“What do you mean you
still
won’t update it!?” Emilia glared up at Olivier, who was staring resolutely at the elevator doors as they stood, crammed in with the rest of his class, awaiting their arrival in the second of the cities they would be visiting.
“I said what I said. I am still perfectly happy with this version of {Blissful Silence} and see no reason to update it,” he replied, which, yes, was exactly what he had said when she’d bothered to ask about it the first time.
The night before—although, by the time she’d fallen asleep, it had definitely been early that morning—she had passed out, crying softly into Olivier’s neck as he told her he forgave her.
He forgave her.
He forgave her.
He shouldn’t forgive her for violating him like that, yet he did.
He shouldn’t forgive her. Instead, he should have pushed her away, removed {Blissful Silence} and every other function he had that she had created and never spoken to her again.
Olivier had forgiven her, held her close all night long. Despite his claims otherwise, he had also changed the time they were set to meet up with the rest of the class so they could sleep in. Gone was the group breakfast—everyone would have to fend for themselves—and they were to meet at the elevators an hour later than intended. Allegedly, it was so Olivier could deal with some things related to Movree and Stewart. Emilia remained unconvinced; rather, he had changed it to allow the both of them a little longer to sleep, breakfast arriving at their door shortly after the man had gently woken her, his arms still laced around her.
Then, they had been moving, eating, and very awkwardly realizing that they were both idiots. Mostly, Emilia was the idiot. The very, very big idiot—not that she could say she wasn’t happy to have been an idiot in this instance.
It had all started after they had finished breakfast, and Olivier—who had barely been able to bring himself to look at Emilia since waking—had meandered over to his bags.
“What are you doing?”
she had asked, still all sleepy innocence as she stretched her arms over her head, a long groan escaping her. Sleeping next to people was nice, but the positions! Either they worked, and you woke up all melty—those happy, physical-touch hormones were no joke!—or stiff. Arms just never seemed to fit anywhere correctly when snuggling. It had been easier with just Olivier, compared to the cuddle puddles she and the triplets fell into, but her body had still needed a little stretching and contorting to loosen up.
Across the room, Olivier had tensed and mumbled something about looking for clothes for her.
“I doubt your room will be accessible before we leave. I was trying to find something for you to wear.”
He had rummaged around… then rummaged around a bit more.
“See! This is why you should have unpacked! Then you’d known where everything is~”
she had laughed, kicking off the blankets that Olivier had tucked up around her while she ate, as though worried about seeing the bare legs that had spent the night woven through his. Pity he hadn’t let her wrap them around his waist.
It had been then that Olivier had hummed in agreement—something about how she had already said that. Then, he had frozen. So long did he remain like that, not moving more than his breaths allowed, that she had eventually wandered over to him, knelt beside him, the school sweater she had stolen pooled over her thighs.
“Olivier?”
“Mn?”
“Is something wrong?”
It had seemed like a sensible question at the time. If she had spent more than a second thinking about it—or bothered turning her Censor’s ability to offer suggestions back on, having turned it off the night before when it had annoyed her with suggestions of what she should and shouldn’t talk with Olivier about at dinner—she wouldn’t have asked. Instead, she would have pushed the conversation elsewhere. As much as what had occurred between them the night before was fine—perfect, even if it was marred with nightmares pulled from the past—and nothing could make her regret it… No, she really hadn’t needed Olivier turning to her, his eyes wide, and asking how she had popped up behind him on their first night.
It was only then that Emilia remembered their first night on board and that moment before they headed off to dinner, when Olivier had first accidentally revealed that the rumours of his Grey Sands heritage were true. Wanting to mess with him, she had used {Hidey Hole} to slide through the door frame just as he was exiting the room. Startled him. Made a comment on how he hadn’t unpacked. Off they’d gone to dinner.
Sometimes, Emilia really was quite amazed with how stupid and empty-headed she could be. {Hidey Hole} had been one of the first skills she designed. It was, well, less-than-legal. Not completely illegal! Just… the sort of skill that would be highly regulated, were it to be officially released. It could, after all, be used to break into practically anywhere. Usually, it had just been her and her friends shifting in and out of each other’s homes, occasionally breaking in to other places around town for a late night snack or to retrieve something forgotten at school. It hadn’t been something they
always
used, though. There was just something about climbing a tree and breaking in through a window, something about hacking in rather than using a skill, that led the meeting to have a different sort of energy.
Take her and Rafe! There hadn’t been a single moment in their friendship or relationship where they had used {Hidey Hole} to visit one another: they had always climbed trees, scaled the wall that separated their estates, made silly plans to meet up under the cover of darkness despite their parents being totally okay with their relationship. Realistically, either of them could have used the front door and just made their way to the other’s bedroom, no matter the hour. Before their relationship, it would have been fine—no one would have stopped their innocent sleepovers, regardless of age. During their relationship, as long as they were collectively being safe and not risking tiny, silver-haired children popping out of her, no one cared. Even now, if either of them showed up at the other’s front door, their parents wouldn’t hesitate to usher them inside. Maybe her father would glare a little at the boy who had broken his daughter’s heart, but Emilia doubted he would do much more—it had been years, after all.
Using {Hidey Hole} was both second nature and entirely not, and Emilia really didn’t think she could be faulted for forgetting about it! And seriously! Her Censor had been working when she’d originally lost her key, and it hadn’t suggested she use the skill to get into her room either! Had she been patently avoiding thinking about the ramifications of losing her key and not having a place to stay that night? Totally! But still! It should have suggested
something
, because the thing was, the longer she and Olivier had sat there, staring at one another, tension practically a visible line between them, Emilia’s mind had swirled with more thoughts and solutions to her lost key conundrum.
Other than {Hidey Hole}, the most obvious solution to her concerns about where to sleep should have been that there were multiple clones on board, and she could easily have spent the night with any one of them. On top of that, both she and the clones also had other, more official, law-enforcement skills they could have used to at least get her some clothes for the night—that was where this morning had started, right? With Olivier refusing to let his eyes linger on his too-big and oh so comfortable sweater as it hung off her body, pulling tighter around her hips and ass and probably just accentuating her curves all the more. With Olivier, who hadn’t just refused to turn her away—forced her to go ask one of the clones to let her snuggle up next to them, or sleep in a room with compromised security, or find someone else to spend the night with—but had let her sleep in his clothes. With Olivier, who had bought her so many skincare products that it was ridiculous. With Olivier, who had allowed her to disrupt his sleep and snuggle into him when the nightmares of the past pressed too firmly into her.
Had she been alone, perhaps the nightmare wouldn’t have come. Rafe wouldn’t have been on her mind, perhaps. Maybe the nightmare would have still come to terrorize her, to leave her grumpy and sleep-deprived for their day out. The clones would have been able to handle her nightmare, but they might very well have gone along with her usual avoidance of further sleep and spent the night playing card games or something.
In some ways, it felt like the entire universe had plotted to get them together in that bed. That was insane, but Emilia couldn’t shake the feeling it was true. So many moments clasped together, leading them to that moment. Each of them losing thoughts—more than just them, even Grenner having seemingly forgotten about {Hidey Hole} or any other option to get her back into her room, even just to grab her things. Even her accidentally flashing Olivier, so she could fall asleep all alone in that room, just seemed too odd and unexplainable.
It was insane, and in the end, all Emilia had been able to do was laugh, and laugh, and laugh, her body falling into Olivier as she shook and all he had been able to do was sigh, his hand landing in her hair. That hand had spent practically the whole night tangled there, and she had woken to him holding her to his neck as though he really believed anything could force her from his warmth.
In the end, she had used {Hidey Hole} to get both her and Olivier into her room—he had insisted that
someone
could have found her key and used it to get into the room before someone had been sent to disable the lock the night before. Emilia supposed that was true, but she wasn’t really sure Olivier would be anything more than a liability in a fight. He might surprise her! Definitely, the amount of muscle he hid under his clothes had been surprising. She still didn’t think he knew how to fight, either physically or with skills.
Definitely, there was no way he could fight with or against a willbrand; there was a chance that, like many civilians, he just sort of forgot they existed, rare as they were outside of war and high-ranking law enforcement. Seriously, even organized crime rarely used them, and when they did? Well, when any criminal had a willbrand, that was when you ran for your fucking life. Criminals only got willbrands if they were up there in the ranks—although, in Emilia’s experience, a lot of the really big shots had inherited willbrands and weren’t necessarily skilled enough to be effective with them—or were monsters. Monsters always got the best weapons.
So, no, Emilia didn’t think Olivier would be particularly helpful in a fight. Still, she’d let him come with her to get a change of clothes and throw on a little makeup, lest she spend the day with people commenting on how young she looked. Probably, the man had expected her to change
all
her clothes. Joke was on him: she loved his sweater, and he was going to have to take it off her himself if he wanted it back. Joke was double on him, though: she wasn’t stupid enough to not expect temperature shifts as they travelled the city, and had put a top on under the sweater, in case she needed to strip later. Ergo, he could easily manhandle her from the sweater and not risk flashing her tits at everyone—not that she would particularly care; Olivier stealing the sweater back, regardless of her state of dress, would be deserved. The lawyer was far too polite to do such a thing… probably.
Currently, he was still refusing to look at her. All his student had gawked upon seeing her, clearly aware of just whose sweater was covering the purple shorts she’d pulled on, barely peeking out from under the deep grey sweater due to how short they were, but whatever. Let them think what they liked. Olivier could correct the assumptions they were clearly making if it bothered him.
“You have to update it,” she insisted, bouncing on her toes and continuing to glare up at him.
“I said what I said. I am still perfectly happy with this version of {Blissful Silence} and see no reason to update it,” he said once again, and fuck was the man stubborn!
“If I give you back your sweater, will you update it?” she asked—practically begged.
For the first time that morning, other than when he had remembered her ability to slip in and out of rooms without a key, the man’s eyes truly looked at her. They dragged over her, taking in her bare legs and gentle poof of her shorts, the way his sweater both clung to and hung from her. Finally, they landed on her face and Emilia knew he wanted her—knew that if whatever was holding him back from giving in weren’t there, he would happily bury himself inside her—but he rarely showed that want so openly, and fuck if it didn’t shoot straight to her pussy.
“No,” was all he said before flicking his eyes back to the elevator doors, a soft
bing
announcing their impending arrival back on solid ground.
Well, whatever the reason behind Olivier’s refusal to updating {Blissful Silence}, despite now knowing about its stalking ability, it would have to wait; Lüshan was waiting, and if Emilia took Olivier’s continued resistance as a sign he was perfectly okay with her opening up the database and leaving it to alert her of his mental and physical state for the rest of the day—or longer, if he continued insisting that it didn’t need to be updated—well…
Arc 9 | Chapter 362: Fine! I’ll just stalk you, then!
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