Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

The kiss ended slowly, leaving them both breathless, foreheads resting together in the quiet hum of the penthouse. The air was thick with a potent mix of desire and the heavy awareness of their circumstances. Rei could feel the rapid, strong beat of Cillian’s heart under her palm, a rhythm that matched her own.

A slight tremble ran through her, as she pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. They were dark with a hunger he was visibly struggling to contain. “Cillian…”, she whispered, her voice unsteady. She swallowed, gathering her composure, “…could you… could you just hold me? For a minute?”, she saw the flicker of questions in his gaze and quickly clarified, “It’s not that I don’t want you, I do. But right now, I just… I need to feel safe and… connected.”

With a controlled exhale, he nodded and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm, secure embrace. It wasn’t the passionate clutch of a lover, but the solid, grounding hold of a guardian. One hand came up to stroke her hair, his touch gentle and calming. “It’s okay, Rei”, he murmured into her hair, his voice a strained, low rumble.

He let out a shaky, almost laugh, “Part of my job is to keep you safe. Even… even from myself”, he held her a little tighter, “I would never, ever harm you. You know that, right?” The words were a balm. Rei felt the last of her stress melt away, her body going limp against his solid frame. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the now familiar, comforting scent of his cologne. “I know,” she breathed, her voice muffled against his shirt, “Thank you. For… for letting me pick you.”

They stood like that for a long moment, two people finding a fragile sanctuary in the middle of a storm not of their making. After several minutes Rei pulled back, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye with a determined swipe. She offered him a small, unfeigned smile. “Alright”, she declared, her voice regaining some of its usual spark, “I believe I was about to thoroughly beat your disciplined behind at poker.”

Cillian’s shoulders relaxed, a wide smile, the one she appreciated from their car rides, breaking through, “You wish! Those mints are as good as mine.” They settled back onto the rug, the deck of cards between them. The charged atmosphere slowly dissipated, replaced by the familiar, comfortable rhythm of their banter.

The pile of foil-wrapped mints had migrated almost entirely to Rei’s side of the rug. She fanned her cards out with a triumphant flourish, a silver, two golds and a blue mint clinking as she added them to her hoard. “Read ‘em and weep,” she chirped, leaning back on her hands with a smug grin. “That’s a full house. Looks like you’re about to be thoroughly minted.” Cillian just grunted, studying his own cards with a placid expression. He hadn’t won a hand in twenty minutes. 

“Lucky streak,” he muttered, tossing a single silver mint into the center, “Call.” They got their cards, the bets rising to high stakes, mints towering over each other. “Confident”, Rei crowed, when the time to reveal their hands came and she laid down her cards, “Kings over tens. Let’s see what you’ve got that’s so… oh.” 

Cillian didn’t smile. He simply laid his cards down one by one: a ten, a jack, a queen, a king and an ace. Rei stared. “No”, she leaned forward, peering at the cards as if they’d betrayed her, “That’s a straight? A straight? You’ve been folding for an hour!”

“Biding my time,” he said, the corner of his mouth finally twitching upward. He calmly reached out and began sweeping the entire, glittering pile of mints, silvers, golds, blues, over to his side. The sound was a soft, rustling avalanche of her defeat. Rei’s jaw dropped. She watched her magnificent empire of confectionery currency vanish. A pout, genuine and utterly unguarded, formed on her lips. She crossed her arms over the large white shirt, slumping back against the sofa.

“Well, this game is over,” she announced, her tone suddenly dismissive, “I’m hungry. We should order food.” Cillian let his laugh loose, a deep, rolling sound of pure amusement. He stacked the mints into neat, taunting little towers. “Oh, really? The game was fine when you were winning. What’s the matter, Rei? Can’t handle a little loss?” She reached for the Kuroda Plaza food service menu and started scanning the dishes. “It’s not a little loss,” she grumbled, refusing to look at him, “You just took all my mints. That was a… a hostile corporate takeover.”

“I think it’s called winning,” he teased, poking one of her knees with his finger, “And I seem to recall a certain someone being very loud about her full house a few minutes ago.” She swatted his hand away, but the pout was fighting a losing battle against a smile, “You were sandbagging. It’s a dirty tactic.” He held a hand to his heart. “It’s a legitimate strategy,” he corrected, his green eyes sparkling, “Maybe I should give you a few of your mints back. You look like you’re about to kick a puppy.”

“I don’t want your pity mints!” she said, her voice rising in partial-mock indignation. She flipped through the pages in the menu hurriedly, “I want ramen and gyoza – and for you to not be so smug about your dumb, lucky straight.” Cillian looked at her, pouting in her huge white shirt, a sore loser of the most adorable kind. The last of the night’s tension had completely evaporated, replaced by this easy, teasing warmth. He leaned over her, blocking her view of the menu, a wide grin on his face.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll let you eat all the gyoza. But you have to admit I’m the superior poker player.” Rei glared at him, her nose scrunched. The struggle visible, but then she let out an exasperated laugh, “Fine. You’re the… mint poker champion of this very strange penthouse date.” She reached up and poked his chest, “But only because you cheat by being patient and observant, which is frankly unfair.” He plucked the menu from her, scanning it himself. “I’ll take it,” Cillian laughed, taking out his comms and ordering their food. As he did, he added, “And for the record? You’re a terrible loser.”

“I am not!” Rei insisted, but she was laughing too, the defeat already forgotten in the promise of food and his company, “I’m just… passionately opposed to unjust outcomes.” 

For a few precious hours, under the unblinking eye of the sensors, they weren’t a pawn and her protector in a corporate game. They were just two people, on the weirdest date imaginable, finding solace in the profound, quiet understanding that had grown between them.

The aroma of rich tonkotsu broth and seared gyoza filled the penthouse, a welcome, earthy scent that overpowered the sterile luxury. They sat cross-legged on the plush rug, the takeout containers spread between them like a picnic in a museum. 

“Mine,” Rei declared, pulling the container of gyozas possessively towards her with a playful glare. Cillian raised an eyebrow, slurping a mouthful of ramen with deliberate, appreciative noise, “You ordered twelve… you’re going to eat twelve gyozas?”

He picked up a new bundle of noodles, his eyes a green challenging gleam. “I’m a woman of ambition,” she retorted, but her resolve lasted all of thirty seconds. She picked one up with her chopsticks, the crispy bottom glistening. “Oh, fine. Here. But only because you look so disappointed in me”, She held it out to him. He leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers and took the entire gyoza from her chopsticks in one quick bite. A flicker of something warm and intimate passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the kiss that still hummed in the air. “Not disappointed,” he corrected after he swallowed, “Strategically patient.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds were the clink of chopsticks and their soft, contented chewing. It was a world away from the delicate, silent sushi dinners with Takumi. “This is better,” Rei said softly, and gestured with her chopsticks at the humble spread, “Than any five-star meal.” Cillian nodded, his expression serious for a moment, “It’s much more relaxing.”

When the containers were empty and stacked away, a comfortable lethargy settled over them. They cleaned up and brushed their teeth. Soon Rei stood and stretched in the bedroom, the white shirt riding up her thighs, before collapsing backward onto the enormous bed with a soft sigh. 

She looked at Cillian, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway to the ensuite bathroom, a quiet, watchful presence. She patted the space beside her, “You don’t have to sleep in the bathroom.” He hesitated for a breath, then joined her, lying down carefully, leaving a respectful few inches of space between them. The bed was vast, and the distance felt like a canyon. The easy banter from the floor had faded, replaced by the intimate quiet of the night and the shared, unspoken weight of their situation.

For a long moment, they just lay there, listening to each other breathe. Then, Rei shifted. She reached out, her fingers finding his arm. Gently, she pulled it, guiding it until it was draped around her shoulders. Then she scooted closer, settling against the solid, reassuring wall of his chest, her head finding a comfortable niche just below his collarbone. 

Cillian went rigid for a second, a sharp intake of breath the only sign of his disposition. Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he relaxed. His arm tightened around her, not with passion, but with a profound sense of rightness. His other hand came up to rest lightly on her hip, a steady tender weight.

He didn’t say anything. Lying there in the quiet dark, wrapped in the safety of his embrace, the biometric jewelry felt less like a shackle and more like a bizarre, irrelevant accessory. The man who owned the sensors felt a million miles away. Here, in this moment, there was only the steady thrum of his heart under her ear, the warmth of his body, and the silent, powerful understanding that for tonight, they had stolen a small piece of the world back for themselves.

“You ever think about leaving Kuroda?” she asked in the dark, her voice low. He didn’t answer right away. His breath stirred her hair. “Occasionally,” he admitted, “but wanting and surviving aren’t the same thing. Takumi doesn’t just let go of people. If I walked, I’d be hunted. If you run, you’d be erased.”

Rei’s fingers tightened on his shirt, “I need to get back to Sakura Avenues, to my apartment, to my old self.” Karasu’s name hung unspoken between them. Cillian’s hand flexed against her hip, betraying tension, maybe jealousy, maybe fear. But his voice was calm, “If you can find a crack in the walls he’s built around you… then I won’t stop you from pushing through it.”

That was enough. More than she had hoped for. They stayed like that, talking, drifting into silence, into sleep. No kisses, no heat, only warmth, only the quiet rebellion of two people refusing to give Takumi everything he demanded. The jewelry still recorded every heartbeat, every breath, but what it captured was not lust or submission, it was defiance disguised as tenderness.

Morning

The first thing Rei registered was the smell. Not the sterile, scentless air of the penthouse, but the rich, savory aroma of miso soup and the greasy temptation of bacon. She blinked open her eyes, the memories of the night before settling over her like a warm blanket. She was alone in the center of the vast bed, but the indentation on the pillow next to hers and the lingering warmth were proof of Cillian’s proximity.

She found him in the living area, standing by the window as a silent attendant arranging a generous breakfast on the steel dining table. He was wearing one of the plush, white robes that had hung in the bathroom, his hair damp from a shower. “Morning,” he said, turning as she padded in, still swimming in the oversized shirt. His gaze was soft, a private smile just for her. 

“You’re an early bird,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Old habit”, he shrugged, “Hope you’re hungry. I ordered everything.” He gestured to the spread, “- and before you ask, I’m waiting to get dressed. Don’t want to spill anything on my signature suit.” Rei grinned, sliding into a seat, “I don’t mind the view at all – it’s nice to see this easygoing side to you”

They fell into banter over breakfast, the comfort of the night before seamlessly carrying over. He stole a piece of her bacon; she ‘accidentally’ spilled on the sleeve of his robe and made a show of cleaning it off. For a few precious minutes, it was pleasant. But reality, as it always did, intruded. 

Cillian finished his coffee and stood. “I should get dressed,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, “I have to report to Takumi in fifteen minutes.” The air in the room grew weighty, the warmth of the food and their laughter cooling rapidly. Rei’s smile faded, “He’ll probably be up to see me right after… ”, she finished for him, her voice quiet. He nodded, a grim understanding passing between them. The performance review was coming.

He disappeared into the bedroom and emerged a few minutes later, back in his impeccable brown suit. The transformation was jarring. The man in the robe who had laughed with her was gone, replaced by the expert protector. Only his eyes, holding a world of unspoken worry, remained the same. She walked him to the door, the plush carpet muffling their steps. The unspoken threat hung between them; Takumi’s jealousy that they had shared any intimacy at all, and his likely cold fury that they had denied him the lurid spectacle he had prepared them for.

At the door, Cillian turned on his heels. The skilled distance he’d tried to assume crumbled. “Rei…” he began, but words failed him. He opened his arms, and she stepped into them, burying her face in the crisp fabric of his jacket for what felt like the last time. He held her tightly, his hand cupping the back of her head. Then, she tilted her head up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. It wasn’t passionate, but it was full of everything they couldn’t say; gratitude, fear and a desperate, fleeting connection.

They stayed like that, holding each other in the hallway, knowing that when this door opened, everything could change. When Cillian eventually pulled back, he forced a lopsided, brave grin onto his face.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion he tried to mask with humor, “I’ll tell him you’re a sore loser at poker. That should explain everything.” Then he opened the door and was gone. The click of the latch rang out, and she stood alone in the opulent penthouse, the chilling certainty of the coming storm, her only companion.