“Come here,” Rika said. Her voice wasn't a command. It was a worn-out invitation.
When she was done, she didn't let go. She rested her chin on his shoulder, her arms still loosely around him. The room had grown dimmer, the sun now a low, orange disc sinking behind the neighboring rooftops.
She set the iodine aside and reached for a roll of gauze. “Lean forward,” she said. -SexArt- Rika Fane - First Aid Kit -14.06.2023-
Rika sat on the edge of the enormous, unmade bed, her bare feet barely touching the floor. She was wearing an oversized, faded cotton shirt—his—and the morning’s makeup was long gone, leaving her looking younger, more fragile. In her hands, she held the small, white metal box: the first aid kit.
The silence that followed was different. It wasn't the angry silence of before, nor the empty silence of after. It was a listening silence. “Come here,” Rika said
She smiled, a sad, small curve of her lips. “Because it’s the only thing in this apartment that knows how to fix things without breaking them more.”
He turned his head, his lips brushing against her temple. “That’s not what I’m worried about scarring.” When she was done, she didn't let go
Across the room, leaning against the exposed brick wall, was Elias. He was shirtless, a thin sheen of sweat still on his shoulders. A shallow, angry red scrape ran from his ribs down to his hip—a souvenir from the broken glass on the kitchen floor. The argument had been a violent, short-lived thing. A shattered wine glass. A door slammed. Then, the terrible, heavy quiet that followed.
It wasn't the standard, plastic pharmacy box. It was vintage, dented, with a red cross that had begun to peel. He’d found it at a flea market years ago and kept it mostly out of nostalgia. But today, its contents were more than bandages and antiseptic.
