Quir and him had been roommates for closer to two years now. The arrangement had been more than successful for both of them and while their meeting anniversary was still some months away, Kiril knew he wanted things to continue.

Initially he had been certain there could not be anything interesting about a timid girl like Quir. Heh ad since then surprised himself with the depth of his feelings.

The timid girl was still a weird one, but some aspects of the weirdness could be understood. Things that made no sense to outsiders - he, too, had been an outsider two years ago - started to make snese if you took a moment to simply look.

When he had realized candles made Quir nervous, he had stopped using them. Perhaps it was a sign of gratitude, perhaps just a coincidence, but after that Quir had always made tea for him when she was in the kitchen. These days Kiril considered himself a connoisseur, being able to differentiate the countless different flavours instead of labeling them all as "tea".

Hell, he even had favourites. Puerrh, for one. Thick like coffee, and Quir prepared it with orange peels. Or mate, which still only tasted "green" to him - but made him feel like twelve shots of espresso.

Understanding required patience and acceptance. Whenever Nerion called, Quir went. This was not preventable. If Kiril had nothing to do, he had taken up the habit of taking her where-ever she needed to go. Sometimes they walked, sometimes took his motorbike - the latter to Nerion's endless ire, which meant the latter did not happen often.

Nerion called motorbikes death traps. Kiril was certain the term was also aimed at him.

But the way Quir held tightly onto his waist when she did stand up against her brother's demands was too good of a memory to not keep the motorbike option open.

In those moments, walking, biking, in transition from one place to another, Kiril had Quir all for himself, uninterrupted.

Love? A crush? More like a slow-growing obsession.

Calling it a crush felt childish, but when he thought of love, he thought about the all-consuming fire between Nae and himself, something that had nearly destroyed both of them.

Nae had chosen him, and he had been her vicious attack dog for years.

This was different. Not a childish emotion, nor an all-destructive force. This felt more like all the houseplants Quir had brought to the apartment had grown their roots through Kiril's skin, like Quir herself was a plant slowly and patiently growing against him, on him, and all he could do - all he wanted to do - was to let it happen.

Sometimes he looked at Quir idling on her phone, or reading a love comic, focusing on music or book, zoning out, and he was filled with a sense of hunger.

He needed to have her.

He had no idea how to have her.