Page 133 of Eternal

AZRA

“Master Of None” by Beach House

Present

I t’s been a week since I moved into Damir’s place.

The first night, I found out he had an entire board covered in pictures of me.

Me with Vik and Kat. Me training. Me at the party when we first met Me with the dogs. I was almost surprised he didn’t have one of me in the toilets.

I asked why he needed so many even for his mission, and he barely smiled, pulling them off the wall and tucking them into a drawer.

I wasn’t even angry. More concerned than anything.

But he kept laughing at my shock, said he’d keep them anyway, because I never let him take pictures of me willingly.

We’ve had a couple of small missions for the bratva but somehow it always ends the same.

HQ, food, that old bench.

Then home. Him.

He kisses me until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

We have fun. A lot of it. Funny how my body’s starting to crave his touch like it’s always been there. Nothing feels weird. Nothing feels wrong.

He’s cute.

He even followed me this morning when I went out for groceries. We got back, showered, and he left before me to make breakfast.

Right now, my legs rest on his lap, the big bowl of cereal balanced on my stomach. I barely eat, mostly lost in thought about tonight, and the nights to come.

I want this done. Done fast. So I can take a break. I need it. I know I physically do.

His hand tightens on my thigh, pinching gently as he sips his coffee. He watches me with that calm, quiet look he gets when he’s thinking.

“I told you about the girl, Emily, and her list,” I finally say. “The names and all.”

He nods, draping his arm over my legs.

“One of them owns a club downtown,” I add. “It’s fancy, but it feels fake, a bar, hotel, and club all rolled into one.”

“We’re going tonight?”

“Yeah,” I say, eyes on my bowl. “We get ready, head there. Once the party really starts, after the quiet music and drinks, we move. Find him, steal an invite, get the real time and date for the sermon. Then…” I pause. “We kill him. And then, next week I’ll go there.”

He smiles, softer than usual, and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m with you.”

I tilt my head, smirking. “Partner, are you flirting with me again?”

He doesn’t respond at first, simply sets his coffee down and gently moves the cereal bowl from my stomach to the table. Then, quietly, he lowers himself onto the sofa, his body easing over mine.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “Flirting… yeah. Can I have a kiss now?”

My heart skips. He leans in, and our lips touch, soft, then bold. He kisses me like he’s marking this space, this moment, as ours. His hand drifts up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheek.

I laugh against his lips, breath uneven and shaky.

“You’re impossible,” I whisper.

He grins. “I have a delicious partner and I can’t stop kissing her, apparently.”

Another small kiss and then he shifts, pulling a movie remote from the side table and flicking on Casablanca. And I smile, because I know he doesn’t like this movie as much as I do. But he did it for me.

We lie like that, his arm draped across my shoulders, our legs tangled, his laugh echoing on my neck as he leaves small kisses everywhere and tries to flirt with me for hours.

The movie plays in the background, and I feel safe. Ridiculously, stupidly safe in his arms.

Eventually, the clock ticks toward evening. He glances at me and nods. “Think it’s time to gear up?”

I squeeze his hand, nodding back. “Yeah.”

Showers, clothes, quiet prep. He’s always checking if I need help, like he’s trying to memorize the way I move.

I opened the drawer he emptied for me the day I arrived.

I know this is temporary. But living with someone who takes care of me... is strange. He’s not loud about it, not performative, it’s quiet, but necessary.

Like the vase and the irises he brought home the next morning. Like the bowl of yogurt and cereal he makes me every day. Like the curly hair products in the bathroom that I never asked for.

He made space for me, like I had a place here, like maybe I could stay here for more than a few days.

I pulled out a black dress. It’s short, simple, tight, with a slit high up the thigh. Practical if you know how to wear it. Thick enough to hide a few weapons.

From the bedroom, I hear his voice, “You’re wearing a black dress?”

“Yeah, why?”

He laughs, low, rough. Doesn’t answer.

The dress slides on. Tight. Zipper in the back. I reach, can’t quite get it. “Damir?” I call, voice softer now. “Can you…?”

He’s already behind me. Close. Warm. His fingers trail up my spine, slow and light as he pulls the zipper up.

In the bathroom mirror, I see his gaze in the reflection and that’s when I notice he’s in black too.

A fitted shirt, black slacks . We match. That stupid little fact makes me smile, for no good reason.

He did it on purpose and I want to turn around and kiss him.

His hands glide down to my hips, then lower, enough to settle there. “Tight enough, partner ?” he murmurs.

I nod, eyes still locked on his fingers. “Perfect.”

He smiles, softer than usual. “It looks really, really good on you.” Then he drops to his knees and I blink.

He turns me gently and looks up at me with that ridiculous grin of his. His hands find the strap of the thigh holster and adjust it carefully against the inside of my leg. Then he leans in and kisses the skin above the strap, and bites me.

My breath catches. I grab him by the collar and pull him up, kiss him slowly.

“That hurt,” I murmur against his lips.

He kisses me again and laughs softly. “Too tempting.”

Our foreheads press together, both of us breathing harder now. Quietly.

“This is important,” I whisper. “We stay focused, right?”

He slides a hand up into my hair, fingertips brushing the back of my neck.

“Focused,” he says, voice low and rough. “Always. We’ll be together. It’ll be fine.”

I kiss him again, deeper this time. A little hungrier, once more, because I’m happy to have him with me. Then I pull back, slowly before I get lost in it.

I grab my phone, my bag, the knife tucked into the side pocket as he watches me.

Time to go.