Seven

Nox Zephyr leaned forward, a twisted smirk curling across his lips as the man beneath him sobbed harder.

"Tch. Don't embarrass yourself. Real men don't cry.”

Rocco’s cries only deepened, his body trembling violently against the restraints pinning him to the filthy bed, now soaked with blood and vomit. But he was far from dying. Not yet.

Nox straightened to his full length with a bored sigh, his eyes briefly scanning the room before drifting back to the pitiful man.

"This wasn’t how it was supposed to go," he muttered, his fingers brushing the assortment of weapons scattered across the nearby drawer.

“P-please,” Rocco croaked, voice hoarse and ragged from the acid Nox had forced down his throat earlier.

"It would have been easier to gut you when I had the chance earlier," Nox said, laughing low in his chest, the sound unhinged. "But I figured it’d be more fun to let you suffer. You know why?”

Rocco whimpered in response, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

"I want you to die knowing you were worthless. One job. You had one job." Nox’s voice darkened, eyes narrowing as he watched the blood leak from the gashes on Rocco’s body. "And yet you failed. Why would I spare you?”

Rocco’s wails grew louder, straining his throat.

"Oh, right," Nox added casually, "you can't talk anymore. That acid really messed you up. It's a miracle you're not dead from the corrosive injury in your mouth, oesophagus and stomach. Well, I suppose I overdid it a little. Oops.”

Rocco struggled against his restraints, his hairy chest rising in uneven jerks.

"You’re wishing you died with that acid, aren't you?" Nox cooed, voice suddenly sweet. "Too bad. Only good boys deserve an easy death."

Rocco's breath quickened as Nox crossed the room, his steps slow and deliberate, echoing off the room walls.

"You’ll never know which second will be your last. Or when I would thrust my knife again. That’s what makes this interesting. Isn't it fun?”

“P-please… so-sorry,” Rocco rasped, choking on the blood spilling from his throat.

“He's human.” Nox’s tone dropped, maliciously, “Just a human. And you let him get away.”

Rocco’s eyes darted, trying to follow the path of Nox’s knife.

"You know he was shot," Nox said, tapping his own chest with the blade. "And I felt it. Right here. Boom.”

Rocco’s body shuddered as he let his head fall forward in resignation.

"I almost had him," Nox muttered, tying the ropes tighter around Rocco’s wrists, ignoring his screams. "You were supposed to be better than this. You’re not just some pathetic human, you’re supposed to be advanced, stronger. And still, you failed."

Then Nox giggled. A wild, spiteful sound. "Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

He grabbed Rocco’s chin and forced him to look up.

"My sweet boy is out there. Alone. Without me. He must be terrified," Nox whispered, a shadow of something terrifying in his voice. "That’s why you have to die.”

He slashed the blade across Rocco’s throat and nicked a vein. Not deep enough to kill. But just enough to bleed him out.

"I’m too kind to kill you quickly. So I’ll let you enjoy your last moments instead."

He let Rocco’s head fall, bringing the bloody knife to his mouth to wipe clean with his tongue, a wicked grin blooming across his face.

"My sweet boy’s grown new wings," Nox whispered into the silence. Then he laughed. Quiet at first, then louder, echoing off the walls in uneven bursts. "Beautiful.”

…

Jeremiah barely slept that night.

Every time his eyelids dropped and he began to drift off, fear would rip them back open immediately. Every sound creeped him out and every rustle of wind outside made his skin crawl. And the presence of a large man just across the room didn’t help.

The rest of the day was strange after that odd room incident. So he hid away in his room to avoid coming in contact with his roommates. The new one especially.

And yet, despite the anxiety, he couldn’t ignore the strange tug he felt in his chest whenever Everett was near.

He just couldn't get rid of the idea that Everett and Xander could change their minds and hurt him.

He tried to reassure himself about the situation but it was impossible. He had no reason to trust any of them.

Despite the daunting presence, Jeremiah was torn between being scared for his safety and acknowledging the feeling in his chest anytime he got close to his roommate's brother.

He was confused, frustrated and inexplicably wound up and it all tied back to the man who was silently lingering in his bathroom right now.

A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts. His breath caught as he turned toward the bathroom door.

“Jeremiah?” Everett’s voice was gentle, muffled through the wood.

Jeremiah swallowed thickly, pressing his palms against the sheets. Maybe if he stayed quiet long enough, Everett would go away.

“Are you okay in there?” Everett asked again, voice even softer.

Jeremiah stood slowly, inching slowly towards the door without opening it. “I’m okay,” he replied, barely above a whisper.

There was a pause. Followed by a small sound from Everett, clearly not quite convinced. “I just thought… Maybe there is something I can do to help ease your anxiety.”

Jeremiah blinked. “Ho… why would you think I’m anxious?”

Silence.

Jeremiah straightened up, his brows together in conviction and confusion.

“Jeremiah?”

“I’m here,” Everett replied hastily, voice steady. Jeremiah bit back a sigh of relief, the sound of Everett's voice grounding him more than he cared to admit. He suddenly wished the door were open so they could be face to face.

“Xander mentioned earlier how you usually react around people,” Everett explained. “I figured someone new sharing your space might stress you out.”

It made sense. And for the first time, Jeremiah felt a bit of that tension in his chest ease.

“I just need time to adjust, that’s all,” Jeremiah murmured. Then, after a pause, “What about you?”

“Me?” Everett sounded surprised. “I’m okay.”

Unconvinced, Jeremiah asked, “Are you sure you’re okay with the room?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Are you worried about me, baby?”

Jeremiah choked. “What? No!”

Everett chuckled, and Jeremiah imagined that cold, unreadable face softening with a teasing smile. The tips of his ears burned with embarrassment.

“So… you don’t care then?”

Jeremiah froze. That question lingered in the air, heavier than it should’ve been.

He didn’t know how to answer. And deep down, he wasn’t sure if Everett was joking or not.

And maybe that was the scariest part of all.