You gazed around your room in horror at the scene before you. Sprawled around your bedroom floor was leather and different clothing apparel, a riding crop lying next a set of rope. In the corner, on his side of the bed, is a tin bucket with a spade facing you. Your heart was pounding in your chest but your mind was drowning in the rabid imaginations of what may have occurred the night before.
The only two things that could confirm such imaginations is the suddenly noticeable ache on your backside and the noble-blood sitting up-right in your bed and staring right back at you with a look of shock, disdain, and a groggy desire to go back to sleep.
"(Reader)!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flushed to a flustered indigo as he reaches for his glasses that rest on the nightstand next to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, eyebrows furrowed tightly in frustration towards the strong man. You glanced around the room once more, trying to avoid speaking to him in an attempt to calm your nerves and keep from blowing a blood vessel. Finally, your eyes met his once more before you turn around and leave your bedroom.
“Get dressed and get out of my apartment,” you barked, trudging through your self-hating and to your couch where you were sure you’d be able to suffocate yourself in the cushions. “Take the bucket with you.”
As you plopped down onto the couch, face-first, you awaited to hear the heavy footsteps of the much larger man, but it seemed that he hadn’t come out yet, causing you to raise your head out of the soft butt-pillow to try to listen closer.
Around the corner, Equius was fidgeting and, of course, sweating like a horse running through a savannah. In his right hand was the bucket, and in his left was the rope he was sure he supplied. For the first time in his life, he was afraid of you... no. Not of you, but of upsetting you. Sure, you two were in a caliginous quadrant, but after some time he felt conflicted of his feelings for you. Some days it’d be a deep hatred, and others it’d be the desire to hold you without hurting you.
He hated making you upset. It hurt more than it did when he broke his horn some sweeps ago, and every time he did he’d run to his empty, constantly malfunctioning robotic replica of you and practice apologizing repeatedly, whether it’d be giving you some Alternian flowers or some dandelions he picked on the way back to his hive from your place.
Anything to make you stop being so mad at him.
“I swear to god, if you’re jerking off to horses in my room I’ll take one of your broken bones and--”
Suddenly, you were in front of him, shock flashing over your face from his presence only being just a few feet away, but that expression was replaced with one of deep loathing just as quickly. Your eyes averted to the bucket in his hand, then you looked back up at him.
Even behind his broken glasses you could see he was being much more timid than he usually is in these situations, but at the moment you couldn’t care.
“What are you waiting for?” you murmur, the small growl in your voice just above a simple whisper. “I told you to leave.”
He bit his lip a little too hard and broke open his skin, the taste of his own blood mixed with his perspiration entering his mouth and tickling the senses on his tongue. He winced. He could really use a fresh towel and maybe some milk right now.
“Y-y-you’re a low-blood,” he stuttered, knowing very well what his statement could lead to, “only the high-bloods have the ability to order me around--”
You cocked an eyebrow at the horned, grey-skinned humanoid. “Oh, that’s right,” you replied sarcastically, flailing your arms in the air as you begin your angry stride to the door, “if a ‘low-blood’ asks you to politely leave their apartment, you have no choice other than to reject it and later think about it in a shower or whatever you trolls bathe in.”
Oh gog, he was trembling in his shoes, his chest tensing and contracting. He followed you, being mindful to remain at least three feet behind your definitely smaller form. He tightened his grip on the pail’s handle, as though using it as a comfort to remind him of the better things in this dysfunctional relationship.
“(Reader),” he stopped you, eyes turned from you in fear of having to look into the immense hatred radiating from your (eye colour) irises. You do halt your stride and turn to him, only pivoting your left foot behind you so you were half-turned to him.
"What?" you sigh, frustration obvious in your tone.
"I-I-I don't have any of your Earth flowers to give you, like I've tried practising many times before," he stammers, fidgeting in his spot. "b-but, I'm... s-s-sor...-ry."
You had no idea of what he was going on about, but when you heard him hoarsely try to pronounce "sorry" like it's a foreign word, you couldn't help the blush that appeared on your face. That was the first time you heard him apologize to you, and now, you couldn't tell what you were angry at.
You shake your head and open the door, motioning out. "Get out of my apartment," you whisper, sounding rather confused as you lower your head. You listen as his footsteps exit your home, and you slowly close your door, conflicted with your emotions.
The noble-blooded troll stares at the door with an uncertainty. Was the human apology not enough? He's unsure of how to respond. He looks at the bucket with a sort of embarrassment, then at the spade on the front. He glares at it, and in a second, he's accidentally broken the metal on it, and the troll fluid is everywhere.
He stares at the mess he's made, at the genetic material that's covered his front from the waist down, and the floor around him. He takes a few steps backwards until he hits the wall, still staring at the accident, and he slides down the surface in defeat.
What has he done to deserve this fate?
A few hours later, you were unable to get rid of the horrid feeling of guilt. You couldn't flush it out no matter what you tried doing. Whether it was reading, playing video games, sleeping... nothing could make you feel better.
You thought that maybe a trip to the beach would be nice, so you got dressed in a nice sundress, sandals, and bag to hold your cell phone, wallet, keys and iPod in. You weren't really a fan of purses since you always lost your car keys in them, so you stuck to carrying a small travel bag with you.
However, the moment you opened your apartment door, you met the wet, royal blue eyes of the troll you booted from your home about an hour ago, soaked in the colour of his own fluids. The smell of blueberries and sweat filled your nose as you examined the mess on the floor, your door, and the troll, spotting the destroyed bucket just inches from your feet.
You scanned over the spade that faced upwards a couple of times with a bit of remorse before returning your gaze to the frightened, disgruntled man.
Sighing, you side-step, holding your arm out to the side, gesturing for him to enter. "Come in and clean up," you say, letting a soft smile work its way up to your lips. When he simply stares at you as though you just told him you were a zombie, you step out into the hall, feeling the squish of the wet carpeted floor beneath your sandals and hold out your hand for him to take. "I'm serious. You're a mess."
He puts his cracked and thumb-print-covered glasses back over his eyes, hesitantly taking your hand in such a way that would show he's trying to avoid hurting you. Of course, the grip is still tight, but you suck it up and pull him to his feet. You don't let go, however. Instead, you lead him into your apartment and to the bathroom, him following closely behind.
You were aware of the fact that the both of you were trailing in the mess, but it's nothing a little elbow grease could remove, right? The carpet outside your apartment, however... that was going to be a problem.
He sits down on the toilet as you start filling up the bathtub, watching you carefully. "Why are you being so kind to me?" he suddenly asks you, causing you to freeze and turn to him.
You tilt your head to the side, glancing at something on the floor for a second before smiling and grabbing a cloth to dampen it. "That was the first time you apologized to me," you tell him, "even though you did absolutely nothing. It made me realize how cruel I am to you, and I don't want to do that anymore."
With a command telling him to remain in one place, you left the bathroom to grab a mop, some of his extra clothes, and pick up the bucket's remains on the floor, once again staring at the caliginous symbol on the front.
It was the opposite to what you knew he felt for you, and now that you know he's proved it... maybe you'll give it a shot, no?