My entry for day 8 in the khrrarepairweek event week!

The prompt was "Accidental Murder"

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The problem with being a very good hitwoman was that people didn't believe you when you said you did it on accident.

Bianchi's Flames had been out of control since childhood, the corrupted Storm Flames reacting more to thought than anything, making dating a bit difficult.

Couple that with misogynistic mafioso, then you've got a very high kill count that had no chance of slowing down.

Bianchi had high hopes for Fede, because he acted like a gentleman and smiled with his eyes. He didn't even try to cop a feel when she wore a shorter than usual skirt. She'd enjoyed herself for once and didn't squash her hopes that the night would end without a dead body like she usually did.

Except.

Except when she'd looked at her glass, there was a steadily dissolving pill. The glass was warped by a design and the liquid not clear, but Bianchi didn't get far in life by being incompetent. You leave a glass alone with a strange guy once you go to the bathroom, you better not drink from it again or you're just asking to be roofied.

Bianchi doesn't control the dark thoughts that surge through her anymore, the ones that were usually held back by her daydreams of happily ever after. No. She allowed the chain to disintegrate and imagined Fede choking on his food. But no, that would be too nice. Too fast. She wants him to suffer first.

She imagined him eating his dessert unknowing that he was also eating a slow acting poison that would affect him three hours later with a debilitating stomach ache until he died from dehydration.

The darker part of her purred with every bite he took, her corrupted flames changing his meal subtly, slowly.

"Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes bright and innocent.

She doesn't give him that modicum of trust that she'd tried holding out to him. No thank you. He didn't deserve it.

"Everything's fine," she said with a smile. "How's the food here?"

"Brilliant!" he said. "I can see why you recommended the place."

Bianchi recommended the place because the chef usually turned a blind eye when her dinner date started choking on his mouthful.

They parted ways and Bianchi aimed a dark glare his way. She doesn't give people second chances. Not anymore.

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When the phone rang, Fon looked at the calendar and sighed.

It was Bianchi's annual attempt at a successful date night.

He already knew what he would hear the moment he answered the phone.

"Ni hao," he sighed. "Bianchi, is that you?"

There was subdued sniffling at the end other end of the phone. She usually went this way whenever she let herself go and killed by accident. Murders coming from unresolved anger issues were accidental and Fon would always stand by Bianchi.

Primo only knows he'd had his own pile of dead bodies when he was her age, before he'd learned to control his temper.

"How can I help you, Bianchi?" he asked gently.

"Can you come over?" she asked with a small voice. "I made it look like an accident, so you don't need to get rid of him this time but. Can you come over?"

Since she usually wouldn't even ask him for that much, everything of Fon stood up in alarm.

"I'm on my way," he said. "Why don't you get a blanket and wrap yourself? You can hide a knife under them."

After her episodes, Bianchi usually needed a weapon. But mostly, she needed to be comfortable to recover.

"Okay," she said faintly, being very agreeable and alarming Fon even more.

He finished tying his robes closed and spent a second tying up his hair. When he finally closed connection, he mentally noted to get ice cream.

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Bianchi watched Fon arrive in a hurricane of silk, long limbs and fast paced Mandarin.

She let him push her to the bathroom and she finally unwound, glad that he was there to keep watch while she bathed.

When she emerged in her fluffiest hoodie and pajamas, there was iced chocolate and ice cream on the table and the Notebook was playing on the screen.

She sniffed again and allowed him wrap her in another blanket and shove ice cream at her.

"It's not my fault," she whispered. "It was an accident."

Fon nodded, patting her soothingly.

"I just. I just get so angry, you know?" she explained plaintively. "Why couldn't he just ask me for sex like a normal person? Or flirt? Why did he try to drug me?"

Fon's body didn't go stiff, but his pats on her head did get a bit more deliberate. "He deserved it, whatever you gave him."

With that, Bianchi sagged beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulders. On screen, Allie just kissed Noah. It was all very dramatic.

Her ice cream was half-melting and Bianchi did a half-hearted protest when Fon took it from her and finished it himself.

"It might be poisoned," Bianchi mumbled.

"Don't care," he murmured back, the storm flames in his mouth killing all impurities entering his body. Fon was one of the only people in the world who could eat Bianchi's cooking and not die. It was the reason why both of them were friends.

When Bianchi finally fell asleep, Fon sighed in relief. There was also a reason why Fon did his best to unwind her after every date night. After all, Bianchi's storm flames didn't just affect food. It affected everything too. And he was pretty sure she didn't want to hear about how all her neighbors died when she started crying in the bathroom.

Fon waited for a couple of hours before he traced her date and found Fede dead by the sidewalk. The poison she'd mutated didn't take as long to act as she'd thought.

"Ah," he murmured. "You poor bastard. Your mother should have taught you better manners."

He only had two hours left, hardly enough time to do a discreet disappearing. So he took hold of his flames and allowed it to eat away at the body.

By fifteen minutes, the body was gone and Fon headed back to Bianchi's apartment.

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When Fon woke up, something was cooking in the stove and his stomach did an involuntary growl. It didn't like using flames without food the previous night and was letting its opinion known.

"I'm up," he muttered. "Bianchi, is that you?"

"How do you like pancakes?" she asked, poking her head over the sofa. She was wearing that pinched expression that meant she was keeping an extra tight hold on her flames. "Or do you prefer waffles?"

"Either is fine," Fon said, standing up. "Do you have tea?"

There was the whistle of a boiling kettle. "You left some last time. Wait a moment."

Bianchi danced in the kitchen with her hair piled high on top of her head and the sight warmed him better than any tea. This was how Bianchi was supposed to be. Happy. Loud.

Not quiet. Never quiet.

"So when are you doing another date night?" Fon asked. He didn't add, so I can dig a grave beforehand.

It was unsaid because Fon was raised better than that.

Bianchi glared at him. "Next Friday. Maybe. Be more optimistic, Fon!"

Fon hid a smile behind his mug.

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Could be friendship, could be love.

Please review!