A Dancer's Private Performance in the Neon Glow of New Eridu

The low, electric hum of New Eridu was a constant lullaby outside the Cunning Hares' agency. It was a sound of life, of commerce, of survival, but tonight, it felt distant, muted by the comfortable quiet within the small office that doubled as a living space. The lingering scent of instant noodles and old arcade cabinets was tinged with something sharper—the sterile tang of antiseptic. You sat on the worn-out sofa, watching as Qingyi carefully applied a fresh bandage to a scrape on your forearm, a souvenir from your latest dive into a Hollow.

Her usual boundless energy was focused, distilled into the delicate movements of her fingers. The bright, almost chaotic persona she presented to the world had softened into a gentle, focused concentration. Her vibrant green hair, usually tied up in its signature style, was partially undone, a few long strands falling forward to brush against her cheek as she worked. The overhead light caught the emerald and lime tones, making it seem almost alive. You found yourself mesmerized by the sight, by the quiet intimacy of the moment. The adrenaline of the fight had long since faded, replaced by a warm, bone-deep weariness and a growing awareness of her proximity.

“There,” she whispered, her voice a soft melody that cut through the silence. She pressed down gently on the adhesive, her thumb stroking your skin for a second longer than necessary. The touch sent a pleasant shiver up your arm. “You need to be more careful, you know. Anzu and Billy would be lost without their star Proxy.” She looked up, her large, expressive eyes meeting yours. There was a genuine concern in them, but something else, too. A flicker of something deeper, a vulnerability she rarely showed.

“I had you for backup,” you replied, your own voice huskier than you intended. “I knew you wouldn’t let anything too bad happen.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks, a lovely pink against her fair skin. She pulled her hand back and began tidying up the small first-aid kit, her movements a little too quick, a little too precise. “Well, even I can’t stop every single scratch. You’re reckless.” The words were a gentle scolding, but her smile betrayed her. It was a soft, private smile, one you felt was reserved just for you in moments like these.

She finished putting the kit away and hesitated for a moment before sitting on the sofa next to you. Not far, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from her body. She tucked a loose strand of her green hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture you’d come to recognize. The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken words and feelings that had been building for weeks, simmering beneath the surface of your professional partnership and easy friendship.

“Want to watch a movie?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if a louder sound might shatter the fragile atmosphere. “Billy downloaded that new one from the Golden Theater. ‘Starlight Gladiator VII’.”

You chuckled softly. “Sounds… explosive.”

“It’s supposed to be awful,” she admitted, a giggle escaping her. “Which means it’ll be fun.”

The movie was, as predicted, a glorious train wreck of over-the-top action and cheesy dialogue. But neither of you was really watching. Your awareness was entirely focused on the girl beside you. Her scent, a sweet mix of cherry blossoms and the faint, clean smell of her soap. The way her shoulder occasionally brushed against yours. Her soft breathing in the quiet moments between explosions on the screen. At some point, she’d curled her legs up onto the cushion, leaning her head back, her cascade of green hair spilling over the worn fabric of the sofa.

Your hand moved before your brain fully processed the command. You reached out, your fingers gently tangling in a thick lock of her hair. It was even softer than it looked, like cool silk. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The sound of a laser cannon from the television seemed a million miles away. Slowly, she turned her head, her wide, questioning eyes fixed on you. Her lips were slightly parted, and in the dim, flickering light from the screen, you saw an invitation.

You leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Your first kiss was hesitant, a gentle press of lips against lips. It was a question, and her response was the answer you’d been hoping for. She let out a soft sigh, a sound of surrender and acceptance, and leaned into you, her own hand coming up to cup your jaw. The kiss deepened, becoming more confident, more passionate. It was a release of all the tension, all the near-misses and lingering glances that had defined your relationship. Her lips were soft and eager, tasting faintly of the strawberry soda she’d been drinking. You threaded your fingers deeper into her hair, holding her close, never wanting the moment to end.

When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing heavily. Her face was flushed, her eyes luminous with a desire that mirrored your own. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, then lower, a new, deliberate intention solidifying in her expression. The air crackled with a different kind of energy now, raw and electric. She shifted, moving with the fluid grace of a dancer, and slid from the sofa to kneel on the floor before you.

The motion was so smooth, so purposeful, it stole the air from your lungs. Her green hair cascaded around her shoulders, a vibrant waterfall that pooled around her on the cheap rug. The flickering neon lights from the city outside painted shifting patterns of blue and magenta across her skin. She looked up at you from under her long lashes, her expression a potent mix of shyness and bold determination. Her hands, small and deft, rested on your knees. It was a silent offering, a promise of a performance more intimate and personal than any dance she’d ever done on a stage.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as she reached for the button of your jeans. Her fingers were steady, but you could see the slight tremor in them. She worked the button free, then slowly, deliberately, pulled down the zipper. The rasping sound was impossibly loud in the quiet room. She freed you from the confines of your clothes, her warm palm closing around your hardening length. A choked gasp escaped your lips at the contact. Her touch was electric, a perfect contrast of soft skin and firm grip.

She admired her handiwork for a long moment, her eyes tracing your length, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. She leaned forward, her warm breath ghosting over the sensitive tip. You instinctively gripped the sofa cushions, your knuckles turning white. Then, she took you into her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, a sudden, wet heat that sent a jolt of pure pleasure straight to your core. Her lips were impossibly soft, her mouth a perfect, searing sheath around you. You threw your head back against the sofa, a low groan rumbling in your chest.

Qingyi was a natural, a prodigy. She moved with an innate rhythm, her head bobbing in a steady, hypnotic motion. Her long hair brushed against your inner thighs, the silky strands sending secondary waves of sensation across your skin with every movement. She used her tongue expertly, teasing and swirling, finding every sensitive nerve. Her hands weren't idle; one remained at your base, her grip firm and reassuring, while the other began to gently stroke your thigh, her touch grounding you in the dizzying reality of the moment.

You opened your eyes, needing to see her. She was looking up at you, her own eyes half-lidded with concentration and a shared pleasure. Seeing her like this—so focused, so dedicated to your pleasure, her beautiful face framed by that stunning green hair—was an intimacy so profound it was almost painful. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slick and rosy. You could hear her soft, wet sounds, a rhythm of devotion that fueled your rising ecstasy. You reached down, your hand burying itself in the silken mass of her hair, not to guide her, but simply to feel connected to her, to hold onto this perfect, fragile moment.

“Qingyi…” you breathed, your voice strained. The pleasure was building into a tidal wave, a pressure coiling tight in your gut. You were close, so close to the edge.

She seemed to sense it, her rhythm changing. She quickened her pace, her throat muscles working as she took you deeper than you thought possible. The suction increased, pulling a guttural moan from your lips. Her eyes never left yours, holding you captive in their depths. It was a look of pure, unadulterated passion, a silent communication that this was as much for her as it was for you. The sight of her, the feeling of her, the sounds she was making—it all coalesced into an unbearable, exquisite pressure that demanded release.

With a final, desperate groan, you arched into her, your release flooding her mouth in hot, pulsing waves. Her throat contracted around you, taking everything you had to give, her dedication unwavering even in the final moments. Your body shuddered, every muscle tensing and then going lax. The world slowly swam back into focus, the cheesy dialogue of the movie on the TV now just a nonsensical background hum. Qingyi stayed with you, her lips still wrapped around you, her movements slowing to a gentle, soothing rhythm until the last tremor had subsided.

She pulled back slowly, a string of saliva connecting you for a brief moment before it broke. She swallowed, her gaze still locked with yours, a look of profound satisfaction and affection on her face. A single strand of green hair was stuck to her damp cheek, and you reached down, your hand trembling slightly, to gently brush it away. She leaned into your touch, closing her eyes for a moment.

You helped her up, pulling her onto the sofa and into your lap. She settled against your chest, burying her face in the crook of your neck, and you wrapped your arms around her, holding her tight. You could feel the frantic beat of her heart against yours. You pressed a kiss into her soft, fragrant hair, inhaling her scent. The movie had ended, the screen now dark, and the room was filled only with the sound of your shared breaths and the ever-present hum of New Eridu.

“That was…” you started, but couldn’t find the words.

“Yeah,” she whispered against your skin, her voice thick with emotion. She tilted her head back to look at you, her eyes soft and shining. “It was.” She leaned up and gave you a soft, lingering kiss, a kiss of reassurance and deep affection. It was a promise of more nights like this, of a new depth to your relationship that went far beyond missions and Hollows. As you held her, stroking her incredible green hair, you knew that this was just the beginning. Tucked away in the heart of the chaotic city, you had found your own quiet, perfect world, right here in her arms.