Chrollo with a crush

Fate

You watch helplessly as he storms away, dust swirling in the now disturbed track. you follow after, not because you wanted to, like a desperate fangirl, but because the motel you resided at was also that direction.
The dust and thrown up specs of god knows what invaded your lungs and you tried your best not to choke it back up; your attempts becoming futile. A horrible spluttering sound from you reverberated through the street, diving into every crack and - inevitably - reaching the man a mile in front.

You froze, your muscles pounding and blood rushing to your face as you waited for his judgement; for his face to turn in your direction engraved with disgust and confusion. Indeed he did turn, slowly, but instead of utter repulsion printed into his features he looked shocked, spooked almost, as if he had seen a ghost. He regained his composure unnaturally quick and went to begin his power walk again, yet something must have caught him mid-flow, as he stopped and waited. You picked up the cue and, ignoring your red face and racing pulse, jogged up to where he stood.

You walked in silence, somehow knowing where the other was going, or perhaps just not caring. You could hear your own shaky breath and wondered if he could hear it too; you didn't want to break the peace but part of you felt the need to talk and mask all your insecurities. You wanted to talk about the party last night, of how Shalnark had slipped the proposition that Chrollo fancied you into the conversation between drinks; you wanted to talk about the fate of how you met and the fate of your encounters. But mostly, you wanted to talk about today, the sparks and the electricity and how you did notice him blushing.

Is it possible?

So lost in your trail of thoughts, you almost trip when Chrollo brings you to an abrupt stop. You're in front of a motel. You're in front of your motel.

"This is my stop." He says, glancing in your direction.

You cant breathe, it must be fate, it's gods work for sure.

You're sleeping just a room away from each other.

You struggle to reply as your thoughts jumble and tangle and string off into unlikely scenarios where you bump into each other at night- or communicate through the thin walls like naughty school children. You have to give yourself a virtual slap in the face so you don't lose yourself to the fantasy.

"This... is my stop too."

Chrollo doesn't hide the surprise in his eyes, they widen the size of the moon and his cheeks go crimson. You cant help but wonder what races through his mind; glimpses of his emotions like this are so rare and it causes goose bumps to rise up your arms. He keeps silent and, although visibly shaken, he takes a step in front and holds the door open for you both to file through, taking an almost inaudible sharp breathe.

The reception is heavy with the smell of smoke and tar, and neither of you bother lingering in the room longer than necessary. The need to scurry to your rooms was uncurbed, and like mice you dash away into the safety of your burrows, getting as far away as possible from the other.

- - - - - -

Chrollo sat on his bed with the wine lazily dropped next to him, hands snug over his face as he recalled last night yet again; his thoughts continually going over, wondering, if you had heard. If you did would you have known what it was? Would you have known if it was even him? His cheeks were searing through his hands at the idea. His pants were getting tighter as he recollected the events, the image of you in that tiny top and skirt and how it felt to roll his hand over his tip and moan your name. God, he was almost creaming through his pants already and it didn't help thinking how close you'd be sleeping tonight, only a small corridor and a few thin walls separating you.

He mused over the idea of you getting turned on by his sounds and wondered if you touched yourself at night too; wondered if your breaths and hearts and pulses synced together through the walls to reach that excruciating climax. He considered sneaking into the corridor to camp outside your door, listening, waiting for any sound, for a moan or a sigh of content or anything to prove you felt the same.

What am I thinking?

Perhaps he really is drunk in love.