WARNING: This chapter contains sensitive content. Please read at your own risk.
THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW
"Calm down, Sera. You're not gonna die."
Her hands trembled where they wrapped around the bowl of ice cream, the spoon clinking against ceramic as she tried to steady herself. She sat on the edge of the bed, the sheets cool under her thighs, waiting for the shift in air that meant Lucian was near.
Ten minutes had passed since he'd helped her bathe and pull on a soft cotton shirt—then he'd been gone, muttering something about supplies and rushing out before she could ask why. Now the ice cream was melting down her wrist, sweet and sticky, and she kept drawing slow breaths to push back the knot in her stomach.
Why go out at all? A blade's all you need to shave. That's what I used before—I just can't trust my hands to be steady enough now. She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling her heart thud against her ribs.
Footsteps sounded in the hall—soft, but not silent. She'd never mistake Lucian's usual grace for this; he moved like a shadow most days, but earlier he'd made sure she heard him coming. Still, when no one spoke, doubt crept in.
"Lucian? Where have you been?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended, arms crossing over her chest. "I thought you were helping me—did you walk to the next province or what? Took forever."
Silence stretched back at her. She wasn't fooled—she'd grown used to his quiet ways—but the empty space in the room made her shoulders tighten.
"You took so long… come on. Let's just get this over with."
No sound. No shift of weight, no breath caught in the air.
"Hello? Anyone there?" Fear pricked at her throat, and the room felt suddenly heavy—as if the walls were closing in. The moment she spoke, though, the pressure lifted, leaving only a cool draft that made her shiver.
It was as if whoever had been there had vanished. Like no one had ever been close at all.
She let out a laugh that tasted bitter. "I must be losing it. Ghosts now."
Nervousness curdled into unease. The air felt colder than before, and she found herself grateful for the dark—if something was here, she'd only have to feel it, not see it staring back. Minutes ticked by, slow as honey, and she found herself praying for warmth, for the sound of his voice. Feeling was scarier than seeing—goose bumps rose on her skin, sharp and tight.
"Really taking your time—"
Her words cut off as footsteps approached again, this time from outside the door. They grew closer, deliberate and heavy, until she could feel the weight of someone standing just on the other side.
"Lucian… is that you?" She whispered it, voice shaky—afraid she was imagining things again.
"Yeah. It's me. Something wrong?"
A long breath rushed out of her, warm against her lips. This was him—she'd know his voice anywhere.
"N-no… just… forever. Where'd you even find a blade that takes so long?"
"Blade?" He stepped into the room, and she heard something set down on the table to her left—soft clinks of glass and plastic. "We're not using one."
"Huh? No blade? Then how—"
"It's wax. Soft wax. Won't hurt as much as you think."
Her jaw went slack. She'd never heard of such a thing.
"Wax? I don't know anything about that—I only know blades! Good grief, it's not gonna kill me, is it?" Words tumbled out in a rush, fear mixing with confusion. "Are you even sure you know what you're doing? know what you're doing? This sounds like something from a foreign movie!"
He laughed—a low, warm sound that made her cheeks flush. Another new look from her, he thought—wide eyes, parted lips, all earnest worry.
The truth was, he'd dragged Kidd along to the store just to ask questions he didn't want to voice himself. He'd insisted on picking out every item by hand—couldn't trust anyone else to choose something that would touch her skin. Even if he'd stared at labels like a fool, at least he knew it was safe.
"Don't worry. It won't hurt. Now let's get your clothes off so we can start."
She swallowed hard, the movement visible in her throat. Cute, he thought, his gaze settling on her face before drifting down to her hands, which were twisting in her shirt hem.
He pulled out the supplies, arranging them on the table: a small warmer, the wax pot, a silicone brush. It would need a few minutes to heat up. For now, he let his eyes rest on her—taking his time.
"L-Lucian."
She was lying on the bed now, completely bare, legs spread as he'd asked. One arm was crossed over her chest, fingers curled tight around her breast, and she kept shifting her hips as if trying to find a way to feel less exposed.
Something felt off. Why did he need her entirely naked? Was he… looking at her? Wanting her?
"Relax, Seraphina." He spoke softly, but his own body was rigid—every muscle tight, desire a low burn in his gut he'd never felt so sharp. He'd seen people naked before, but this was different. This was her.
He found himself studying the marks on her skin: a fresh scar on her thigh from when she'd tripped last week, stretch marks silver against the curve of her hips, the faint unevenness in her skin tone she'd mentioned once, voice tight with shame.
But to him, those marks were what made her real. Beautiful, in a way that had nothing to do with perfection.
"I'm embarrassed… hurry up." She whispered it, face turned to the side.
He picked up the brush, dipping it into the warm wax—thick and smooth as honey. His gaze settled between her legs, where dark curls softened the lines of her body. He could already picture how she'd look—pink and smooth, hers and hers alone.
He bit his lower lip, fighting the urge to lean down and taste her. She looked so soft, so warm—inviting in a way that made his hands clench.
Her breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling fast. She was tensed all over, ready for pain.
"A-Ahh!"
The sound escaped her as he spread the wax over her skin—cool at first, then warming as it settled. It was stickier than she'd expected, covering more than she'd thought it would, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise, forgetting her arm was covering her chest until it fell away.
She tried to close her legs, but his hands were there in an instant, gentle but firm on her knees.
"Relax. You can't close them—you'll mess it up." His voice was low, rough around the edges.
She didn't know whether to laugh or panic. "Mess it up? What kind of 'work' is this? It's not exactly… pretty."
"Oh stop that." He ran his thumb along her knee, feeling her shiver. "You have no idea how good this looks. Stop putting yourself down—or I might just have to show you."
Her eyes widened, dark even in the low light. "Show me? Is that a joke?"
"Don't test me." He leaned closer, so she could feel his breath on her stomach. "You're playing with fire already. If I do what I want, you won't be able to stop yourself from making noise, Sera."
Her heart hammered faster, heat flooding her skin until she felt dizzy. A familiar tingle spread through her veins—the same one she'd felt the first time he'd touched her, when he'd washed her hair in the tub.
She forced a laugh, shaky and thin. "L-Lucian… you're really out of your mind."
"Yeah. Crazy motherfucker, remember?" He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "And you've only seen a tenth of it."
She clamped her mouth shut, silence stretching between them for what felt like hours. Finally, she spoke again, voice small. "S-So… I just lie here? Like this?"
"Until it dries hard."
She nodded, and they fell quiet. Ten minutes passed—she could feel the wax cooling, tightening against her skin.
"Lucian… my legs are cramping."
"I've got you." He lifted her legs gently, supporting them in his hands—warm palms against the back of her thighs.
Another ten minutes.
"Lucian… I think it's hard now."
He looked down at her, then at himself—he'd been hard since the moment he'd seen her bare.
"Yeah. It's hard."
He positioned his hands at the edge of the wax strip. "Stay still. I'm taking it off."
She gripped the sheets, knuckles white, bracing for pain. A sharp sting shot through her as he peeled it back slowly, and a soft sound escaped her—breathy and raw.
"U-Uhh… slow down, Lu—ahh!"
He was sweating now, beads rolling down his temple as he listened to her. Every little noise felt like it was pulling him apart—so f-cking intimate he could barely think straight.
"I'm pulling it off now." He warned her, and she nodded, tensing.
The final tug was sharp, then gone—just a quick burn that faded into warmth. She panted, chest heaving like she'd run miles, heart racing against her ribs.
It was over. She'd made it through.
Then she felt something cool against her skin—softer than wax, warmer than air.
It was his lips. His tongue, gentle against her skin, and she froze, breath catching in her throat.