YOU FOOL

"Well, I worked out, I guess—that helped. So… can I help you get your bags inside, Aunt Becca? I'm sure you're pretty tired."

Dorian stepped back, holding the door open.

"Thanks," she said with a tired smile, stepping past him. "I didn't bring much, didn't really have the chance… Would you believe this is the only dress that man let me go out in? Just tossed me out, damn it."

Dorian's eyes flicked downward, and he tried not to stare.

The dress clung to her like a second skin, hugging every curve. He couldn't help but wonder how it hadn't ripped apart yet—let alone why she'd been wearing something like that.

Aunt Becca had always dressed more conservatively in the past.

Now, she was clearly trying to cover herself up with her arms, which somehow made the whole thing worse. More vivid and much more distracting.

"Ah, well… I'm sure my gramps left some old clothes around somewhere," he said, turning away quickly. "I haven't sorted through most of the house, but I think one of the rooms has some things that might fit you."

Both of them slowly walked inside Dorian closed the door while trying to keep his gaze steady.

His aunt, on the other hand, stood completely still after a few steps, lost in thought.

═══ Rebecca Halloway ═══

Rebecca slowed her steps, her heels soft against the old wooden floor.

A strange déjà vu crept in—memories she hadn't thought about in years. She wasn't exactly used to this house. She had only lived here briefly as a child, for about three years, before her mother left.

Her mother married the old man late in his life, stayed just long enough to tire of the wife act, and then disappeared with another man—as if the whole marriage had been a trial run, she did not intend to continue playing.

As for Rebecca, she had never really bonded with her stepfather. He was old, distant, and clearly heartbroken when her mother left. Still, he kept in touch after the split—mostly to ask about her mother.

Rarely about Becca herself.

Now, standing in the doorway of that same house—after her own marriage had crumbled—it felt like something had come full circle.

Maybe something was broken in her, too.

She had always wanted to be different from her mother. To be with someone, not bounce between them. But in the end… she had chosen wrong. Again.

Her hand brushed the doorframe as she walked deeper inside, the warmth of the place settling in her chest as memories of the past flooded in.

"Aunt Becca?" Dorian asked, looking back.

She blinked, realizing she'd stopped in the hallway, eyes distant.

"Oh—yeah, sorry. Just... remembering."

That's when she heard her name again. The voice belonged to a boy she'd watched grow up—only now, he was a complete stranger.

Tall. Toned. Handsome in a way that felt… disorienting.

And those eyes—were they always red, didn't he always wear glasses? Contacts, maybe?

They matched the red streaks in his long black hair, which was tied back in a ponytail that suited him a little too well.

═════════

"Aunt Becca, did you bring the food you said you were going to bring?" Dorian called again, noticing how spaced out she seemed.

He briefly wondered if maybe she'd been drugged. Was her husband that kind of guy?

"Sorry," she replied, shaking herself from the thoughts. "This house just keeps bringing back a lot of memories—even if I was only here for a few years."

She exhaled and continued, "And no, I didn't bring the food, but I did order it. Should be here in a few minutes. I just couldn't go out looking like… this. So, if someone knocks, could you get the door? I'll try to find something else to wear. I'm sure my mom left some clothes behind—somewhere, even if they're old."

Before Dorian could say anything, she turned and hurried up the stairs.

He tried not to look. He really did.

But the way her tight clothes hugged her body, the way her face flushed in embarrassment—it stirred something in him. Something more than just curiosity.

His newly-awakened instincts responded like a whip to her every movement.

His jaw clenched as he curled his hand into a fist, sharp nails digging into his palm.

Pain helped. Just enough.

Thankfully, his skin and nails were equally tough—he didn't break skin. But the pressure reminded him: he was hungry.

And this wasn't ordinary hunger.

Suppressing the feeling, he grabbed her duffel bags and carried them upstairs. He paused in the hallway, tempted to listen for which room she'd chosen.

Tempted to peek.

But he didn't.

Instead, he forced himself back down the stairs, body tense. He felt like a caged animal.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

He froze.

"…Delivery, huh," he muttered, his voice dry as he turned toward the front door.

He was grateful—deeply grateful—for the distraction.

Fishing out his wallet, he thumbed through a few crumpled bills for the tip, then stepped toward the door and pulled it open.

A girl stood there, she was hunched over trying to lift the bag with her legs spread slightly, her stance awkward—long blonde hair spilling from beneath a pink helmet, her delivery shirt tight at the chest and tucked into glossy black pants that clung to her legs.

"Mind giving me a hand here?" she said, breath catching. "I don't wanna drop this. Seriously—what did you order, food for ten people?"

Her voice carried the weariness of someone who'd already had a long day. She looked mildly annoyed—until she looked up at him.

Her expression paused, as if time stopped for her.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Dorian said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know what my aunt ordered. Let me help you with that…"

He stepped forward and reached for the bag. His fingers brushed against hers for just a moment—

—and then she flinched, pulling her hand back like she'd touched a live wire.

"Ah—sorry! I don't know what came over me!" she blurted, blinking hard.

Dorian hesitated.

For a second, something flickered between them.

It was then that he heard a small chuckle in his head, the voice of the incubus, he was clearly up to something.

He was curious, but he ultimately forced himself to ignore it.

The bag felt light in his hands now—too light, honestly. With his new strength, it was like lifting a pillow.

He held it casually at his side while fishing for the tip money in his pocket.

The girl, meanwhile, had taken off her delivery helmet and was hastily fixing her hair. She seemed suddenly flustered, brushing strands behind her ear, avoiding eye contact.

"I hope it wasn't too hard," Dorian said, offering a small smile as he handed over the tip. "Here, I'll throw in a little extra for the trouble."

He was ready to end the conversation right there—just a quick thank-you and close the door—but then the girl spoke up.

"Ah… about that," she said, her voice softer now, "I didn't know anyone still lived here. I remember seeing an old man around when I was a kid. I figured he moved or something?"

Her cheeks were faintly flushed, though Dorian didn't recognize those kinds of signs yet.

"Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "He was my grandfather. I barely knew him, honestly. But… he's gone now. Literally gone. I ended up inheriting this place after getting accepted to the university. Good thing it's close by…"

The girl's eyes widened as he leaned against the doorway, casually.

"You don't say…" She blinked, then lit up a little. "You're going to Rothaven University, too? Small world! I thought I was the only one around here who got in. It's not exactly easy to get accepted."

She gave a small, proud huff. "Here I am, busting my ass delivering food to pay it off already… but hey, looks like I've already got someone I can count on, right?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Count on?"

She smirked. "Well, maybe just to carry heavy bags…"

Dorian looked at the blonde girl for a few seconds, nodding politely—but saying nothing.

Then, a familiar voice rang sharply in his head.

[Fool!]

[Introduce yourself, you idiot. I'm doing my part with the charm aura, and you're just standing there like a brick wall. Do you even know how flirting works?]

[Ugh, who did I get paired with? Seriously, I'm bonded to a guy who can't read the most obvious signals—look at her! She's practically handing you an opening, and you're blank-staring like it's a math problem.]

[Now get in there, ask for her name, get some information—hell, I found a memory in here about phone numbers. Do that! Get her number!!! You stupid—son of—]

The voice trailed off in static frustration, and Dorian blinked, realizing the girl was still waiting.

"Sure, you can count on it," Dorian said with a faint smile. "I'm Dorian, by the way. And, uh… maybe we could swap numbers? You know, in case you could help me figure this place out a little more. I was told to sell this old house, but I'm kinda thinking of keeping it. So yeah… I might need some help getting to know the area. You know… as neighbors?"

He scratched the back of his neck—a nervous habit—but the motion unintentionally pulled his shirt tighter across his chest, outlining muscles he was still getting used to having.

Emma noticed. Her posture shifted slightly, like something had jolted her spine straight.

"Sure, that should be fine!" she replied, voice a little brighter. "I usually get off work around seven—eight at the latest while we're on vacation."

She pulled out her phone, thumb ready.

Dorian gave her his number slowly, still trying to keep his voice steady. A second later, his phone buzzed with a message: A winking bunny emoji.

"Well, that's all from me," she said, smiling. "I'm Emma Blake, by the way. I live about three blocks down, so it's not far if you ever need anything. And, uh—welcome to the neighborhood. Just remember to keep your grass cut or old lady Stef will be on you like a hawk."

She winked at him and slipped her helmet back on, giving a quick wave before heading off.

═══ Emma Blake ═══

But behind that calm act, her heart was still hammering.

Ever since he touched her—just briefly—something had shifted inside her. It wasn't normal.

It was like her brain had been dipped in pink fog.

She wondered if Dorian was just that attractive—she actually found him more than that.

He was irresistible, in a way she couldn't explain.

Not even her exes had made her feel like that, hell, she was still struggling to get over the last one.

"Damn it… Get a hold of yourself," Emma muttered, straddling her motorcycle. "Three more hours, just three more…"

She risked one last glance back—and saw him still watching her from the doorway.

Their eyes met.

She waved quickly again, awkwardly—then kicked into gear and sped off, cheeks burning under her helmet.

═════════

As for Dorian, he just stood there, staring at the bunny emoji on his screen, replaying the entire interaction.

"…What the hell just happened?"

[DO IT, YOU FOOL!]

Yamir's voice exploded in his head.

[Send something back! You need a starting point, and that girl is perfect—open, curious, flustered. That's the kind of energy we can work with! Then maybe after her, you can actually try going for the hot milfy aunt—now that's a mountain worth climbing. A soft, curvy, forbidden...]

Dorian groaned and ran a hand down his face.

"Why are you like this?"

[Because I'm you now, dumbass. And you're welcome!]

"Did you get the food? I hope I didn't order too much. I was kind of starving when I picked everything out…"

He looked up at the voice and saw his aunt stepping into the hallway, now dressed in something far more casual. The outfit still hugged her in certain places, but at least now it was easier to talk to her without feeling overly self-conscious.

"It should last us two meals at least," Dorian said, lifting the bag and heading toward the dining room.

The table was dusty—like everything else in the house—but it wouldn't take much effort to wipe it down and make it usable.

"Good," Rebecca replied, following after him. "Let's eat. I haven't had a proper meal in almost a day."