Bend and Break(poly)(bxb)

Von's Break Pt 1.

It didn't take long for me to realize he wasn't quite right. He was too calm in the face of Diana and I. Too easy to trust. He manipulated her into believing she absolutely needed him and that I needed him. Maybe I did. Maybe I still do.

He almost killed all of us that night. Yet something strung him onto me, and it hasn't broken yet. Not after I condemned him for hurting L. Not after I threatened him, cursed at him, and yelled at him. He still looks up at me with stars in his eyes.

"How do you sleep at night?" Seven asks me two nights after having entered the gang. He had been drowsy during training, movements slower and lagging behind.

"What?" I squint at him through the dim hallway lighting. When I heard footsteps outside of my bedroom I thought I'd catch him trying to escape. Not aimlessly pacing back and forth. Sweatpants he borrowed from me, too long, the fabric sweeping the floor.

He tilts his head to the side, hair still damp from an earlier shower. "It's just hard for me... in there."

"Why?"

"I'm not used to sleeping alone." When he walks forward, he brings his body out of the darkness. Honey illuminating a long stripe from his cheekbone to the waistband hanging low on his hips. "I've just...always shared a room with others," he continues. His skin is pale on his chest, stretched over lean muscles and a small waist.

The first thing I noticed when I met him— when I really met him, L still not coming to and Romero bleeding out behind us, was our height difference. I noticed how tiny and easy he looked despite everything he had done. Seven has this way of making you forget about what's important in favor of simply staring at him. The V line disappearing into his pants. His prominent collar bones and pinked nipples.

"Can I have a shirt to wear?" He asks and it takes me too long to remember our current circumstances. "Just to sleep in."

He's roaming through my dresser and I'm still staring at him. It's because I don't trust him yet. That's all.

"Those are pants down there, all of the shirts are in the second drawer." I fold my arms over my chest as I say this. The muscles in his back flex.

"This one?" He holds up something I don't even look at.

"Yeah."

He changes with his back towards me and I watch the way his skin disappears under the clothing.

"You can sleep in here if you want." I want to keep him close— you're supposed to keep your enemies close. That's why he's in the gang in the first place.

That's why he slides into my bed beside me every night for the next week. The first night I tell myself I don't regret lending him my shirt. The second night his soft breathing lulls me to sleep. The third night I wake up with him on top of me, legs between mine and drool pooling on my collarbones. He's holding me tight on the forth and fifth night and on the next two I'm holding him.

It's after that first week that he finally speaks up.

"You don't hate me for what I did?" He stands with his back against the door, voice light and fragile.

He hates himself for it.

L dotes on him every chance he gets, praising his precision and gawking at his range. Romero couldn't make it any more obvious that he wants to fuck him, damn near popping a stitch every time Seven so much as looks his way.

But that's not enough for Seven. He wants it all and I'm the last drop left. Only after he's consumed me will be be satisfied with himself. I'm only one not overtly obsessed with him. I have self control. I don't commend him in training, he was always good and he knows that. I don't even touch him outside of this room. Outside of when I'm "sleeping." I'm not like that towards anyone anymore and he can't be an exception. I can't give him special treatment just because he decided not to kill me.