Dalaric

Eight: "𝙁𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚."

"Why do we have this desire to tease the innocent? Is it envy?"
-Graham Greene

—

Fatima looks just as startled as me. She's wearing a black chiffon hijab and a black hoodie and black jeans. Is this the dress code for all assassins? She pulls it off either way. I could never.

"Ricky? Y'know Maya?" She looks confused and shocked that this 5'4 shortie is hanging with a trained assassin leader guy/pretty man.

I look up to Dalaric, who's standing next to the rolly chair which i'm sitting on. His arms are crossed and he raises one brow at her, almost challenging Fatima. Why?

"I mean- uh. Sorry boss, what did you need me for?" She smiles sheepishly and I wave at her with both my hands. She only waves back when she looks at Dalaric.

Dalaric moves in front of me, putting his hands on the armrest of the chair and leans forward. He's so close that I can count the colors in his eyes and spot the tiny pimple next to his eyebrow. I have a pimple cream that'll help. But I shouldn't assume that he needs my help. He still looks perfect. I'd spend a lifetime trying to solve this mystery.

His eyes penetrate my soul when he softly grasps my injured hand. He looks at the wrist and his face hardens, he then looks at Fatima and looks at me. I get his message and nod.

Fatima comes over to me and Dalaric almost reluctantly moves out of the way. She brings out a first aid kit which I hadn't noticed before and crouches down to take my wrist. It hurts while she examines it.

"Does this hurt?" Fatima moves my wrist in an outwards way and I bite my lip hard so I don't scream. It hurts.

I shake my head no but it's useless since Dalaric speaks up.

"Yes." Okie then.

She wraps it gently after applying an ointment that smells funny but I wish it was Dalaric doing it instead.

"You can go." He orders rudely.

"Thank you, Fatima." I glare at Dalaric and he raises a brow in question before sighing and rubbing his temples.

"Thank you, Fatima. You may go." He says grumpily. Fatima seems shocked and stares at us for a while before leaving. I hope I can be friends with her. She doesn't seem to like me very much. Or she's just scared of Dalaric. Probably the latter.

I spin around in the rolly chair, fully aware that Dalaric is watching me but it's too much fun not to do so. He stops the chair with one hand and walks over to the couch that's next to the punching bag. He sits down and takes off his hoodie, leaving him in a black v neck and me in a heat stroke because holy moly cannoli.

The shirt really shows just how muscular his body is and I gulp. His arms look like they can squish me into a teeny tiny little grain of sand. He sits down and puts his elbows on his knees before cradling his head in his gloved hands.

He looks sad. I don't like it when he's sad. I get up from the chair and try to make my way without falling because I'm still dizzy from rolling about.

I gently pry away his hands from his head and crouch down a bit so I can take the gloves off his hands too. He just stares at me while I take some hand cream and apply it. Dalaric lets his head fall back while I do it and I smile at his new found relief. So cute.

After placing his manly hands back in his lap, I turn to walk away but yelp when he pulls me back by shirt. I fall onto the far end of the couch but he doesn't like the space and pulls me close so i'm placed in between his legs that are splayed out on either side of me now. My back rests against his chest and his legs are touching mine.