Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures. 
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

"What are you doing?" Lincoln snaps at me, slapping on the cover of my book to make it fall against my chest.

"It's called reading, how people install new software into their brain." I deadpan and stare at him with a smirk. 

"No shit." Link grits out, ripping the book from me which makes me glare at him. "I meant what are you doing reading when Ash is in the kitchen baking."

"He's baking?" I ask, scrambling to my feet. 

"Take this, I'm going home. Don't leave him alone." Link hands me my book as I pass, but I could care less about that when I hear the oven door creek open and barge in there.

"Asher Silas Hart you better not be doing what I think your doing when you react the way you do." I scold Asher, making him jump away from the oven.

The door slams shut again, making the heat that was blistering around the air stall and fade out.

"I wanted to see, I wanted to see if I could happen handle the, handle the heat."

I hate heat.

My heart clenches as I remember his words, but despite this I cross my arms, lean against the wall and smirk at him. "And could you?" 

He couldn't.

The golden boy's hands are shaking, a clear sheen of sweat on his forehead, muscles bulging out all over his body as he went rigid, what he tried to bake dropped haphazardly on the counter, mint green eyes wide with memories.

It was obvious how much just the heat sparks fear in him.

Fear.

Tsk.

"No I-I couldn't. How do you -How do you do that so much?" Distaste drips in his voice, but it's not for me. "Your scars are worse than mine."

At this reminder I raise a eyebrow at him, clearly asking him why that's important.

"You have more reason for not liking heat than me, you have more reason to fear flames than I do. But even around them, your body doesn't act nearly as affected as mine. It's like you can trick yourself into not being afraid and I don't understand it."

"One thing you seem to have forgotten Gold, is that I'm made out of flames." I snarl, knowing how many times I hated myself because of my body heat. "My body doesn't react like yours because I have medicine that stalls anxiety. I have medicine that stops the migraines I get from the stress of my memories. You may have horrible reactions for heat but I have horrible reactions to just staying alive. I'm so used to heat, in good and bad like that, that if I'm about to be hurt from me heat my own brain can't find enough reason to care. You don't want to have as much reason as you, or act not nearly affected. Trust me. That's all I can tell you."

Asher stares at me, still frightened but now shocked too.

"We have ice packs in the freezer, grab one and sit down."

He does as I say, watching silently as I pick up the cake container and jamming it in the oven on the top rack, setting the timer as what he tells me.

"It's still only noon, want to make cheesecake? I was thinking that could be our final recipe." I ask casually, amused as Asher drops his gaze to the floor once he realizes I caught him staring, a blush on his cheeks. "If you're done staring, that is."

He throws me a look but starts to help me make the- -of course it's lemon- -cheesecake.

"Where did the spoon -I told you not to lick it again!" Asher scolds me, turning around to find licking across it's length to get all the creamy goodness off. 

I flash my teeth at him and smirk, "Well Gold, it's either you or the wisk."

"I don't know which one I object to more..." He mumbles.

My smirk only widens. "Why?" I ask, running a hand down his chest before I grab the hem of his shirt and pull him flush into me. "Rather be bit?"

The nice guy sputters out a few intangible words.

Now, just to mess with him, I could say a few more things about what I could do to him, but I don't feel like having my boyfriend turn red and spazz out. Some of these things are simply unprintable. 

"You are so...fun to mess with." I murmur, my body forcing his against the counter. Asher gulps as I lock eyes with him, holding his hands down at his side. 

The best part is he's strong enough to move at any time, he chooses to stay here.

"All I have to do is hint at what I might do to you, or back you into a corner with a look, or grab your wrist in a certain way and you're a wide-eyed, blushing, mess." I whisper. "And I can tell exactly what your thinking."

Alarm flashes through his green depth as his eyes darken, his shuddering breath going against my own chest. "How?"

"Your body." I say, seeing how he leans into me. "The goosebumps on your neck...how fast your heart's pounding...the way you're leaning against the wall for support."

"What do you imagine I'm thinking?" He asks, and I can practically see all the different gears in his head turning. 

"About the fast, deep, toe-curling experience you could be having...about my teeth sinking into you...about my mouth going down your chest and stomach and leaving marks all the way down till I reach your pants." My hands skip over his chest- -the one he's breathing hard out of- -until my fingers can hold onto his pant loops. 

Our lips hover over one another's, moving like we're about to kiss but not quite touching.

"But of course, we can't do that yet." I abruptly pull away from him, stepping back until there's a good foot between us. "We should talk first, isn't that what you said?"

Asher relies heavily on the wall, hands clenched against his shirt as his head falls back and he faces the ceiling. His breath doesn't slow down, if anything it got faster once I stepped away.

"Do you really have to?" The golden boy asks a few minutes later, as I had taken to watching him wash dishes. Apparently cleaning helps calm my boyfriend down, cleaning and ice.

It reminds me of my past in terrible ways, because I'd never gain scars when I was doing the right thing. And often, that included cleaning.

Also, he's super sufficient at it.

This theory alone is all it takes to make me more protective over him, more willing to hurt and be hurt for him. 

And maybe that's a bad thing.

I had taken out the cake and cheesecake by the time he asked me this, we're waiting for them to cool.

Biting my lip I shrug, glancing over his muscular body before back at his mint green eyes. "Yes."

"You know what, I said we weren't going to have sex until we talk about that and our relationship." Asher says flat out, furiously scrubbing a bowl until his head snaps up to me. "But I never said anything about doing nothing."

I squeak as Asher is suddenly in front of me, lifting me onto the counter top. A single word doesn't leave my mouth before his lips are on mine, hands sliding across my face to hold me against him.

Asher presses into me, my hands find his shoulders while my legs raise around him. 

After a minute or two, when we become breathless I realize he got the suds in my hair, pulling my hands from his shoulders to my curls. "Bubbles." I giggle, squishing them down in my hand.

Then a genius idea over takes me, I look up at the golden boy and smear the bubbles across his cheeks -popping more than enough on his stubble.

Seems like the nice guy forgot to shave.

His arms slide around me as Asher chuckles, holding me as close to him as possible. I shiver when his nose skips over my neck, trailing over my jaw before his lips find mine again. 

"You're such a tease..." He murmurs, but goes in for another kiss.

"You're the one that kissed me." I reply against his lips, the cold of his skin against mine making everything feel right. "What does 'talking about it' even mean?"

At this he pulls away and moves back, his hands coming down to rest on the sides of my thighs so we can talk face to face.

It saddens me to know that all the bubbles are gone.

"Well I think we should know what we're getting into. You need to know what you're getting into, I can't go into a lot of detail about my past. But I won't put that burden on you without you knowing."

The way Asher says this, like I'm completely clueless -it makes me scoff in disbelief.

"I know about your past Gold." I say, earning a doubtful look I'm just desperate to prove wrong. 

"You probably grew up with your real parents or a relative before you were put in the system, because they don't put babies with people with any kind of criminal past. Especially cute little white babies. They stick them in good places with two loving parents and a stable income." I guess, watching as his features go blank.

"That being said, and confirmed all though silent I think it's easy to guess that something horrible happened to your real family and you got put in the system. Probably put in a foster home that didn't care about you, just the money you got them. I'd say the redheaded bestie is either one of the kids of the system, someone you met going in the system or someone you've known before you were in the system. That's why he knows so much about you when you're not willing to talk about it at all."

Asher nods, looking more and more guarded as he moves back, stopping touching me all together.

"In that foster home, I doubt it was your first but it was your last and you had been there for well over a year. I'd say you were there for about five years, since that man called you his son and it takes a while for abusive parents to form bonds with the child they constantly neglect. That's where you got the scars from. Compared to most people you have a lot of scare but compared to other abused kids you don't have much. I'd say the self harm ones are the ones you're ashamed of, not the abuse ones. That's why you where sleeves all the time."

He stands straight, going rigid.

"I'm also willing to bet the second you turned eighteen you were out of there and had been planning it for months if not years. They must have hurt you with cigarettes or even joints often to have this reaction, as well as burning you with other things. I'm also willing to bet that the scar on your neck is from one of your worst experiences, that's why it's the first thing you hold a ice pack to or throw water on. You've conditioned your body to realize when it's cold it's safe, that's why you hate heat."

But he doesn't stop me.

"The reason why you're nice all the time is because you learned the hard way to appease people constantly incase they lash out and hurt you because you did something wrong, sure maybe you're naturally nice but I doubt it's by this much. You're quiet because you were probably punished for being loud. The reason why you spar and train with Weasley so much isn't to stay in such good physic, but to be able to finally defend yourself. And you can, you're strong enough. You're just also afraid. You only go to sleep early when it's a good day, because that's when you can sleep without nightmares. You sleep better with someone in the bed, that's why I choose to go in your room even though I know my skin's probably too hot. No to mention me in general."

He is always, just so afraid.

I hate it.

"Oh, and out of flight, fight or freeze? You're freeze. I'm fight, obviously." I pause, maintaining eye contact when I can. He looks from the floor to me, back to the floor. "So actually, I do know what I'm getting into. You're the one who probably doesn't know a single thing about me other then I have scars, and something real bad must have happened for me to get them and be hospitalized the way I was. Because I saw how you first acted around my parents, my dad specifically. You didn't know me well, so you were still suspicious that maybe one of them had done it. Now that you know that's wrong, that my family isn't like that you've had no clue as to what happened. Am I right?"

"Yeah." Gold answers in a strained voice. "About everything. How did you...figure all that out?"

"People like us, we learn to analyze a person without realizing we're doing it. The difference is, I make sure no one knows how to read me while you're a open book." I explain.

"Oh." He says. "Liza?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to you?"

This time he keeps eye contact with me, letting me know he's trying his best. 

Somehow I find it in me to laugh slightly, shaking my head at myself as I think about what  really happened to me. "I got kidnapped." I tell him, watching as Asher finally cracks and looks away, his whole demeanor diminishing. "Totally unexpected I tell 'ya. Then again, if you know it's about to happen how good can those kidnappers be anyway?"

"Who found you?" The nice guy's voice is dark, deeper than usual with a clear edge to it.

I hate the way I find it attractive, just like his tired voice.

"No one, they tried but couldn't. As per usual the police weren't much help. I saved myself, escaped and ran to my Nana and Grandpa Jack's house. Got the scar on my palm that way," I look down to my hand, tracing a finger over it. There's scars overlapping on it, since I reopen it every other week to get rid of memories. "Shit reward for being safe, eh."

Memories.

Tsk.

"How long did they have you?" I refuse to answer this question, staring blankly up at Asher. Frustration quickly grows in him, but he accepts the fact the conversation is over nicely.

Well, over for now.