A/N: This originally was something else entirely; but it somehow turned into Jalex. Be warned: I wrote this at one in the morning, which also happens to be when i'm the most cryptic. R&R.
She was chocolate, arrogance, fire and completely the wrong choice.
He was vanilla, righteousness, the subtlest end of the blade and everybody's absolute favorite.
They weren't supposed to end up together.
But they did.
He realized this only after a month of trysts, burning gazes and very occupied nights.
She realized this the moment she set her eyes on him: but she knew he would be hers, indefinitely.
Only, you know, it took him a while for it to sink in.
Ask anyone off the street about them and they'll be torn between: oh, they're in love? and they must loathe each other. Their closest friends will admit, in great privacy, that they think that they're both.
Honestly, their scripts were written out the moment they stepped into the world- he the obedient Mama's boy and she the spoiled, only daughter whom everyone adored.
They fought even as little kids, shrill laughs dancing with their childish barbs- giggling as they scraped their knees from pushing at each other.
But now their insults sharpened viciously, the laughter replaced with a far more agonizing heat.
Their arms crossed each other obnoxiously. Their legs stood stubbornly at ends. But their eyes, they burned with life.
And then it reached a point where both of them had to do something, anything to relieve the pain.
And they did. Almost.
He gently pulls her palms from his face, and she dismisses the disappointment churning in her gut.
His face is blank as he quietly speaks of another, and he never looks up to see her face.
Her heart bleeds and her head pounds, her eyes stings and her mouth twists, they all screamed one thing: hate.
The pain is humbling.
Crippling, crushing, suffocating.
So much that she doesn't talk to anyone else for the next few weeks.
So much that she doesn't touch the plate brought down to her for days.
So much that all she could do is sit down, and wait.
The hunger and hurt gnaws at her like a half-crazed beast, but curiosity pulls at her more.
And so, she nibbles the food, splashes water onto her face, and she makes her way to his room.
He enters the room to see an angel lying on his bed, but he is confused.
He stands wordlessly, staring at her until her eyes open and focus on him.
He sees his angel, but her halo is broken, and her wings are nonexistent.
But he doesn't bring himself to care.
Everything reverts back to normal.
At least, nobody questions it nor do they, and they are happy- so why stop a good thing?
And he kisses her every day, a sorry built behind his lips and in his every breath.
(She learnt what it is to forgive.)
Sticks and stones… He would taunt her night after night, his words sprawling across her spine.
Her face would glow fiercely, even if he couldn't see her: will gladly break your bones-
but the words will never hurt us. He will murmur into the curve of her shoulder, trace the letters onto her arms, and that's all he will say until the next morning.
And she would always end the day, thinking: there was a word for this. (What was it? Hate? Love? Lust?)
They'll figure it out some day. They were smart, after all.