her for the first time. Osha watches it sink in smoothly right up to the second knuckle, sliding into her cunt like honey. Her cunt clenches against the sensation.
 
He rubs against her walls, curving in then undulating out. He's bigger than her own fingers and she squirms, held in place. The size of his hand encompasses her whole pussy.
 
“Can you see yourself?” he breathes into her ear, heated. “You take me so well.”
 
It's not long before Qimir adds a second and the stretch of that, combined with the pads of his fingers pressing against something inside of her cunt, turns her into liquid. 

Osha sinks back into his body, head lolling on his shoulder and gasping. She's talking though she shouldn’t be, losing all sensibility. 

She hardly registers the words coming out of her mouth, spilling like oil, wet and slick. Things like, ‘harder, please, and ‘fuck me, use me,’ and begging for a third finger.
 
She knows that if she did, she'd self-immolate from embarrassment. But like this, she's shed all her inhibitions and natural reticence. She's dripping everywhere by now, and soon it's all over his hands, pooling in his palm as he thrusts. 
 
“I like seeing you like this,” Qimir breathes against her neck, nosing her pulse, tracing his way up and sucking on her ear. Osha whimpers, helpless. “So quiet, none of that fire from before.”
 
He continues talking, so calm, like she's not naked and writhing on his lap. “What is it they say? Don’t bite the hand that fucks you, or something like that.” 

Qimir laughs, his chest rumbling behind her. His hand is stroking slow and languid, it's on this side of tortuous; simultaneously too much and not enough. And he's doing it on purpose.
 
Overcome by frustration, Osha pulls his hair in a fit of lust-fuelled impatience. He hisses, cock jumping against her back. 
 
“Stop fucking around. Do or do not; there is no try.”
 
“As you wish,” he breathes, before crooking his fingers and fucking the living daylights out of her. Osha moans, throwing her head back, overwhelmed by the pace he’s set.
 
“This is what you wanted,” Qimir grunts, digging his fingers into her thighs to still her as she bucks, a wild thing. 

Her body is moving without conscious thought, without permission. Her own hold on his hair is probably painful for Qimir, but she’s past caring.
 
“Now be a good girl,” he whispers harshly. Her chest flares, whether in outrage or desperate desire, as he thumbs her clit roughly. “And come.”
 
It’s wrenched out of her, a wail escaping her as she floods over his hand, wet and filthy. Euphoria courses through her, tingling from the tips of her toes to her head. She’s a limp doll held up only by Qimir’s arms, but he’s unrelenting. 
 
He keeps fucking her with his fingers, trying to bring her back up that high again. 

The squelching sounds are obscene, and his wrist must be aching something fierce but he keeps on. His forearms flex and he grinds his palm on her clit, anchoring his palm on her mound as he thrusts faster and curls up, as if he’s trying to coax a wave. 

Osha feels it building again, at the base of her spine, and just as Qimir sinks his teeth into her shoulder from behind, she comes again.
 
“Fuck,” she pants. “No more, please.”
 
Qimir hums, “Since you asked so nicely.”

He withdraws his fingers and wipes them on the side of her thigh. Osha makes a face, but doesn’t have time to reprimand him because he’s whipping her around and sinking her down on his bed. Back to the mattress, he towers over her. 

She’s languid from two orgasms but she stiffens when he comes closer. She can’t help the wariness she still feels.
 
“Easy,” Qimir drawls. “So tense even after I’ve done my best to please you.” 

He tsks and smooths a hand over her hip, then shoves her thighs apart and settles between them. 
 
His cock is flushed red and throbbing, painful-looking. She’s surprised he’s lasted this long without rutting into her like an animal. Aren’t fratboys meant to be inconsiderate?
 
Qimir pumps his dick once to relieve the pressure, gazing down at her with half-lidded eyes as he moans. Osha bites her lip and she takes in her fill of his body, rugged and glistening with sweat.
 
He lets his hand fall away reluctantly and reaches over her, caging her in with his body as he aims for the bedside table. Osha rolls her eyes; of course it’s stocked with condoms. 
 
“Ribbed for her pleasure?” Qimir asks cheekily. 

Osha responds by nudging his ass with her knee. He laughs huskily, drawing back and ripping the foil. He rolls the clear condom over his cock and Osha’s mouth waters, even as she wonders how he’ll fit,
 
He catches her eyeing him and slants a cocky grin. “Don’t worry,” he practically coos. “I’ll take it easy on you.”
 
“I’m not a virgin,” she snaps, half rising onto her elbows.
 
“Good thing you’re not,” he says casually. “I don’t fuck virgins.”
 
Oh. Was that why he and Mae hadn’t-
 
“Thinking of your twin again? You’re one sick puppy.” Qimir huffs a laugh.
 
Osha hooks her legs around his waist and yanks him down. 

“Shut up,” she hisses, and kisses him. She feels his cock nudge against her clit, slide through her folds and catch at her entrance. He pushes in, aided by her wetness, but the first breach draws the breath out of her and she's arching back, seizing up. 
 
Qimir circles her clit and leans down to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. 

“Relax,” he coaxes, the slow pleasure helping her loosen up. He switches over to the other side, this time punctuating the suck with a light bite. Osha's cunt flutters and he slides right in, punching a moan from both of them. 
 
Osha pants, the heavy pressure of his cock inside her already drawing sparks of pleasure through her pelvis. 

Qimir moves, pulling out, and her cunt grips him so tight he hisses. “Fuck, loosen up. I’m not going to last.” 
 
He thumbs her clit again and that, along with him pushing back in, has her legs drawing up and out. Osha can’t help the way her thighs fall open for him, the way she threads her arms around his neck and pulls his sweaty body down on top of her. 
 
He’s not nice and he’s not gentle, but god does he know how to fuck. 

Osha’s babbling nonsense into his ear, urging him to go faster, harder, fuck me fuck me fuck me. She's clawing at his shoulders, down his back, digging in with her nails as if she can anchor him in her cunt forever.
 
Qimir’s just as unmoored, whispering filthy things in her ear and calling her ‘baby’. The first time he does it she spasms a little, a tremor wracking through her body, feeling a flood of wetness seep out of her at the pet name. 
 
He’s perhaps rougher than he should be, hammering into her, but he’s hitting her G-spot and she doesn’t have the presence of mind to worry about how sore she’s going to be tomorrow. 

To say nothing of the hickeys he’s leaving on her neck and throat, the starbursts of pleasure that spark when he sets his teeth on her shoulder. 
 
Osha's hips arch up to meet him, and he blindly reaches up and to the side for a pillow. Lifting her up with one arm, still sheathed in her, he slides the pillow under her ass.
 
The instant change in angle has stars shooting in her vision. Her skin flushes all over and she tenses, breath catching in her throat. She's so close, so, so close.
 
“There you are,” Qimir says tenderly, drawing back, still pistoning his hips. He has one hand braced, lifting her knee from below and the other he places over her lower stomach. He thrusts deeper, grinding in, and the friction sets her off. The flickers of pleasure converge into a flame flashing all through her body. 
 
Osha moans, high-pitched and drawn out. She throws caution to the wind, not giving a fuck about her volume or how anybody outside the room could be listening in and hear her getting pounded. 

It truly does feel her mind is melting out of her ears, and she’s pliant as she lets Qimir manipulate her body any way he wants. 
 
He folds her in half with both legs over one shoulder and thrusts with no finesse, intent on chasing his pleasure. The position puts pressure on her clit, and it’s like a continuation of her orgasm from earlier, only deeper and more strung out. 

It's all a blur of pleasure, and when Qimir himself comes, he lets her know with a long, loud groan. He palms her breasts as he jerks his hips, cock twitching in her. 
 
He stays in her for a moment, giving her a chance to calm her racing heart, before he pulls out. Osha sobs a little as he does, still clenching down and it feels like a loss.

Qimir murmurs and lays down next to her, half covering her with his body as he yanks off the condom and ties it, throwing it on the floor. 
 
Gross, she thinks absently, but the sentiment floats away in the wind when Qimir starts kissing her neck lightly, ghosting his lips over her hair.
 
Is he… is he a clingy lover? Osha blinks slowly, mind sluggish. Again, what the fuck?
 
“What are you doing?” she says out loud, because the thought does not compute. 
 
“Appreciate it,” he rumbles, still tracing his hand over her body. “Not everyone gets this.”
 
That's it, she's getting up. She wiggles out from under him and rolls off the bed, hitting the carpet with a thump. She lays there for a brief moment; can she walk? 

The answer is yes, if a bit gingerly. She almost trips several times, her legs still feeling like jelly. Shit, he hadn’t gone easy on her. 
 
Qimir watches her, languid, head propped up a muscled arm and flaccid cock resting on his thigh. He has no shame at all, she thinks jealously. 
 
Who wouldn't, with a body like that? He smirks as he eyes her, almost patting himself on the back in congratulations.
 
Naked as the day that she was born, Osha rifles for her clothes and freezes when she hears loud footsteps and cheering in front of the room. The celebration in the theatre room has spilled over into the upstairs hallway; it's like the entire party is now focused on the second floor.
 
What's she going to do? It's not like she can walk out of Qimir's room now, with about a dozen people crowding the hallways outside. 

Now that they're no longer in their own little world, Osha hears the sounds of the party around them filter back to her.
 
The loud bass and subwoofers might have muffled the sounds of their fucking, but it can’t hide the walk of shame. Osha bites her lip, considering, then turns back to Qimir.
 
Hell, she might as well get a night in a nice bed out of it. She never normally sleeps naked so she hunts on the impeccably neat floor for a shirt. Not seeing any beside the one Qimir discarded earlier, she puts it on. It falls past her thighs.
 
“Come here,” Qimir's low voice beckons. Osha spins around, thinking might have dozed off. He’s half propped-up against the headboard now, hair mussed and chest bare. 
 
She goes to him, crawling up and over the bed gingerly. Her buns are all loose by now, braids falling everywhere. 

When Osha gets close enough, he clenches a hand in them and yanks her head down. Qimir kisses her slowly this time, languidly, but not without heat. 
 
“You're so sweet,” he says, purrs it, really. 

He must have an obsession with her ass because he's palming it over his shirt, then rucking it up and squeezing the fleshy globes. The way he's massaging it is doing it for her, a slow and steady climb back into arousal.
 
“Fuck, you're needy,” Osha says, tone aiming for derisive but coming out breathy. Is he a sex addict? He's gone one round and he's already hard against her hip, practically humping her.
 
“Let me taste you,” Qimir urges, and she freezes. Taste her.., How?
 
He draws back, face suddenly amused.

“Oh baby,” he says, sliding a hand over her collarbone. It’s broad and reaches up to her neck, fingers ringing her throat. He presses in, lightly. “Has no one ever eaten you out before?” 
 
Osha's knees tremble, and he uses that moment of weakness to knock her flat on her back. He shoves the shirt up over her breasts and his mouth is once again all over them, licking and biting.
 
He's insatiable, she thinks deliriously, clenching her eyes shut and stifling her moans. Attempting to, really, because he coaxes them out of her like it's nothing. Like she's easy, his plaything, putty in the palm of his hands.
 
Qimir kisses down her ribs, her stomach, his hair flopping over his forehead and tickling over her body. He reaches her cunt and teases the swollen lips with his mouth, a light touch that has her gasping. “Are you sore?” 
 
She is. Osha nods, bleating, “Yes,” but he still rubs her clit and strokes through her folds.
 
“Let’s kiss it better.” He blows on her cunt and she arches up, the warm breath on her hot and oversensitised skin almost painful.
 
Qimir eats pussy like he’s born to do it. That's all the judgement Osha can pass before he scrambles her brain entirely. Her thighs are forced open by the breadth of his shoulders, pinned down by the havoc he’s wreaking on her body. It's all a little too much for her, and he knows it, but he doesn't care. 
 
Osha shouldn't find that as hot as she does, sobbing and grasping at his hair tightly, clawing at the pillows and sheets as she tenses, falling apart around his tongue. 

Qimir hums as he drinks her down, nose nudging her clit as he spreads open her cunt and laps at her slick. 
 
“Delicious.” His voice is reverent. 

When she looks down at him, straining her neck to do so, his face is blissed out. He’s jerking his cock in quick strokes, staring at her glistening cunt. He comes all over her stomach, messily and with no finesse.
 
If there’s one good thing about Qimir, she hazily thinks, it’s that he’s not a selfish lover. She’s tired as hell now, body aching and her eyes close every two seconds against her will.
 
“It’d be cruel to throw you out now,” Qimir says in the distance. 

Osha hums her agreement, breaths slowing, body sinking into the duvet. He draws it out from under her, carefully, and covers her in downy softness. The bed rustles, shifts, and he’s next to her. 
 
“Sleep tight,” he says, and she must hallucinating his voice because since when does he sound soft?
 
Between one blink and the next, she slides into darkness.

She sleeps deeply, and dreamlessly. Probably the best sleep she's had in months, plagued as she usually is by nightmares. Mostly of her mother, or the car and the ensuing fire. 
 
When she wakes, it's a bright white ceiling with a wrought iron chandelier. 
 
What…? she thinks, then remembers. 
 
She didn't mean to spend the night, only intending to rest her eyes and sneak out of the room later. But the bed was so soft, and truly so comfortable. It doesn't bear beating herself up about it now. What's done is done.
 
Osha stretches widely like a starfish, body feeling sore but at the same time absolutely fantastic. Her feet nudge another body, and she almost leaps out of bed in fright. 
 
It's just Qimir, who clearly was not going to spend the night on a couch in his room. Moot point anyways, since they fucked; no virtue left to safeguard when he'd been the one to thoroughly debauch her.
 
The bed is big enough that he’s not up in her business. But she still rolls closer for a moment to study him. 

His face is slack in sleep, almost gentle. His mouth is half open and his hair is falling everywhere, smashed into the pillow. He sleeps on his stomach, endearingly childlike, with a pillow clutched to his body. His chest rises and falls steadily, assuredly in deep sleep. 
 
Osha takes a moment to savour the ridiculous thread count of the sheets, the plush yet firm mattress, the down-filled pillows and fluffy duvet. She’s probably not going to get another chance to spend a night in a bed this luxurious.
 
She sighs, rubbing her face in the pillow before flinging the sheets off. In the light of day, Qimir’s room is massive and tastefully decorated. Light grey walls, delicate crown molding, carved mahogany furniture and sheer curtains framing expansive bay windows with a stunning view out over the pool, and in the distance, the mountains. 

The sun is also great at illuminating the floor, so she can track down her clothes and get dressed before Qimir wakes up. 
 
Osha finds her tube top, but can’t locate her denim shorts. Maybe she can rifle through Qimir’s closet for bottoms? The shorts might be under the bed… 
 
She finds them and cheers quietly. She wiggles into them there on the floor, but pauses just she buttons them up; it’s going to be rough without any underwear and she’s not used to going commando. Her briefs should have landed somewhere around here as well.
 
“Going somewhere?” 
 
Osha sighs slowly, straightening up from her crouch. It had been stupid to think she could get away without facing Qimir again. She braces herself and faces him head on, knocked away yet again by his casual, inelegant beauty.
 
“I'm going home,” she says steadily, despite her racing heart. Why is her heart still pounding? They've fucked out the tension so it should be gone, right?
 
It seems like Qimir won't let her go that easily. 
 
“With what car?” he asks huskily, raising an eyebrow as he folds his arms behind his head.

Osha hates the way her eyes hungrily trace the bulge of his biceps, the sparse hair under his arms and the shift of his pectorals. She’s caught and trapped there by a magnetic force. 
 
“i'll manage.” Feeling awkward in her clothes from the night before, she shuffles her feet. She feels an ache in her cunt, a tinge of tenderness, and winces.
 
He tuts at her, causing her to flush at his chiding. What is she, a child to be reprimanded so easily? 

“No, you won't. I'm not letting you take an Uber like that. I'm a gentleman.”
 
Osha scoffs so loud she almost chokes with the force of it, she can't help it. “You, a gentleman?”
 
Qimir rolls out of bed in slow motion, taking his time and stretching his body, practically preening for her. “Yeah, hard for you to believe, right? Come on, i'll drop you off,” he coaxes.
 
“No, I-”
 
“Let me do this for you.” His eyes are serious for once, devoid of their teasing light.
 
She acquiesces. “Okay,” she nods, feeling the encroaching awkwardness already. “Okay.”
 
Somehow he also convinces her to change her clothes, because it's never acceptable to wear last night's party clothes the next day, and does she want her mom knowing that she’s doing the walk of shame? He gives her another of his loose shirts that fall to her thighs and a pair of grey Nike gym shorts that are meant to be loose, but hug her curves tightly.
 
They exit his room to an utter fucking mess, to put it lightly. Osha’s neck hurts as she swivels it back around, up and down the hall, astounded at the destruction last night’s party has wrought. 

She peers into the rooms as they pass, seeing people passed out in states of undress and contorted positions on the floor, the bed, the bathtub.

She spies Sabine, Shin and Ezra curled up on a couch in the theatre room, fully clothed with a bottle of Smirnoff jammed in Sabine's arms. Bongs and burned up joints litter the low coffee table, groups of bodies snoozing on the floor.
 
“Is it…” Osha turns to Qimir, eyes wide. “Is it always like this? Your parties, I mean.”
 
He lifts a shoulder as they descend the wooden staircase, the floor to ceiling windows strobing sunlight over his face. His hair sticks to his forehead and fluffs up at the back. She resists the urge to smooth it down and focuses on not falling to her death in between the wide slats of the steps.
 
“Not always, last night was pretty special.” He slants a look over at her, and she almost rolls her eyes at him. That's not really an answer.
 
Downstairs is equally as chaotic: the tiled floor of the hallway is sticky, littered with dropped solo cups; the kitchen is overrun with empty bottles, snacks strewn across the benchtop and floor. Qimir navigates it all effortlessly, stepping around debris as Osha hisses and cringes back.
 
He opens the fridge carelessly, bottles clinking, and roots around for something to eat. Osha stands in the kitchen uselessly, clothes clutched to her chest. 

“Um,” she says. “Is this going to get cleaned? Like, should I get started, or?”
 
“Don't worry,” he says, placing a tub of yoghurt and a cling wrapped plate of prepped fruit on the counter. “The cleaners are coming soon, at ten. They'll turf the leftover guests out as well, they know the drill.” 
 
Qimir takes out two generously sized bowls and a container of granola. “Be my guest,” he waves his hand at the options, inviting her to feed herself.
 
Osha's stomach grumbles, giving her away. Well, no use in resisting.
 
They take a seat at the breakfast nook built into the window, washed with natural light. They sit side by side and dig into their granola bowls, Osha's liberally topped with strawberries and blueberries, with a drizzle of honey. It's a clean, healthy breakfast after the crap she put in her body last night. 
 
It's peaceful. Osha didn't think she could exist alongside him in some capacity without wanting to strangle him, but here they are. 

He has to ruin it of course, as he is wont to do. 

Osha finishes with her yoghurt, pushing aside her fruit to enjoy last and idly sucking on the spoon. She's twisted around and enjoying the beautiful view outside, watching beer cans whimsically bobbing in the shining pool waters below, when she senses the heat of Qimir's regard on the side of her face.

“What?” she asks him, just to be contrary; she's not doing anything but eating her food. Is that a crime? Is she taking too long and they're going to have cleaners bursting in on them and reprimanding them for making such a grand mess?

He shakes his head, a wry little smile pulling the corners of his mouth. She'd call it fond, if she didn't know better. 

“You've got a little,” he gestures at his mouth, the top left corner of his lip. Osha roots around blindly with her fingers, unable to see her reflection in the bright day.

“Here,” he says lowly, swiping a thumb at the spot. It comes away with a smear of yoghurt. He sucks his thumb into his mouth, holding her rapt with his direct gaze. She feels heat bleed into her cheeks, her lips parting at the way his pink mouth stretches, his cheeks hollow.

He removes his thumb with a pop, resuming his meal. It's like nothing ever happened. She tries to act normal as well; operative word being try. She can't seem to wrest her heart rate back to its normal rhythm. 

After that, they stow their dishes in the overflowing dishwasher and return the condiments to the fridge. Osha sweeps one last glance back at the kitchen as they leave, sun drenched and warm.
 
Qimir leads her down to the underground garage (of course they have an underground garage, rich fucks). He owns a black Dodge Charger and a matching matte black Jeep Wrangler with chrome details, which he points out adoringly. She's not afraid to roll her eyes at him and his ostentatious display of wealth. 
 
“We get it,” she says disparagingly at his back as he roots for the keys. “You drive nice cars.”
 
Osha spots an Audi R5 and is entranced herself, coming to a stop next to the car. It's dove grey and absolutely beautiful, soft curves and shiny glass.
 
“Mom's car,” Qimir says from behind her. She turns to look at him and he jangles the keys, raising an eyebrow. “Coming?”
 
“You wish,” Osha says under her breath, and follows him. 
 
She ignores his chuckle as he unlocks the Charger with a beep, sliding into the smooth leather seats. The leather sticks lightly to her thighs, exposed by the shorts. The car turns on with a purr, and he slides his hands over the steering wheel. 
 
“What's your address?” he asks her. She whips around to face him as he fiddles with maps on his phone. 
 
“As if you don't know,” she says, faintly accusing. 
 
He's calm. “I don't, actually. We didn't exactly exchange niceties, and your sister left like a ghost.” 
 
Osha nods slowly. So he doesn't know where they live and probably hasn't been spying on them. Right. (She tucks the flare of jealousy away again. He fucked her.) “It's not too far from here.”
 
She tells him and he starts the route, gunning the engine before pulling out with a screech.
 
Osha's heart hammers. She hasn’t really been in a car since… since. It's different with Jecki driving, who goes five below the limit no matter how much the assholes on the freeway beep at her. 
 
Her hands shake, and she clasps them in her lap, before looking at Qimir. He glances at her with his lips pursed, a slight furrow in his brows until it smoothes out in comprehension. He drives a little less like a maniac, touching one hand to the rosary on his dashboard.
 
It's early Sunday morning, around nine, so most people are either asleep or still getting ready for church. It's a whole spectacle in Sherman Oaks, and Osha's glad to have left before traffic really gets going. The Valley is more spread out than LA city proper, but it still has its moments of utter chaos.
 
Osha fidgets in the silence, only broken by the soft sounds of R&B coming from the car's speakers. The music is smooth and sensual, the singer crooning about driving with the windows down, impatient to see his lover. It's a surprising choice for a fratboy, as Osha had expected something more along the lines of music from last night; some Lamar, Travis Scott or Offset. Maybe even some Megan Thee Stallion.
 
“Your birthday's next week, isn't it?”
 
Qimir never fails to surprise her with his insane knowledge of her life. “How- I'm not going to ask.”
 
“Calm down, your little friend was talking about it.” 
 
What little friend? Osha furrows her brow. Does he mean-
 
“Yord?” Osha laughs disbelievingly. “He's taller than you.”
 
Qimir’s jaw clenches; right on the mark. Osha grins. As much as he pisses her off, she knows how to get to him too. “Aw,” she coos. “Are you jealous?”
 
“What's there to be jealous of?” He grinds out. “Don't tell me you and boy wonder are going steady.”
 
‘Boy wonder’, Osha mouths that silently. That's a new one. 

“What's it to you?” She asks, not snidely, but she's genuinely curious what Qimir's angle is here.
 
And he's still staring at her. 

“Keep your eyes on the road!” She flails her hand at the windscreen, where they're about to reach an intersection. The car slows, rolls to a smooth stop in front of a red light. 
 
“I just think,” Qimir says, reaching a hand out and placing it on her thigh. He squeezes and it shoots straight to her cunt, “if you do have something going on with him, then you need to let him know.”
 
Osha’s mouth is dry. “Know what?”
 
“Who’s been fucking his girl right.” 
 
Osha jerks her thigh out of his grip and he chuckles deeply, accelerating the car. The light has changed to green while she hasn't been paying attention to the road. 

She puts her fingers up. “One, I'm not his girl and I don't intend to be. And two, cut it out with this alpha male fratboy bullshit.”
 
He quirks a brow. “But I am a-“
 
“If you finish that sentence, I'm going to fling myself out of this car.”
 
He subsides into humoured silence.
 
Osha realises that his distraction tactic is working, as she's no longer petrified to be in a car with him. She doesnt know whether he's doing it on purpose or if it's just coincidental, but she softens towards him just a little. And that's a mistake.

He pulls up in front of her home, killing the engine. It's a modest two-storey house, with a small porch out front and a massive bunta tree at the back, planted from seedlings her Mama had brought from her home country. It's tiny in comparison to Qimir's gargantuan mansion, but he doesn't say anything, just stares at her.
 
Is he waiting for her to say something? Maybe she should cut the awkwardness and just leave. She undoes her seat belt, turning to pull the door handle, when she's stopped by Qimir's light touch on her arm.
 
“Give me your number.” Her head pivots around to stare at him, nonplussed. What-
 
“We don't, I don't,” she raises her hands over her chest. “That's not necessary,” she finally says firmly.
 
“Don't you want help with college apps?” Qimir’s tone is neutral, no goading to be found.

Osha is struck still, her mind ticking over the implications of that statement. 

“I've got friends at the admissions department at Cal.” He shrugs, so breezy and casual. “At other colleges, too.”
 
Of course you do, she thinks resentfully. Moneyed, brilliant and connected Qimir. 
 
“I could help you,” he says huskily. “No strings attached.” His eyes linger on her mouth. 
 
Osha wets her lips nervously, uncertain. It seems dishonest to take him up on his offer, but she does truly need all the help she can get.
 
Osha doesn't have the words to refuse him, so she nods meekly. She unlocks her phone, and he takes it, putting in his number and texting himself.
 
“There,” he says, tone suddenly businesslike and professional. “Let me know when you need me.”
 
“Okay,” she says faintly. If she were in any doubt of Qimir’s continued ardor, he lays them to rest when he reaches over to grasp her hand, and kisses the back of it. Slow and lingering, he maintains eye contact. 
 
Osha's cheeks flare and her eyes widen. She fights the urge to snatch it back, as it would be as good as capitulating. He lets go of it reluctantly, and she tucks her phone into the bundle of clothes from last night and exits the car.
 
She doesn't look back. Really, she doesn't.

Osha fascinates him.

It was true that he'd initially approached her to try to see if he could collect her, the way her twin had offered herself up to him. But she's surprised him.
 
Qimir recognises a similar aching grief in her, a loneliness. Though she has her sister and he has no siblings, she's set herself apart. Maybe even blames herself for her mother's death. 

He's heard the whispers from his underclassmen at the high school, who still keep him updated with interesting gossip. It might seem beneath him, but once a king, always a king.
 
Once is not enough; he wants more of Osha. He wants to crack open her ribs and crawl inside her chest, root around until he finds the beating, bloody heart of her. He wants her pulsing in his hands, helpless. 
 
He recognises the impulse as unhealthy, examines it clinically the way his therapist his mother pays an exorbitant amount of money for assesses him.
 
They can't grasp the corners of him, though, or illuminate his imperfections. He guides them through the warrens of his mind with an iron grip, only letting them see what they want to. It's a talent he's always had, knowing where to press or pull or manoeuvre. Is it any wonder that the only person he can't manipulate is his own mother?
 
But he's not really her son, though, is he? Adopted at three, no memories of his birth family in the Philippines, brought here to be raised as Vernestra's pet experiment, her attempt to prove to herself that she has a shred of maternal instinct
 
She doesn't.
 
And perhaps that's the root of all his issues: his fucked up mommy complex and his lack of a father figure. 
 
Endless ways he could explain himself, drum up sympathy and twist those emotions around his fingers, but he knows the truth: he was born sick. 
 
Maybe Osha could fix him, draw out the tender parts of him and make him a better man.
 
Or he could make her a monster.
 
Your move, he thinks, watching her unlock the front door and slip inside, a ghost. I'm looking forward to see how you play this game.