Author's Note: I've been listening to this song nonstop and became inspired. I'm kinda surprised that I ventured into Chase/Maya as I'm not usually a big fan of them but alas, I digress. It's really short and I used a new type of writing style that I'm currently working on. Hope you could enjoy at least a little bit.

I said this all before,

But opposites attract.
We try and run away,

But end up running back.

Crash, You Me at Six

Her aquamarine eyes are twinkling with adoration, amazement, blinding naivety. She's latched herself onto her new object of affection (not you, ha) the new farmer boy with the girl's name and she's looking at him the way she used to look at you. With love.

And hey, piss and vinegar, you don't like that very much, do you?

Your grip on the marble counter tightens fiercely as you watch them share the orange cake that you made. Their forks sink into the decadent dessert carelessly; they're too busy staring at each other.

Calm yourself, now. Your apathetic tendencies aren't going to stop that terrible, merciless ache from resounding throughout your chest. Clenching your teeth together, your mind is racing with sarcastic retorts to spew in their direction, in attempts to ruin their lovey dovey evening.

But you come up blank.

Heh. You should have spit in the batter while you had the chance.

She was a messy, piggish eater. Crumbs would inevitably end up all over the floor that you would have to sweep up before closing. It'll pain you to admit it, so I will, you damn well miss it. No, dear. You miss her.

That awful scowl appears on your face when she skips up with the empty dish and hands it to you with an impish smile. "Hiya, Chase. I didn't know you worked this early."

Oh, no. There's that horrible thing called a heart of yours acting up again. Pounding relentlessly beneath your shirt. Oh my. Do you think she's noticed?

Your grip on the dish is a deadly one. She's still smiling; all sugar high like. It's completely like her to ignore your oh so obvious temper and continue being pleasant. "The cake was so yummy! So, um, thanks!"

She grants you one last grin before retreating to the table where he was waiting. Oh, is he the enemy now? What fun! A story is not good until you throw an antagonist in there. But…he's too lovely, too kind to be the villain. (Not to mention, cute!)

Now, I don't mean to offend you, dear, but…Under circumstances, wouldn't you be the bad guy?

Just saying…That scowl of yours could rival any evil step-mothers out there.

It's a meaningless routine, this, in which you've found resolve. The way you wake up midafternoon, take a chilled shower, and play the flute (quite badly, I might add) until you absolutely must endure another day of work.

You do not look forward to seeing her and him wrapped up on the sofa, in the furthermost corner of the bar, smiling dumbly at each other.

It makes you sick. Lovesick, hah, see what I did there?

Of course you wouldn't be so appreciative. Not to worry. Just having a little fun at your expense, because, isn't everyone else?

'What a cute couple!'

'When's the wedding?'

'Oh, their children will be lovely!'

You tug on your apron because Hayden's giving you that look again. The one that clearly says 'get to work; chump, or I'll slice you into next week's special.' With your signature scowl, more like a grimace, you begin chopping vegetables for the stir fry irritably.

Remember, you must always cook with love.

Ahahaha.

It isn't until the Firefly Festival rolls around that things come to a sudden and abrupt halt. Things, at least to you, start making sense again. She and the farmer boy are no longer together and she's taken to following you like a shadow.

But it's not like you wanted it; she's saddened somehow.

"What's wrong with you?" You inquire, delicately. (See? I can be sarcastic too. Seriously. Is there not a tactful bone in your body?) Your strawberry eyebrows furrow together when she doesn't take the opportunity to burst into tears and bawl about her petty little girl problems like you expect her to.

"Maya?"

She blinks owlishly at you; her aquamarine eyes dull even under the mystical influence of the moon. "What…?"

You swallow your pride. Poor baby. "What's wrong?"

"…Nothing."

"Fine."

Her gaze obviously drifts to where the farmer boy resides with the exotic, islander girl by his side, giggling wildly. Your jaw clenches at the sight and unthinkingly you blurt, "She's not even a good dancer."

She turns her attention back to you and surprise is evident in her girlishly sad smile. "Yeah, she is. But thanks for trying." She wraps you in a small and fleeting embrace before pulling back with an attractive blush displayed across her cheekbones.

"Gah – "

And you bumble on like a fool in love, but that's okay, I won't hold it against you.