Mo ye ended the call with a smile. Edwin was his only friend. He had Shifu and Edwin. No one else.
He came home yesterday and since then he'd been locked in his room. The temple would always be his hiding place. When the world got too loud he always came back here. His home.
Mo Ye lay back on the thin mattress, eyes half-closed, breath running shallow. The temple walls pressed in like they always did, quiet but never empty. His body remembered more than his head wanted to.
Fiorella's hands. The way she used to shove him when they argued, then grab his shirt before he could leave. Her nails biting, her warmth pressed too close. It was always like that fight, then fire.
He dragged a hand over his face, jaw tight. He hated how much he missed the weight of her. Her skin on his. The silence between them filled now with nothing but echoes.
He exhaled, harsh. This temple was supposed to strip him clean, but tonight it only made the hunger sharper.
Mo Ye lay on his back, the thin mattress creaking under him. The temple walls didn't care. They'd seen everything before.
Her name burned in his head. Fiorella.
He slid his hand down, rough, no hesitation this time. His breath stuttered as he pictured her on top of him, hair falling in his face, mouth hot and open against his neck. He could almost feel the weight of her grinding down, her nails scraping his chest, leaving marks he'd wear like proof.
His fist tightened around himself, stroke harsh, needy. The air in the room felt too thin. He groaned low, biting back her name because even alone, it felt dangerous to say it out loud.
She always came to him like this in flashes. The way she'd kiss him like a fight, teeth clashing, then melt against him when he grabbed her harder. The way her legs would wrap tight, desperate, as if letting go meant losing.
His pace quickened, body jerking with the memory of her moans, the heat of her breath in his ear. He imagined her whispering his name, begging, swearing she hated him even as she pulled him deeper.
The tension snapped, sharp and unforgiving. He gasped, spilling over his stomach, chest heaving as he squeezed his eyes shut.
For a moment, there was only the sound of his own breathing. Then the silence swallowed him again.
He wiped his hand on the sheet, disgust and longing mixing sharp in his gut. She wasn't here. She hadn't been for years. But his body didn't care. It never did.
The cold water hit his skin like a slap. Mo Ye braced both hands against the wall, head bowed as the stream ran over his back, down his chest. He let it sting, let it bite, but it didn't wash her away. Fiorella clung to him in the dark spaces of his skull, refusing to leave.
By the time he shut the water off, his chest still rose heavy, his pulse still pounding. He pulled on loose pants and stepped outside, sitting on the flat stone by the courtyard. Night air bit his skin. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, trying to breathe.
It didn't last at all.
The memory came like a blade sharp, unstoppable.
Fiorella's mouth against his, wet, hungry, her tongue sliding against his with a force that knocked all reason out of him. He could still feel the heat of her thighs around his hips, the sound she made when he pushed deeper. She'd gasp his name and then bite his lip, always half-punishment, half-plea.
He shifted on the stone, cursing low when he felt himself harden again. His hand found its way down without thinking, desperate, greedy. The night around him went silent as his breaths turned rougher, faster.
He remembered the way she'd dig her nails into his back, pulling him closer until there was no space left. Her voice in his ear, begging and cursing at the same time. "Don't stop don't you dare stop."
His hand moved faster, the stone biting into his spine as he leaned back, body jerking with every rough stroke. He could almost feel her clenching around him, trembling, crying out his name.
It built, wild and sharp, until he came with a guttural sound, spilling across his stomach, chest heaving.
He sat there in the dark, shaking, sweat mixing with the night air. The stone was cold but his body burned. He buried his face in his arm, groaning into the silence.
The temple had never felt so much like a prison.
His phone buzzed. A message lit the screen from a number he hadn't expected.
Why china
He stared. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it sounded exactly like her. Fiorella, saying it with that clipped tone, arms crossed, eyes cutting straight through him. He caught himself smiling bitter, almost fond.
He typed back before he could stop himself and added the temple address
[xyxv]
will you come?
The reply came fast.
are you desperate
Mo Ye laughed under his breath, running a hand down his face.
yes i am. if i had known you didn't change your number, i would've come.