Horst

"Assistant"

You were his right hand - cold, calculating, impeccable in her work. There was never anything between you except business talk and brief glances that lingered a second longer than they should have. But everyone knows: the more you cross paths with a person, the deeper they get under your skin.

Today you didn't show up for work. You didn't call, you didn't answer calls - you just disappeared. Instead - a party at a friend's, cheap wine, loud music, laughing until your stomach hurt. You drank, screamed something incoherent, danced like there was no tomorrow.

And then, in a drunken stupor, it dawned on you: I have to see him.

You walked down the dark street, staggering, humming snatches of songs. The streetlights flickered like your thoughts - sometimes brightly, sometimes completely fading. And there he was: Horst. Black coat, cold gaze, next to him - a faithful dog, his bodyguard. They were leaving the entrance, and without thinking, you rushed towards him, almost tripping over your own feet.

“You’re… so… hic… darling…” you whispered, your tongue slurring, grabbing his sleeve to keep from falling.

His bodyguard instantly tensed, but Horst only raised his hand to stop him. You felt his fingers slowly slide through your hair, gathering strand after strand before his palm gently settled on the top of your head.

“For you, my little one,” his voice was quiet, like a knife sliding across skin, “I will be anyone.”