I think we're doomed (And now there is no way back)

Goddess, he thinks reflexively.

Her eyelashes are hypnotizing as they flutter, casting shadows on her cheekbones and her dark skin hides the flush from the alcohol that has warmed her body and loosened her limbs. She dances to the music, moving her body in ways Connor never thought her perfectionist, princess persona would allow. It's sensual, almost erotic- and he's not the only one who's noticed.

Her eyes open fully; a sly smile on her full lips - a secret- and her hands burning trails on exposed skin he can't take his eyes away from. Connor had refused her pleas to dance, much preferring to nurse his drink and keep an eye on her.

A stray body presses against her, and her hands move to caress the stranger's chest and give him a sample of her impressive fluidity. He observes the stranger caress Michaela's waist and slide a hand into her hair, dipping his head lower than necessary for an innocent dance.

Connor's suddenly envious of their proximity but he keeps his seat, allowing Michaela to have her fun. When Michaela leans away from her companion, the music changes and the dance floor turns into a raunchier version of Dirty Dancing, Connor turns to the bartender to order a stronger drink.

When his eyes return to the dance floor, the white of Michaela's dress is gone as well as her mysterious dance partner. His eyes scanned the whole dancefloor and the Queen In White was nowhere to be found.

Connor vaguely wonders when he had started associated her with divine beings and royalty but his concern for her rears its head and he's out of his seat, pushing through the crowd, praying for a glimpse of white.

He finds her pressed against the wall of a back hallway. She had her hands positioned on the stranger's chest so there was a sliver of space between them and the discomfort was clear.

"Hey," Connor, feeling the flush of anger and alcohol burn across his chest and up to his face, yanked the stranger away fiercely "Get your hands off of her,"

"What the fuck man," The guy, who had quite a few inches on him slurs; pushing at Connor's chest when he ungracefully rights himself from the unexpected tug. Connor knows he's physically outmatched but he can feel a type of belligerence rising in him; the type that he'll likely blame on the alcohol but a part of him knows that the way Michaela's face was twisted in a grimace and turned away from the lumbering man, her arms trembling with the effort of keeping him from pressing his body against hers, made him want to throw all his usual caution - that he learned from being a slight, pretty, gay man in a small town- to the wind.

Connor tugs the white clad minx to his side and the way she stumbles, placing his small hands on his shoulders to right herself; tampers his urge to pick a fight. He couldn't take care of her if he got his ass beat could he? He forced himself to swallow his -now mild annoyance- "My friend here has had too much to drink so I'm taking her home,"

"Connor," Michaela says and her hands wrap around his neck and she rests some of her weight on him.

"Fuck," The stranger says then makes a tching sound, only seeming to think better of starting a brawl when a group of women suddenly round the corner; their boisterous conversation and fluid movements halting to watch the standoff in front of them. The stranger pushes past them and the group of women to make his way back to the pulsating lights of the dancefloor.

"Naeas," Michaela groans in Connor's ear as he tries to get her to walk to his car. He assumes it's a refusal to walk and carries her out on his back.

She talked in her sleep that night, in a language he doesn't understand and his brows furrow, this was the first time he's heard her talk in her sleep. She usually sleeps like the dead and he doesn't even have an indication that she dreams but then again, he doesn't know what to look for. Eyes moving underneath her lids? Furrowed brows? Twitching lips?

Even after watching Michaela throw up in the toilet when they got to her apartment and the difficulty in trying to coax her to her bed, a feeling of warmth still bloomed in his chest when she had opened heavy eyes a fraction which made it seem more so like seduction than exhaustion and commanded him to stay in a slightly high and shaky, whiny voice. Not exactly royal poise. He chuckles internally.

Connor had been planning on doing so anyways, having already become quite familiar with the firmness of her couch and the way his legs hung slightly over one side. When he nodded however, she had pulled him to bed without any thought and bundled him in her arms, effectively making him the little spoon. Connor stifled a chuckle, another new thing he had learnt about her.

The words she says in her sleep are slurred and he had never been talented with languages so he wasn't even able to guess what type of language it could be. He can't even turn of observe her expression because she had his head tucked under her chin and her hold on him firm enough that he doesn't wish to disturb her by trying to create space between them.

Besides he's comfortable, the heat of her body, her scent (even with a trace of vomit somewhere) and rise and fall of her chest creating a soothing feeling in him much more effective than that white noise machine he used to use in undergrad. Managing to use one of his hands, he ribs light circles on the smooth skin of her forearm. An action that further soothes his mind. Frankly, the more time he spent with Michaela, studying, antagonising her, worrying, observing her, the more she became a balm for his soul.

He wondered sometimes if she knew the type of power she wielded; a sweet, clumsy power that seemingly became so much stronger just because she didn't know she had it. He wondered if she'd ever figure out how much of him she possessed. Connor felt weird as he thought of it, shuffling a bit in the circle of her frail looking arms. I mean he was certain he was gay, the thought of men got his engine going in a way women just couldn't but no one had ever lit this bundle of feelings inside of him before.

Deep breaths. Clear your mind. Relax. Thinking thoughts like this would get him nowhere. He purposely tried to mimic white noise in his head and push all thoughts of the word soulmate away. If he thought that word then if he had thought he was doomed before... he'd surely have no way of coming back after.

Allowing his body to relax. He fall into a deep sleep right in the arms of his tormentor.