Sunlight bled through the busted blinds like broken glass. Dust floated in the air, golden and lazy. The apartment smelled like stale cigarettes, sweat, and the faint trace of leftover bourbon that clung to Wang's tongue.
He groaned and rolled over on the battered couch, the springs creaking under him like an old man's knees. His body ached. His cybernetic hand twitched slightly, still adapting to the abuse from last night. His face throbbed faintly where someone had clapped him a bit too hard after the fight. And worst of all, his neck was cricked sideways from sleeping half-upright with no pillow.
Click.
The door creaked open.
Wang sat up with a start, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His shirtless torso was marked with bruises, and his sweats hung low on his hips. His eyes took a second to focus.
The figure at the door? Cass.
She stepped in like she owned the place, which she did. Her boots clunked against the floor, a dusting of red earth on the soles. She was in her usual post-job look—black cargo pants half-unbuttoned at the top, a loose grey tank sticking to her body from the heat, and a shoulder holster still strapped across one arm, a pistol dangling lazily at her hip. Blonde hair wild, unbrushed, like she'd driven through hell and back. Her skin glistened faintly with sweat and sun—bronzed, lean, marked by scars and sunspots. She carried herself like she hadn't slept. Eyes sharp, but tired.
Wang rubbed his face and sat up straighter.
"Where the hell were you last night?" he asked, voice still hoarse. "You weren't here when I got back."
Cass closed the door behind her and tossed her keys into the ashtray. "Had to run an errand."
"On the night of my first fight?" Wang said, frowning. "Kinda a big deal, you know."
She kicked off her boots and stretched her arms over her head. Her tank lifted just enough to reveal the sharp curve of her waist and the lower band of a sports bra. "Didn't plan on being gone that long. Got stuck outside the east checkpoint. Slavers pulled some dumb shit, I had to clean it up."
"You alright?"
Cass shrugged. "Couple scratches. They're a lot quieter now."
Wang blinked, then sighed. "Of course."
Cass glanced at him, smirking slightly. "So? How'd the golden boy do?"
He leaned back, pride slipping into his expression. "Won. Clean shot to the balls, then beat his face in 'til the ref pulled me off."
Cass grinned. "That's my boy."
Wang raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just saying that 'cause you feel bad for missing it?"
She gave him a mock salute with two fingers. "Scout's honor."
Cass strolled into the bathroom, tugging off her tank as she went. It hit the hallway floor a moment later, followed by the clink of her gun belt.
Wang stared at the ceiling, sighing.
The shhkkkkk of water came through the paper-thin walls.
The cold shower, as always.
It ran for about three minutes. Then silence. Then the door creaked again.
Cass stepped back into the living room, steam trailing behind her.
She was wrapped in nothing but a threadbare white towel, barely secured around her chest. It clung tightly to her huge melons, damp enough to hint at the curve and color beneath. Drops of water traced down the line of her collarbone, over the faded scars along her ribs. Her legs were bare, long and sinewed with lean muscle and just the right amount of softness. Her hair, wet and wild, stuck to her shoulders and neck in messy blonde strands.
Wang caught himself staring.
He also caught something else.
Cass noticed too.
She gave him a sly grin.
"Rise and shine, huh?" she said, cocking her hip as she passed the couch.
Wang looked down, yanked the blanket over his lap, and groaned. "Fuck's sake…"
Cass laughed, low and throaty. "Should I be flattered?"
"Should I be embarrassed?"
She grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap with her thumb, and took a swig—all while still wrapped in the towel.
"Only if you start begging," she teased.
Wang rolled his eyes. "It's morning wood. You walk around half-naked and then act surprised."
"Don't act like you mind," Cass said, winking.
He threw a pillow at her. She dodged it effortlessly and flipped him the finger with the beer still in hand.
"Go put some fuckin' clothes on," he muttered.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why? You're clearly enjoying the view."
"Woman, please."
She smirked again, more subdued this time, then disappeared into her bedroom—still sipping beer, towel swaying with every step.
Wang leaned back and exhaled.
He survived his first fight.
Now he just had to survive her.
Q: Are you a morning person?