Sevika X Reader (Angst)

Oh Shit, oh fuck

We made it home alright, despite my tripping. She insisted on carrying me once, but I said no and made it clutching her right arm. Her muscles rippled under her skin as she moved that beautiful arm to unlock the door. She looked down at me from time to time, then looked away, coy. 

And now we're in her apartment again, she's in the bedroom with the door closed. I'm on the couch, with a blanket that smells like it is fresh out the drier, because it is. It's not too cold, or too dark. Yet, my libs are restless. I feel the need to run, or clean, or do... something. Before me lies a bland coffee table, no magazines or books. It's made of some cheep wood painted black. Under it is wooden floor. The couch is backed against the wall partially seperating the living room from the kitchen, from it I can see the coffee table, the door, and the window. Through the window is another, taller, building. The ceilings are low... okay this is unbearably boring.

Sevika's door wasn't locked, interesting. Not that an unlocked door is an invitation, I'm just honored she trusts me enough to not lock it. I don't know why she trusts me at all, I could still be another petty theif. In theory, I could clean all the valuables out of this appartment and be gone within the hour. I'm not going to do it, just thinking about it. Shit, she really does trust me... I return her door being closed.

The fridge is bare, same as last time, but I don't remember ever checking the cabinets. She only has one set of cutlery and dishes, and one frying pan. The pantry is full of canned food that could probably survive a nuclear explosion, and some bottles of high quality liquor. There's an ashtray on the counter, next to a coffee maker. It's hard to imagine her doing something as mundaine as making coffee, but she must. The machine is clean, and a stock of grounds is kept behind it. 

"You can make yourself something, if you're hungry." I didn't hear her walk up, the sudden noise makes me jump. She doesn't wait for a response, pulls out a cigar from a droor and lights it. She's wearing a loose fitting sleep shirt, and sweatpants. They're both black, and I remember them from the laundry. She taps the end of the cigar on the edge of a glass ashtray inbetween us, closing some of the space.

"Looks like you've presented a meal to me~" The drunkness from the club is still holding onto my tongue, it seems. I take a step closer to her. 

"Cut the shit, kid. You don't need to do any of that to stay here. You did me a solid tonight, get some rest." She turns away from me. I know she's honorable for not wanting to have sex with me drunk, but I still feel indebted in some way. No, that's not it. I want to feel wanted, not just tolerated in her space. The currency needed for me to take space has yet to be paid, and it's keeping me on my toes. I step back, awkwardly. Suddenly insecure about my body. 

"What happened to your left arm?" Neither of us expected the question to be said, I just wanted to change the subject. 

"A work accident."

"Was the job worth the sacrifice?" She takes a drag from her cigar before saying,

"The nation of Zaun is worth more than my arm. The undercity's independence is the only way for us to finally get our cut. It's the only way I can give people like you the opportunity to find work, that isn't for Silco, or sex work. Zaun is the only way." She looks in my eyes to say,

"What do you fight for?" Poor choice of words, as I don't fight anymore. But maybe that was intentional, she probably didn't like that I asked such a personal question.

"I used to have a family, I once fought for them. Then, it was for a place to stay and enough food to eat. Now... I don't now. I'm drifting. I've always been aware of the inequality of the under and upper cities, always flipped off the enforcers, but... I never considered myself capable of change great enough to matter." She ponders my words, thinking them over.