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Her skin still wouldn't stop tingling all over. 

Ketertras were a notorious nasty swarm of pestering persistent parasites unseen, that when allowed free to flourish, would reside just beneath the skin of their host… and while death almost always followed after, the mildest, earliest symptom to surface would always be a tingle.

And while Irene knew the notion of imminent death was as far as could possibly be, alas, like a tenacious desiring stalker lurking over her shoulder, it followed her, hounded her, this unending tingling sensation.

The exact moment she left the hold of his arms, the warmth of his body against hers, it started - leaving the hotel room, striding past the lobby entrance, slamming shut the door of her car - and never ended. 

It was right there, with the steering wheel a poor innocent victim to the pressure of her fingers, her blank emotionless gaze over the dashboard, that the sensation finally reached a climax. 

Irene, try as she might, couldn't at all recall herself squealing even once in her life before… but the strange high-pitch sound that slipped past her frantically squirming lips, only getting louder with her every attempt to stifle herself… what else could it be but a bonafide squeal?

She pressed her face hard against the steering wheel, stamping her foot, doing all she could - what was going on? 

She was absolutely certain these feelings inside her would have dwindled significantly after last night, after what happened, instead, they just grew even stronger. Why were they stronger? Why does his face keep popping up in her mind every time she closes her eyes? 

If she kept them close for long enough, she could see his smile - drawing ever so near, the way his gaze stared so tender.. Even longer, and she could feel him, the touch of his hands, the dampness of his lips… so soft, so nice, so…

"Okay, stop!" She yelled out, and the sudden blare of the car horn matched the intensity of her demands, frightening an old lady half to death that was walking by the parking lot. "I get it…" 

This unbearable tingling, this insatiable want, it seems there was just no way of dampening it even in the slightest.

Ketertras was one thing, but this was another. A pestering persistent parasite more frightening and formidable than any other. 

Ria was right - Love just couldn't be controlled.

"Maybe tomorrow…" there it was again, her wonders out loud, just love doing its thing. "Movies tomorrow…" 

Not that she minded it, that is.

-------

Everything, inexplicably, has taken a new shine. 

Irene noticed that the world had suddenly taken this flushed, vibrant feel that not even the sunless sky could attempt to dour. Even the dreary, shabby brown walls of the police station halls didn't look so bleak as it has always been prior. 

When her fellow officers approached and greeted her, she didn't much mind anymore the way they stared at her. She even had it in her to greet them back with a wave and a smile. 

Those poor unsuspecting officers were still standing frozen with their mouths open by the time Irene made it to her office door. 

Indeed for some reason, every little insignificant thing felt so nice now… like a pleasant breeze of the wind, or the aroma and taste of a latte in the morning, or the feel of his soft lips against her - she needs to stop thinking right about now.

Even more bizarre, the commissioner was just as springy as the world was... watching her go, all while with a smile stretched far across his face. Strange...

Irene plopped herself down at her desk. Briefly, she studied the interior of her office that has also been thoroughly overridden by the same happy-go-lucky polish and shine.

Throughout the career, minus the shifting size of the pile of papers sorted nicely atop her desk, there's only been a fair few adjustments she's made to spice up her office life.

A new mug sat on her table once every few months. The long rows of commendations certificates hanging in their dusty glass plaques, once or twice, she shifted them from place to place. The pinboard, worn and hole-filled over years of use, she's also just recently moved to the wall nearest to her desk. 

Now she was considering that maybe it's due time again for another new adjustment. A picture frame, perhaps to fill in one of the many empty spaces on her desk. 

Just something soothing to stare at during long grueling days of monotony. It's a thought… a tempting thought.

She should have asked for a photo last night. Anytime then was a perfect time already. Wasted opportunity, wasted chance. In retrospect, it would have been worth the embarrassment, worth his quips and teasings… if the outcome of it was an imprint on his smile always there right by her side every single day.

There were very few things Irene regretted in life - this was sadly one of them. But alas, she assured herself, there's always the next time. Without a doubt, she'll ensure there will be a next time.

Already she was pondering whether he shared her same passion in mystery movies, and was on the verge of asking when it happened.

The telephone on her desk rang.

Normal, nothing out of ordinary… especially considering recent times as society gradually tried to ease away from the utter pandemonium just a few weeks before, and the mysterious serial abductions even prior to that chaos. 

Naturally, paranoia and fear were still rife on everyone's mind.

Irene answered the call, pressed the receiver to her ear, but then before she could even speak - she heard him, and she heard him speak something fierce.

"Who is he, detective?" 

Almost at once, the detective in her took over.

Male. Normal accent. Mid to late thirties going by the low rasp in his voice, smoker perhaps. From four words uttered, this was what she took away first and foremost. 

Secondly and most importantly, she also heard what was unsaid… what didn't need speaking. And yet… not enough info still. She needed him to keep talking.

So she cautiously trod forward. "Who is who?" 

There was a long unbroken silence on either end of the line, a silence in which Irene took the time to delve her mind deep in thought.

She didn't recognize the voice, but she did recognize the malicious intent in those words he spoke. His question was ambiguous, random… and yet somehow she felt as if she knew the answer to it already.

And apparently, as the moment came to pass, this mystery-man knew it too. 

"Detective," He said, his voice dripping with amusement. "You and I both know you're smarter than that." 

Still, she feigned ignorance.

"Who are you?" She asked, trying so desperately to match a face to the voice. "How did you get this number?"

"You're diligent, detective. Over the years, I wonder… just how many faceless hundreds did you give your card to all in the name of serving and protecting? You won't recognize me, Detective, I'll let you know now. By all accounts, I'm a perfect stranger." 

"A stranger with an even stranger agenda," Irene took in a breath, fearing the worst with her next words. "Do you happen to be a stranger to someone called Jay too?"

To her dismay, the stranger all but confirmed her suspicions. "Jay, you say? Is that what you guys call him?" with another short chuckle. "Ah, that's a shit name..."

There was more than just Jay to worry about now. Suddenly, the world, the walls, her office, just got much darker, bleaker. The tingling stopped, the dread started.

Irene kept her cool despite the pressing new revelation unveiled. Not a shred of weakness in her voice as she spoke again, "Are you a new summon? A conjured familiar, perhaps? What am I really speaking to here?"

"Just a kindred spirit that can sympathize with a just cause," The man responded. "Less metaphorically, I'm a normal human being through and through… unlike you, unlike Jay." 

There was a lot to unravel from what was just said. Most glaring of which being his statement. If what he said was true, if he is only a human of this world… then how was he deeply immersed in the knowledge of hers?

"Bullshit." 

She wasn't buying it. A Magus, especially one of Jay's caliber, was a being of nigh-infinite resources and options. Which is what exactly makes them so hard to kill.

"Subjugation, it has to be. If not some sort of binding spell, I know it..." Then still speculating and rifling through ideas, suddenly, a thought dawned on her. "Parasite…" 

A foreboding chuckle. "Who can say for sure, right?" 

Another pill to struggle swallowing. "Does this 'human' at least have a name?"

"A name…" The man muttered. "Actually, we've never considered a name. I'm just who I am. Hey, what's a name better than Jay that you can give?"

Irene didn't bother to answer, instead, she went in questioning. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I'm just calling on behalf of our dear friend Jay who is tending to more pressing matters at the moment." 

That piqued her attention. "What matters?"

"Matters that are none of your concern, frankly," He said simply. "Just answer the question, detective. Your little handsome devil you smiled and blushed non-stop with last night, who the hell is he really?"

It was on the mention of him directly that caused Irene more distress than any other, but even still she wouldn't dare let her composure falter. 

The man continued to speak, so light, so free, as if taking great pleasure in the turmoil he was causing.

"Jay expressed to me his confusion, you see… and oh how long it's been on his mind day and night. In fact, he's the one who asked me to give you a call. He wants nothing to do with you, nor your boyfriend. He does not intend on doing anything to any of you… at least not in the foreseeable future. But if you mention this to him, if you mention me to him, then that might just change. Consider that you being warned. All he just wants is for you to answer a question that's got him curious.

"I mean, just put yourself in his shoes - out of nowhere, here strolls a random guy as plain and average as can be, only to suddenly manifest great magical prowess seemingly over the course of a few short days, successfully summoning a being of fiction on just his very first attempt… something completely unprecedented. And the most confusing part? He's not even Kronocian. By right, he should be average, he should be plain - the Blightfall should have purged this town with rot, but it didn't. Why didn't it?" 

Then a little closer, in the loudest whisper, the man asked once more, ever as sinister.

"So tell us, detective, who is he?"