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Happy Isles

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You were trying to mind your own business.

In his defence, so was he.

V sat on the couch, one hand holding his book open, the other lazily scritching the velvet neck of the panther napping in his lap. You watched as his attention drifted down the pages, his deep green eyes shifting beneath dark lashes as he read between the lines. His inked chest rose and fell with his calm breathing; his soft, jet-black hair laid beautifully around his face. With the nature of recent events, you couldn’t remember the last time he looked so at peace.

It filled you with insurmountable rage.

“Is something the matter?” he asked softly, not looking up from his book. It didn’t take a demon hunter to sense the aura of unbridled fury emanating from your entire being.

You couldn’t take it, anymore. “You are overwhelmingly attractive and it makes me ANGRY because I DON’T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE IT.”

Your face was burning—from frustration or from embarrassment, you weren’t sure—but it was worth it, damn it, to finally see V with something other than smug composure on his face. For a moment, he looked at you with widened eyes, his mouth rounding some voiceless word of surprise as the slightest of pinks dusted his cheeks.

And the moment was gone.

He returned to his reading, lowering his head to hide his eyes behind his swept hair.

“You flatter me,” he said, his voice as unwavering as ever. “I am…quite privileged to have drawn your gaze. And your ire, it seems.”

The smile on his face was obvious.

You were going to fucking explode.