• Keir Alekseii


TIL that Sephala and Helen were not friends, but maybe the ice broke between them (and the romance started) after they got drunk at an office party? Thanks to TFR Writing Prompt #80 for the inspo ;)

I'm not sure who thought celebratory drinks were a good idea on a Thursday night, but at least casual Friday allowed for sneakers. So, when the elevator dinged to announce my arrival and the doors swept open, I managed to keep my feet. I was still as graceful as a toad, but hey, toads don't fall on their faces. With this small triumph under my belt, I made a beeline for the kitchen, nodding to my coworkers, who looked me in the reflective glasses with amusement. The kitchen was blissfully empty, and the aroma of my wake-up juice pulled me by the nose to the full pot sitting on the counter. Ah, coffee, at last.

"How drunk were you last night?" quipped a voice from the corner. My spine iced over and I stuffed a sigh back down my throat, turning my head stiffly to the sound. Ugh. Sephala. I was hoping to avoid this encounter, at least until after I'd had some goddamned coffee. But no, there she was looking pressed and proper and certainly well slept. I had a brief flashback to last night: a vivid image of Sephala throwing back shot after shot of something that smelled distinctly like jet fuel while the bar cheered her on.

Elves, man. What an unfair advantage.

My new partner stood gracefully, more swan than toad, and sauntered over to the sink where she picked up the dish sponge and flicked on the tap.

"Well," I said smugly, pouring out my coffee and pulling a cupboard open in search of sugar, "I still have my pants on, so not that drunk?" A low chuckle answered and I glanced over to see a small but wicked curving of her lips as she turned the water off and put her cup on the drying rack. I put my back to her, resuming my search, and with a whisper of fabric against marble, I suddenly felt a presence too close behind me. I whipped around to see Sephala, inches away, holding the small sugar jar between us.

"Those," she said quietly, "are not your pants." She rested the jar on the countertop and slowly put her hands to my face, pulling off my glasses to place them next to the sugar. The shock of her nearness and the softness of her voice tingled from where my glasses had slid off of my face, all the way to my toes and fingertips. What was she doing? My eyes now exposed, Sephala stared at my face with her purple gaze. Before I could muster up the brain function to ask her what the fuck she was doing, she stepped back and turned to walk out of the kitchen. Just as she neared the door, she stopped, swiveling to face me, she smiled that small wicked smile again.

"They're mine." She said, and sauntered away, leaving me bright red and stupefied.

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