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your pov
We were sitting in what passed for a living room—a worn-down sofa that had seen too many fights and one too many cigar burns, and a battered table cluttered with bottles, ashtrays, and the remnants of my half-eaten sandwich. The air smelled faintly of smoke and cheap alcohol, but it wasn't unpleasant. Not anymore. Not when it was just me and Sevika.
For someone who barely acknowledged my existence most of the time, I had to admit—she was growing on me. Sure, she ignored half of what I said, rolled her eyes at the rest, but still...we were bonding, in our weird, dysfunctional way. I liked to think so, anyway. Sevika was tough, sure. Distant, definitely. But there was something about being around her that felt oddly comforting, like sitting next to a storm and knowing it wouldn't touch you.
She sat sprawled on the sofa, legs wide in her usual careless manspread, her mechanical arm resting on the armrest with an audible hum. She looked entirely at ease, like she owned the place. The cigar tip between her lips burned lazily as she took a slow drag, the smoke curling around her face like it belonged there. She had that rough-edged grace, the kind that made it impossible not to stare.
And, well...I was staring.
"Can you close your legs or something?" I asked, half-joking, though the sight of her taking up all the space was both irritating and, strangely, impressive.
Sevika didn't even flinch, just glanced at me with a raised brow, head tilted slightly as if I'd said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Can you shut your trap? Didn't think so," she shot back, her voice low and gravelly, with that perpetual hint of boredom.
I sighed dramatically, chewing the almost last of my sandwich. "Always with the attitude," I muttered, leaning back in my chair, my eyes drifting to her again. I didn't mean to look so much, but something about the way she moved, so effortlessly confident, made it hard not to. She inhaled deeply, the tip of her cigar glowing red, then blew the smoke out in a lazy plume.
Mid-bite, she caught me. Our eyes locked, and I froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth. Busted.
Her gaze was sharp, amused but cutting, like she was deciding whether to make fun of me or just let me suffer in silence. "What are you looking at now?" she asked, voice steady but dripping with challenge. She didn't break the eye contact. Of course, she didn't.
I swallowed the bite. "Can a girl not look somewhere?" I said, though my mouth was still full.
Her smirk widened just a fraction, and she leaned back, taking another drag. "Can you turn your head around before I make you turn around?" she replied, her tone full of attitude, like she was purposely daring me to push her further.
I huffed muttering a few words, spinning my chair around like I was done with her. But, of course, I wasn't. I spun back almost immediately, meeting her gaze again, unable to resist.
