Somehow, Eve had expected Villanelle to be all sharp angles and hidden weapons. That had been her experience with the assassin so far, knives and guns and too eager hands.

But the woman that had held Eve in that dance floor hours ago did so as if Eve was made of glass, like if her grip grew too strong, Eve might just shatter and slip away forever.

So it shouldn't be a surprise that the first time Villanelle draws Eve near, with no other motive than to offer comfort after a nightmare, it's done with such care.

Her hands are calloused, the strength in her arms couldn't be masked even if she tried. And yet, once her arms are around Eve, her nose pressed to Eve's temple, it feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket. How long had it been since Eve felt like this, safe but not smothered? Had she ever, really?

With a sigh, Eve returned the embrace, and buried her face into Villanelle's neck. Villanelle's scent was overwhelming, as always, and for once, Eve did not fight it.

The last few days had been tough. The last few years, really. And Eve knew anyone else would judge her mad for thinking so, but it had all been worth it to her, just for this one moment.