"Mel? When are you gonna fall in love?" Dan asked me as we laid in my bed that morning, snuggling together like two bunnies. Kyle was in Michigan to visit his family for the rest of the weekend and was landing tomorrow first, so Dan was as lonely as me for the time being.

"I can't even fall asleep." I mumbled and snuggling further into his chest. Just like me, Dan had trouble falling asleep without another warm body. Six months with me being without one, and with Dan being a picky lover, snuggling had become a regular thing for us.

Dan sighed and rested his chin on top of my hair, getting buried in the thick curls. "Mmm. Is that the shampoo I bought you?"

"Yeah. I like it."

"Me, too. Can I borrow it?"

"Sure. Just buy me more."

"Deal."

A few minutes of silence passed.

"So..." He begun in a voice I knew what topic he was going for. "He hasn't come back since?"

I had finally told Dan about Tony. The whole story. About how he had saved me that night. How he had brought me to the hospital. How I had found him the next day to say thank you. How he had showed up here to get the violin, but changed his mind and left without it. Dan had been in shock for about two minutes, but then had asked about how he had found my address. To that, I truly had to admit I didn't know. Maybe he had looked me up somehow? I didn't know.

I sighed and shook my head at Dan's question, then exhaled quietly. "I didn't count on it either."

"I just don't understand it," Dan murmured sleepily. "The guy saved you from getting raped... literally beat the son of a bitch to a pulp with his bare hands, and yet if he said he wanted to destroy the violin, then why didn't he? I mean he clearly had the strength to do it."

Because, a part of me thought... He didn't really want to destroy it. He hated it, but he didn't know why.

I frowned a little. Could that be the truth? The small bits of information I'd gathered were all braiding together to one thing, but I wanted him to tell me. Or, well... I hoped he would, but he hadn't come back. It had been almost five days.

"You start work tomorrow," Dan decided to voice when I didn't respond. "You ready for that?"

The swelling on my face had now completely vanished, and whatever bruising was left could be covered by makeup. The small cut was still there, but in the dim light of the club it would be practically invisible. As for my hands and knees, they had only been scraped and had healed quickly. Thank God.

"Yeah," I therefore replied. Physically, I was ready, but mentally, I wanted to wait another week. But I couldn't. Carlos wasn't a patient guy. One week off had been a grace from his side. One more would get me laid off.

"Just make sure you don't overwork yourself," Dan said, stifling a yawn. He rolled onto his back and scrubbed a hand down his torso, rippling over his abs that always had my mouth watering. "Don't try and be brave. If you need a break or want to go home, just say so."

"I promise." I replied and snuggled up to his side, placing my hand on his chest. He was always warm. Like a radiator. I was always cold. I saw goosebumps spread on his skin as my frozen hand made contact with it.

We laid in another silence. A comfortable one. No tension. No thick auras. Dan was an easy person to be around. Easy to talk to, easy to joke with...

Why couldn't it be like that with Tony? I had no idea why I never seemed to be able to speak in his presence. Something told me he wasn't much of a speaker either. The violin always spoke for him. Maybe that was why he didn't want it...

You're overthinking it again.

Almost as if reading my thoughts, Dan sighed and then yawned again. "We should sleep," He slurred, already falling asleep. "Gotta wake up... in a few hours..."

"Night, Dan," I smiled a little. I crooked my head up to look at his face and saw how his eyes were already closed and his mouth was smisking in a sleepy pout. So cute and so sexy. Unfair. "I hate you."

"Mm... love you, too..."

It only took a few minutes before I heard his mild snores fill the room, heard his breath even and saw his chest rise and fall steadily. I envied how he could fall asleep just like that. I always spent an eternity tossing and turning, but Dan... as soon as he had a warm body next to him, he could fall asleep within minutes.

Sighing, I spent almost half an hour trying to fall asleep as well, but finally gave up. I carefully scooted out of my bed and grabbed my morning robe, tossing it on before heading into the kitchen.

When I couldn't sleep, I usually ate. Why not, right? Dan was a great cook and always stored some food for my midnight snack attacks. Granted, it was morning right now, but I was sure there was something edible.

And true enough; As I opened the fridge and looked inside, I saw two jars of pre-made, healthy yoghurts. He filled old jam jars with Greek yoghurt and then added some rolled oats, a few chopped nuts and sometimes even berries. This time he had chopped some bananas slices into it and drizzled it with some agave honey.

God bless you, Daniel.

I ate breakfast in quiet, looking around in the living room until my eyes fell to the violin. Sitting in its case, all I could glance at was the odd shape and know exactly what lied behind it.

And yet, I had no idea what lied behind the casing of the man it belonged to.

For all it was capable of doing—portraying his emotions, voicing them, screaming them—it sang no songs about who he was, where he came from, what his past was. Only what he felt.

Tony felt rivers of so many complex and scarred emotions that I in no way could pretend to have felt before, too. I could hardly figure them out—I doubted even he could. Maybe that was why—

Again. You're doing it again. Overthinking.

I sighed frustratedly to myself. I was going crazy. I could officially call myself obsessed. It appeared no matter what I did, my thoughts circled around him. It had been days now. Days. When did obsessions pass? Did they ever? And if so, how did one get over them?

"Distraction," I mumbled to myself, digging into the yoghurt with lazy enthusiasm. "Distraction, distraction, distraction..."

~~~

I rolled over on my bed and looked at the red digital numbers on my alarm clock. 1.04am.

It was past midnight, Dan was at work and I couldn't sleep. Restlessly, I tossed and turned on my bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but it seemed that my bed was as lumpy as my figure.

Sighing I was contemplating just getting up and eating something (like I said, I ate when I couldn't sleep), but in that moment, there came a violent pounding from the front door. Jolting up, my first thought was that a thief was trying to break down the door, but then I took a second to actually process the sound properly. A thief would've been quieter.

My heart stopped for second. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I ran towards the door, the beating getting harder. When I reached it, I only spent a short second to glance though the peephole before my stomach dropped. I jerked the door open.

"Tony!"

Nearly collapsing before making it over the threshold, he clung onto the frame and staggered inside. He looked almost drunk if it wasn't because there was no smell of alcohol on him.

But what there was on him... was about two pints of blood.

"Tony!" I almost screamed again when he finally collapsed, sinking to his knees. I sunk down with him and cupped his head in my palms to make his eyes meet mine, but he only gripped my wrists and dragged them away. "Tony, what the hell happened?!" Why are you covered in blood? Why are you not bruised black and blue? Why did you come here?

"Shower," He rasped, his voice hoarse and guttural. "Shower. Now."

Blinking confused, my heart still racing, I nodded stiffly, then slung his arm over my shoulder. "This way."

Tony staggered to his feet, and using part of my body as his support, I led him to our bathroom. I ignored the trail of blood that dripped after him.

Where was it all coming from? I tried to make heads and tail of it all. If he was injured, he should've gone to a hospital, not my place... so why did he? Why come here? Why come here covered in blood?

I didn't know what thought was suppose to comfort me more; the idea that this wasn't his blood or the idea that it was. Either way, it was too much blood for anyone to lose like that. If it wasn't his, then someone else could be bleeding out right now... someone who might have met Tony's skilled wrath.

Walking into the bathroom, Tony grabbed onto the curb of the tub and supported himself there, letting himself rest on the edge of it. His trench coat was stained with blood, as was his hair, skin and face. It looked like someone had dumped a bucket of blood on him, or that he dived headfirst into a pool of it.

Reaching around him, I turned on the water to the bathtub, grabbing the hose. He had already begun wringing off his clothes, wrenching off his coat and his beanie. The second they were off, he swung his legs into the tub and let himself fall under the spray of the water. I held the shower head and watched as he closed his eyes and leaned his elbows against his knees, letting his head drop low. Water cascaded over his hair and dripped off his beard, blood coating the floor of the tub red.

I tried really hard not to think about what had happened. My instincts told me—hell, screamed—that a crime had been committed tonight and I should call the cops. Tony had witnessed (or possibly been a part of) something horrible, and this blood... it wasn't his.

But had he been the one to tap it?

Letting myself slide into the tub with him, still in my PJ boxer-shorts and top, I carefully situated myself in front of his bent legs, resting on my own as I brushed the water over his shoulders. The blood pelted off him. My heart still raced, but for some reason I didn't panic. I should've. Tony could've killed someone tonight, and yet here I was, helping him wash off the evidence.

Crazy. You're crazy.

I slowly lifted my hand and let it slide through his soiled hair. It was filtered and full of knots, but he didn't object as I rinsed it and let the water spray over it, flatten it. He just kept his head down and let me wash him.

His hair bunched around his shoulders and curtained his face, but through thin gaps, I could just see his lips being parted. He breathed deeply, slowly. Calming himself.

In that moment, I realized why I wasn't calling the cops. Why I wasn't scared.

He was traumatized by what had happened tonight. As more and more of the blood rinsed from his skin, I got my confirmation that the blood indeed wasn't his. There were no wounds. No marks. No bruises. That meant that whoever this blood belonged to, it had somehow transferred onto him, staining him, drowning him. Scarring him.

By the way he was clenching his fists, he couldn't have done it. He wanted this blood off him, verging on throwing up if he didn't. What had happened tonight... appalled him.

Suddenly, his hand raised and grabbed my wrist, the one holding the shower head. When my breath and arm froze, I watched as he slowly lifted his head and swiped back his hair with his other hand. His eyes locked onto mine and I was forced to swallow when he then lowered my arm and made me put down the hose. There was still so much blood. Clinging onto his drenched shirt. Smeared on his hands. Specked on his face.

Watching me, a silent command sounded from his eyes. With shaking hands, I moved them to his checkered shirt and found the first button by his throat. Unbuttoning it, I looked up and found him still looking at me closely. Continue.

I unbuttoned the next button and then the next, skipping the few holes where the buttons were missing. I made it to the bottom and then reached up to his shoulder again, grabbing the lapels, then dragged the wet material down that clung to his body stubbornly.

Throwing the dirty shirt onto the floor, I instinctively reached for the shower head again as Tony slowly let himself lean back into the tub until his back hit the porcelain curve. He beckoned me with a single look and I climbed further up on him, situated my knees on either side of his thighs, then lowered the shower hose to his naked chest.

Scars decorated him like some decorated themselves with ink. They sprung into my sight and my mouth instinctively opened, watching the sheer amount. They were everywhere. His collar bone. His pecs. His sternum. His ribs. his diaphragm. His pelvis. Even his arms. Small nicks here and there. Cuts. Scrapes.

And then the ones I knew the best. The ones I had seen on my grandfather when he took us bathing upstate when we're kids. I remembered watching him come out of the lake, smiling at me, then patting my head as he grabbed his towel from my grandmother who pecked him on his lips with a loving smile.

"Grandpa, what are those dots on your belly?" Six-year-old me had asked and then watched as he turned his eyes to me again, the warm, patient glow in them as he leaned down and let me see them.

"Shrapnels, my girl. World War 2. German grenade. I was twenty feet away."

I would never forget the sight of those small, pale scars peppered all over his dark chest like sprinkles on a chocolate ice cream sundae. They looked like freckles if they hadn't been slightly bulging out like small bumps on his skin.

The same kinds of scars kissed Tony's skin.

I swallowed hard as my eyes looked up at his again, finding him watching me closely. Watching me for a reaction. When I only breathed harder and pressed my lips tightly together, he lifted his head ever so slightly. Continue.

My eyes therefore flipped to his chest again and I now noticed all the stuff any other girl might've seen first; The slight indents and contours of muscles. Not deep, but not faint. He was defined, but not cut. He was... rugged. That was the best way to explain it. He wasn't hot as my sister would categorize him, he was... trained. His muscles had been molded by a particular army mold, shaped after exercises he had been forced to repeat endlessly until he could do them under impossible circumstances. Until his muscles would never forget the hard labor, even after what had to be years of not doing them. He had lost bulk, but hadn't lost shape.

He was a puppet, but his strings were cut long ago. Something told me he had done it himself. That he had learned to control his own fucking strings, learned to manipulate them and then learned how to do it with others as well.

And for some reason, the violin was his preferred choice of weapon.

Sucking in a small gasp when I suddenly saw his hands move to my thighs, I met his eyes again and realized I wasn't washing him anymore. My hand was limply holding the shower head and my other was resting on his chest. I couldn't remember putting it there, and yet I felt his skin beneath my palm; rough, but strangely softer than what I had expected. Warm.

Meeting his eyes again, he locked gaze with me and slowly sat up, lifting his hand to my face. Like in the alley, my breath stopped when he cupped my head, so lightly I hardly felt him. A feather...

He was close. I could see those dark orbs staring into me, fucking with my soul as he forced me to look back, unable to break free from his blue traps.

Physically, he hardly held me.

Soul-wise? I was spellbound.

He controlled me completely, had every little action I did tied to invisible strings connecting to those eyes. A flicker and he'd order me to breathe. A narrow and he'd make me to stop.

A sane person—someone who's not as crazy as you—would've been scared of the power he had, but I wasn't. I was a willing victim. Sitting on his thighs. Waiting for his next command.

Still honing me with his eyes, the connection suddenly snapped. He looked down. Not at the tub. Not at himself. At me. I felt his gaze burn my thighs that hovered above his, specifically the fabric that wrapped itself around my plush waist and the beginning of my legs.

Looking down myself, I realized the gray boxers had become soaked by the water. Splotched and slightly tainted by the blood dribbling off him, they now looked like a failed attempt of some grunge, haute-couture fashion piece.

"Go dry yourself," Came the command then finally. His voice had steadied from the raspy mess it was before. It was calm, guarded again like I knew it best. His shields were up, his façade blocking any way through to his soul.

Pack that shit away when you're playing with love, my brother had taught me. Drown him in all the love you fucking got, but never let him touch your soul. When all is said and done and he's finished fuckin' with you, you'll be glad you never let him near it.

I rose from my position on his lap and stepped out of the tub much more steadily than what I thought I would. My insides were shaking and burning at the same time, but I decided to focus my attention on carrying out my command.

Go dry yourself.

The command was either a hint of him not wanting me near him, or maybe he just didn't like seeing me tainted in blood. Though considerate wasn't exactly the vibe I was currently getting from him. It was more about... control. Reining in the situation. Creating distance. Go dry yourself was a command truly translated as 'retrieve, before...'

... And the blanks I couldn't fill in myself.

I grabbed my towel and begun scrubbing my legs dry, wiping off what thinned blood had stuck to them, disguised as water droplets. Meanwhile Tony was rising too, water sloshing as the water poured off from his pants and torso, dribbling from his hair in a steady rain. He stepped out onto my floor, his legs slow, but steady. He wasn't a tumbling, footloose chaos anymore, drenched in blood, craving to get it off and fighting an inner battle. He easily worked his way onto my bathmat, staying there as the water dried off him.

I automatically handed him my towel. He watched me for a second, but then took it and averted his eyes. He started drying off his skin, my white towel becoming a light pink shade. As for his pants, he didn't bother. He instead brought the towel to his head and dried his hair.

My throat bobbed when he finally let the towel drop, holding it in his hand as our eyes met.

Viking. For some reason, his person reminded me of a viking. Rugged, raw and masculine. The deep indents of his hips were visible above his pants, a faint whisper of a happy trail, but the thick veins in his arms stood out like haunting lines of strength. His hands, though... those torturous, yet long, slim and diligent fingers were what my eyes landed on.

What he could do with those...

My eyes snapped and I looked away. Dryly, I commanded my own voice to work without his permission. "I... I'm gonna find you some clean clothes you can borrow while..." Should I even bother asking if he wanted me to clean his clothes?

Daringly, I met his eyes to read his reaction. I found him already looking at me, his eyes pinned on my face, not my white top that had become victim to the water as well, now turning transparent against my skin. He didn't grant it a single glance, instead his eyes were watching mine.

"What?" He asked. His voice was surprisingly uncharged. Tired, but not hostile.

I sucked in a brave breath. "Stay here tonight. Please?"

Blinking, I swear I saw brief ambush on his face. Maybe he hadn't expected my plea given what had just happened. Given all the blood I had just helped wash off him. He looked almost... suspicious of me? Like I was trying to set him up or was lying to him somehow. Why invite him in?

Because that's clearly what you did after you just cleaned blood off a strange man whom you truly had no idea who were; you asked him to spend the night.

I couldn't blame him on his skepticism, but truthfully, I had no ulterior motive. I just wanted him to be safe tonight, if whoever had... caused all that bloodshed was looking for him for some reason. He was a witness after all...

"Please," I said again when he just kept glaring at me, his eyes narrowing. "Stay the night and I'll clean your clothes from the..." I couldn't get the word blood past my lips for some reason. "Just stay."

His eyes unclenched after a moment more of staring at me, and then, as if that meaning he had come to a conclusion, he looked away and gave a single nod.

My heart leaped into my throat. I sucked in a breath, but then blew it back out. "Okay. Stay here for a moment, I'll find you some clean clothes."

"Melody."

I hadn't made it three steps before I heard my name spill from his lips. I stopped up and spun around, instantly meeting his eyes.

"Thank you."

Those two little words did something else to me. It meant something coming from his lips. Not because he didn't say them often, but simply because... of the way he said it. Like I had saved him tonight.

I squeezed my lips tightly together, then lowered my eyes a little. "You're welcome."

And then I left for Dan's room to dig through some of his old clothes.

Tonight he had come to me, and tonight something had changed. Something had been forged between us, even if it was invisible or unspoken.

He had survived something this night, and in a way, so had I. A test. We had both survived.

And now Dan was going survive without one of his shirts and sweatpants.

• • •

Every single one of us have survived something that's made us a fighter today.