The smell of smoke and curiosity

~Blame game~

When we arrived at his home he still hadn't spoken a word, just holding me tightly all the way home and placing me down on his sofa without a second glance at me he left the room and proceeded to the bathroom. Unable to stay motionless any longer I finally speak up as something has been bothering me this whole time.

"Why didn't you put on a coat or shoes?" I ask as I wipe the rain off my face with my sleeve.

"It wasn't important" he muttered.

"Of course it was, you could have gotten sick"

He giggled as he walked back over from the bathroom with his arms full of unknown items.

"As I said, it wasn't important. I can't get sick remember" his eyebrows raised as if he was trying to remind me of what he is, yet I still can't help but worry about him. He set the objects he had collected from the bathroom down on his coffee table, still not looking at me for too long the question remains, why won't he look at me? have I done something wrong to him?

"Dante, why aren't you looking at me?" I ask as I grip his soaking wet shirt before he can move again. Without saying a word instead just pointed his finger down at me and cleared his throat loudly, and when I finally look down to where he is aimed at I realized my white top was still very much see-through, no wonder he was super awkward with me. My hands clasped against my chest in embarrassment as I had completely forgotten about that and my full bright red brazier was on show for him, suddenly his arm expanded towards me with a towel and hairdryer, the items in which he had taken from the bathroom beforehand.

"You should take a shower, wash out the cuts before I dress them for you, and don't forget to dry your hair" were his last words before he rushed away again, this time heading to the kitchen. I simply nodded and headed to his bathroom, admiring the florescent abstract art on the wall as I closed the door. The water irritated my wounds as I cleaned them, provoking me to wince in pain, the sound of it made me speculate as to whether Dante had killed those men and if he had done the same to them as Eric did that time, and it astounded me to why I wasn't troubled by this, why didn't I care?. Why did it do the opposite, it made me desire him more, knowing this man would quite literally kill for me, defend my honour.

In the process of brushing my hair after drying it, I heard a quiet knock on the bathroom door.

"Are you alright in there?" I must have been lost in thought for a while for him to come and check on me. I wrap a towel around my body firmly and swing the door open, disclosing my almost naked self to him, I didn't mind but needless to say, he did, turning his head so fast his neck could have broken at the force of it.

"I'm fine, are you okay Dante?" I ask while clenching my towel with one arm and my damp clothes with another. His arm raises as he scratched his head and then he collected the clothing from my arms, still not saying another word as he walked away so I just watched him wander into the kitchen, is he trying to push me away or something? do I make him that uncomfortable?

My legs began to follow him, trying to see what he was up to as his actions began to bewilder me. His kitchen is very much like mine, with a short breakfast bar that I sat upon and observed him from afar while he was putting my clothes in his washing machine to clean, the stools were fairly tall so my legs didn't reach the ground. I think it's about time one of us spoke but before I open my mouth he finally speaks up while facing the cupboards in the kitchen.

"I should have come with you" he mumbled his hands squeezing the counter sides with nothing his back facing me.

"I told you not to" was he not looking at me because he feels guilty?

"But if I had you wouldn't have gotten hurt" He spins around looking at my face with such a glum look on his face, he seems paler than usual. He walks over to the first aid kit he had originally put on the coffee table and brought it over to me setting it down on the counter, pulling out all of its contents, and yet the only thing I dwelled on was the spicy cinnamon smell that emits from me, that I finally smelled like him, it's so addictive, and it begged the question to why he hasn't washed yet, for the past half hour I've been here all he's done is take care of me but he won't see it that way, all he sees are his faults.

His hand brushed against my throbbing cheek from when the man in the alley struck my face, it wasn't seeping blood, but its soreness certainly felt like it could. His face now scrunched up, exposing lines I had never seen before, entrancing me, he knew it hurt me but he also blamed himself, he's so lost in his mind right now, what is he thinking about? I reach out to his bloodstained face and stroke across it, letting out a small smile.

"Please don't blame yourself, Dante, you saved my life tonight and I'm thankful to you for that, yes I got hurt but I'd rather be hurt than dead" I reach around to the back of his neck, taking a hold of him as I manoeuvre his face towards mine, planting a small kiss on his lips. I felt so safe, so calm with him that even the blood on his lips didn't bother me, all I could think about was how soft they were. As I pull away I whisper "You should go wash up as well" I stroke his hair from his eyes as I do he tries to interrupt.

"But I need to tend to your wounds"

"I'll still be here when you back, it can wait for a moment"

He nods and heads into the bathroom, closing the door in silence. I sit and ponder for a moment how I get myself into these things, why is the man I would damn right name a hero blaming himself.

By the time I hear the bathroom door click I was up making us both coffees in his kitchen, completely unaware that he was standing right behind me I turn with the drinks almost going into him. I had thought I spilled the drinks as I felt a rush of heat go through my chest to my face, but looking at him I realize he only had a towel on his bottom half, his hair was wet and messy and he was soaring over me with his well-muscled body, making me choke on my breath.

"what are you doing?" he spoke in an intimidating way.

"Erm, just making us some drinks, did I do something wrong?"

"You shouldn't be doing that your-"

"Yeah, yeah I know I'm hurt but I think we could both do with a hot drink"

He looks me up and down and collects one of the cups from my hands, walking towards the sofa and twitching his head telling me to come here. I treaded over placing my drink down also on the table and as I sat down he knelt to my feet, starting to wrap my scraped-up knees with such a gentle touch, my legs looked so small in his large hands.