Sevika X Reader (Angst)

I would trade five years of my life for them to kiss

(Switching from second perspective to first bc it better shows the character of the reader insert vs the character of the narrator)

Her appartment is neglected. There's clothes everywhere (including the entryway), dust on all surfaces, and it just smells sad. I help Sevika towards her bedroom and watch dispondent as she flops onto the unmade bed. She looks so much younger sleeping. I take her shoes off and leave them beside her bed. Why am I doing this, it's not why I'm here. It's just... she looks like she needs taking care of. She lives alone, in a mess, and her coworkers just left her in the brothel passed out. She's laying on her stomach, face turned to the left. My hands, posessed by some stupid desire to care for her, take the hair tie out of her hair. I leave it on the bedside table, and reach over her to pull a blanket over her. Her dark brown hair falls into her face with such grace. I take makeup remover from the bathroom and gently wipe the lipstick and eyeliner off her unconscious face. 

Looking around, other than clothes there aren't a lot of personal items in here. The adjoined bathroom is minimalistic, no fancy soaps or anything. The lighting is yellow, and sour. The shower has a marbled glass door instead of a curtain, that's nice. Surprisingly, the bathroom has no smell. Unlike the rest of the appartment, it looks like it sees regular cleaning matinence. Whatever, who am I to critique her appartment I don't even have one. 

I strip my worn clothes off, noting the occasional hole or tear. Shirt, pants, jacket. The jacket is pretty good quality leather, found on a drunk. The pants and shirt really need to see the inside of a washer and drier, hand washing is passable but they never have the ability to dry fully before being worn. I look in the mirror, at my body. My hair is longer than I'd like it to be, and there are bags under my eyes. My arms and shoulders are atrophied from malnurishment and lack of fighting practice. There are bruises on my spine from sleeping on the ground last night. I look away, this isn't how I want to look. I feel pathetic. The shower beckons, and I answer the call. 

--- 

Sevika's robe is a little tall for me, it sweeps the floor behind me as I walk around the appartment picking up the discarded clothing. She's passed out cold, I'm not sure how long she'll keep sleeping but I want to make myself useful. I want to be invited back to this appartment, when she's sober. There's two rooms, one bathroom, a kitchen attached to a living room. Minimal furnature. Nothing in the fridge except eggs... rude. 

I wish I could say playing house like this didn't make me feel so happy. I wish I could say I hate cleaning up after her, and independence fuels my soul. I wish I could say I'm tough, but I am not. I want to stay here, in this silent moment of domesticity. 

It's 3 PM now, the appartment is clean. A load of laundry is going, including my clothes. I found a cotton t-shirt in Sevika's wardrobe, and some boxers. I  abandoned the idea of sneaking out without her noticing, I don't care anymore. I crawl into bed next to her, under a shared blanket. It smells like her, like pine and vanilla and warmth. 

Sevika's POV

There's a stranger in my bed, in my clothes... Did I bring them back here? Shit. Last night is so fuzzy, I don't remember anything concrete. I went to play cards, was winning, then... then that fighter brought me home. That's it, they're the prize fighter that dissapeared. They don't look like they're up for a fight now, they look like they need a good meal and many more hours of rest. Their hair is wet, they must have taken a shower. Their face is peaceful, and beautiful. My shirt is big on them, the aura of sleep around them is so heavy. I'll let them sleep for a while. I might as well sleep anyway, I don't have to be at work for a while. I fall asleep with my left arm over my stomach, the other behind my head. I make sure to keep my mechanical arm visible, as a warning. Might as well stay alert, who knows if they have a weapon or mean to kill me.