THE BROKEN REEL

Mann could not forgive Daniel for crossing the line. Hiring a PI. "Something's off with him, Cass. We need to know." Mann heard everything from deep in his apartment, crouching in darkness, receiver pressed to his ear as shallow breaths erupted in rage coiling in his gut. Daniel's suspicion was a splinter in their tape, an obstruction threatening to unravel Cassette from him: "He wants to snap our thread, Cassandra," thought Mann, his fingers tracing the gas valve he'd stolen days ago; the cold metal seemed to promise.

He waited until night, the city humming softly as he slipped into Daniel's apartment, the lock giving way to his picks with the ease of a sigh. It smelled like stale beer and leather: a bachelor's den. He tread silently across the floor, his boots whispering against the hardwood. In the bedroom, Daniel lay with his back against the sheets, sprawled shirtless, the dull tone of his snoring soon to be snuffed out by Mann. He carefully rigged the gas leak—unscrewing the line to the stove so that the hiss of the propane could get into the air, the rotten-egg smell curling faintly through the rooms. Then, a spark: a match struck and tossed from the doorway, its flame a tiny star blooming into chaos.

The explosion roared like a beast freed—shattering windows cascaded with glass flames licking up walls; the air was heavy with smoke and a sweet char of burning flesh. Daniel, too late, woke with a scream, a rattle of a note swallowed by the rising flames, its red-hot wrath blistering black his skin before turning to ash his hair, Mann watching from the alley with fire kissing his face, as the orange glow lit up in his eyes with the sound of the collapsing building, Daniel's body a cinder with few twists lying in the debris. "He was a tear in your spool, Cassette, a snag I burned away. My love's a blaze to keep you wound tight, my heart's only reel."

The funeral was held soon after, rain streaking the cemetery while Cassette wept, her black dress wet against her skin. Mann was beside her, an iron arm around her waist, drawing her close until her sobs flowed into his chest. "I'm your family now, my Cassette," he whispered, lips brushing against her temple, tasting salt and rain. She trembled against him as he lifted her chin, kissing her deeply: her mouth was soft and yielded, and his lips drank in her tears alongside her grief. "Let me hold you whole," he said, and she nodded, fading into him.

That night, in her room still heavy with mourning, he unwrapped her slowly—damp dress down her shoulders, kissing the hollow of her throat, collarbone, and scars. "You're my scripture, Cassette, every verse mine to guard," he said through clenched teeth, hands roaming down her ribs, her hips, blitzing her into the bed. She gasped, arching against him, fingers clawing his back as he shucked his shirt, skin still warm from the fire memory. He kissed her thighs, her center, his tongue stroking anointing fervor while her moans became his incantation—"Please, Mann," she begged, and he rose, claiming her completely as their bodies mellowed together in a passion-lined dance, glistening in sweat. He gripped her wrists, euphorically pounding down on her while suffocating her screams with his aria; her shattering became pleasure, triggering his. "Nobody can separate us, my muse," he panted into her neck, biting the pulse there, and she held onto him, unaware of the ash still faintly dusting his hands