The Lucky Loon fell silent.
Every patron, every dealer, every drunken soul, were still gawking at Judas as if he'd materialized from thin air.
Which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth.
His legs shook, maintaining their gravity with sheer adrenaline. His bones felt like soggy bits of paper.
"Judas." Sera's hand gripped his elbow, steadying him before he could buckle under his own weight. "We're leaving."
"Yeah," he rasped, his throat gravelly like sandpaper. "Good idea. It… might be smart not to return here. That's twice now some wild shit has gone down at the Lucky Loon."
"You'll still go back."
"I… know."
Sera stepped closer, and the comforting scent of vanilla wrapped around him like a warm blanket, cutting through the staleness of smoke and regret lingering in the casino. Her arm slid around his waist, lifting him like he weighed nothing.
"Safe zone protocol," she murmured, her voice smooth and soothing. "Don't fight it. The system will correct this mess soon."
[SAFE ZONE PROTOCALS ACTIVATED]
[TRANSPORTING TO PLAYER'S RESIDENCE...]
The stares, the whispers, the neon lights, and the casino all collapsed inward, as though reality was folding around him. Judas's stomach dipped like a rollercoaster plummeting down a steep drop.
Then, beneath his feet, the familiar worn carpet of his apartment welcomed him back.
The room was draped in shadows, lit only by the silvery moonlight spilling through the windows.
"Still hate that," Judas grumbled, struggling to keep his balance.
Sera didn't let go. Her arm remained firm around his waist, supporting most of his weight as his knees threatened to give out entirely.
"Shower," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're covered in blood and God knows what else. You need to get cleaned up."
"In a minute." He tried to wave her off, but his hand barely made it halfway up before dropping. "Just… give me a minute."
"No." She guided him toward the bathroom with gentle insistence. "You can barely stand, Judas. You're not doing this alone."
He wanted to argue. Wanted to insist he could manage. But his body betrayed him as Judas stumbled only to be caught by Sera's arm yet again.
She's right. I can barely walk.
The bathroom was small, cramped, barely big enough for one person let alone two. The fluorescent light flickered to life.
Judas caught sight of himself in the mirror and flinched.
He looked like he'd crawled out of a slasher film. Blood--mostly his--caked his hair and face. Bruises were spread across his ribs spots of purple and black. His hands trembled as he gripped the sink edge.
"Come on." Sera's voice was gentle as she turned on the shower, testing the temperature with her hand. Steam began to rise, fogging the mirror. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Judas's fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. They wouldn't cooperate. Too slippery with blood, too stiff from his shaking hands.
"Here." Sera stepped in front of him, her movements careful and deliberate as she brushed his hands aside. "Let me."
She unbuttoned his shir unfastening one at a time, her knuckles grazing his chest with each movement. The fabric peeled away from his skin, sticking where blood had dried.
"Arms up," Sera instructed softly.
He obeyed, raising his arms just enough for her to slide the ruined shirt off completely. His torso was a canvas of violence—bruises, cuts, the remnants of battles fought and somehow survived.
Sera's breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.
"You should see the other guy," Judas tried to joke, but his voice came out rough and very unconvincing.
"Such a silly man, joking in this condition." Her fingers ghosted over a particularly nasty bruise on his ribs, not quite touching.
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine." She looked up at him, and the raw emotion in her eyes made his chest tighten. "But you will be. I'll make sure of it."
The pants came next. Sera crouched down, her movements clinical and efficient as she worked his belt buckle loose. Judas stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
But when she rose back to her full height, standing close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body.
Sera looked down at her own clothes. She wore a black cropped hoodie, and jeans already stained his blood.
"These are ruined anyway," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
Then, with practiced efficiency, she grabbed the hem of her hoodie and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.
Judas's brain short-circuited.
She wore nothing underneath.
His eyes went wide, heat flooding his face. Her breasts were large, impossibly full, the kind of curves that belonged in fantasy rather than reality. Vibrant pink nipples stood out against creamy skin, already hardening slightly in the cooler air. They bounced gently with her movements as she tossed the hoodie aside.
"Relax," Sera said calmly, seemingly unbothered by his reaction as she worked her jeans down her legs. "This is just practical."
Practical.
Practical or not, my body doesn't care.
Judas could barely form coherent thoughts as she stepped out of her jeans, now wearing absolutely nothing. Her body was a study in impossible proportions; Full breasts that swayed with each breath, a narrow waist that emphasized her generous hips, thick thighs that curved in the shape of an hourglass.
"In you go," Sera said, steadying him as he stepped over the tub edge.
The hot water hit like a blessing and a curse. It soothed his battered muscles but stung every cut and scrape. Judas braced himself against the tile wall, letting the spray wash over him.
Red-tinged water swirled down the drain.
"Lean back." Sera's voice came from right behind him.
He turned his head slightly and immediately regretted it.
She'd stepped into the shower with him, completely naked, water cascading over her pale skin. Droplets ran down the valley between her breasts, over the curve of her stomach, down her thighs. Her purple hair darkened as the water hit it, clinging to her shoulders and back.
"You can barely stand," she said, stepping closer. "And you're about three seconds from passing out. So, I'll help you clean up."
She pressed against his back to steady him.
The soft, full pressure of her breasts against his shoulder blades made every nerve ending light up. Her body was warm, warmer than the water, impossibly soft where it met his skin.
His breathing went ragged.
"Easy," Sera murmured, one arm wrapping around his waist from behind. "I've got you."
Her other hand reached up to work shampoo through his blood-matted hair. Every breath brought the scent of vanilla. Her fingers massaged his scalp with gentle pressure, working the blood free.
"Tilt your head back further," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear.
He obeyed, closing his eyes as water cascaded over his face. Her fingers combed through his hair, checking for any remaining blood.
Then her hands moved lower.
She worked soap across his shoulders, down his arms, over his chest. One hand remained on his waist to support him while the other washed him with careful thoroughness, avoiding his worst bruises.
Judas was acutely aware of every point of contact: her fingers tracing along his collarbone and the soft pressure of her chest when she leaned in to reach.
"Almost done," Sera said softly, her soapy hands moving down his sides.
Blood rushed south despite his exhaustion, despite the pain. There was no hiding it. Not in this position, not with how close she was.
Sera went very still.
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the steady drum of water against tile and Judas's increasingly ragged breathing.
"Well, well," she said, and there was her usual teasing lilt returning to her voice. "Someone's recovered faster than expected."
"Sera—" His voice came out strangled.
"Mmm?" Her hand didn't move away from his waist. If anything, she pressed closer. "What's wrong, Judas? Embarrassed?"
"I'm sorry. I'm not—this isn't—I can't control—"
"I know you can't." Her voice dropped lower, more playful. "It's actually kind of flattering. Here you are, half-dead from exhaustion, covered in bruises, and you're still reacting to me like this. It makes me very happy."
"That's not helping—"
"Who said I was trying to help?" She shifted slightly. "You're adorable when you're flustered, you know that?"
"Sera, please—"
"Please what?" Her free hand traced down his chest, soapy fingers trailing over his abs. "Please stop teasing you? Please pretend I don't notice? Or please..." Her hand drifted lower, hovering just above where he desperately needed and absolutely couldn't ask for. "...do something about it?"
Judas's whole body went rigid. "You can't...Amelia—"
"Amelia isn't here right now." Sera's voice was soft but certain. "And you're in pain. Tense. Your body's screaming for release, and that tension is making your injuries worse." Her fingers traced the V-line of his hips, making him shudder. "I'm your Guide, Judas. Taking care of you is literally what I'm designed for."
"This isn't taking care—"
"Isn't it?" Her hand finally, mercifully, wrapped around him, and Judas nearly collapsed from the sensation alone. "Your heart rate is through the roof. Your muscles are locked up from tension. This will help you relax. Help you heal."
She stroked once, slow and deliberate, and Judas's head fell back against her shoulder.
"That's it," she murmured, her lips close to his ear. "Just let go. I've got you."
Guilt twisted in his chest.
"Amelia would want you taken care of." Sera's hand moved with practiced expertise, her grip perfect—not too tight, not too loose, just enough pressure to make his vision blur. "And besides, this doesn't count as cheating. I'm not human, remember? I'm just your Guide, making sure my Player doesn't die from stress."
The rationalization was paper-thin, but God help him, he wanted to believe it.