AN: Straight from an RP blog, requested by a Reno RPer who frequently interacts with my OC.

—One. He spat the coffee back into the mug, tasting filtered bean water and lipstick. The rim was pressed with fresh streaks of blue, dabbed onto the ceramic by the lips of a girl. He grimaced. "Dammit, Mely," he called down the hall, "I told you, if you want coffee, get a cup and make yer own!"

She poked her head around the corner, grinning like the devil with her pretty, painted lips. "Y'know they tell us young things not to leave our drinks unattended. That's good advice for everyone."

He told her to shut up. She told him to shut up and went back to the bathroom. Then he palmed her color off his own mouth again, and dumped the vile drink down the drain.

—Two. "Ow, sonofabitch!"

"Reno, that was just the ice."

"It was?"

"Yeah, it was. Now quit squirming or I'm gonna mess this up."

She clapped a hand on his bare shoulder, steadying him. Pinching the needle between her fingers. Focusing on the angry, gaping gash until the exact moment he broke her concentration again.

"Are you sure you once knew how to do this?" he asked, peeking back over his shoulder.
"Jeez, man, I'm trying to work here. Would you be more comfortable if I drove you to the clinic?"
"Can you even drive? Aren't you like, twelve?"

Exasperated, she sighed, "Do you want me to do this for you, or not?" He didn't respond; he just nodded. "Okay. I need to stitch this before you start bleeding again." Instinct pulled her forward onto her knees. She kissed the tense muscle connecting his neck and shoulder, smiling into his goosebumps. "So shut up and think of something nice."

—Three. "If you could kiss anybody with no consequences, who would it be?"

"I dunno." He knew exactly the answer she was fishing for, but he wouldn't give it to her. Instead, he decided: "Probably Elena." He pinched some salt from the rim of her half-empty margarita and let it dissolve on his tongue, bracing himself for the jealous glares that always come from these 'hypothetical' conversations with women. He was ready to watch her huff and puff, and stomp out of the restaurant, leaving him the bill as compensation for her injured feelings. Instead, he was met with an enthusiastic nod.

"Mm, yeah, she'd be my first pick, too," the girl said, leaning over the booth to suck on her straw. Her drink made a slurping sound at the bottom of her glass.

"She's so pretty, isn't she? It's just not fair."

Huh? Oh.

"Yeeeah," he agreed, testing the waters. "I ah, didn't know you were like that."

Her big blue eyes darted up to his face, and he immediately regretted saying anything at all. "Like what?"

"Ahhh–" Crap. Why does he always end up in these awkward conversations with people? "I just, I didn't know you were into…" He paused, hoping the words would find him, but all he could conjure was the image of Elena's face, soft against the shoulder peeking out from Mel's shirt. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and said, "I didn't know you were into blondes."

She gave him a knowing smirk. "Blondes and redheads, baby," she said. Her hand crossed the table and something inside him flinched. The tip of her thumb grazed the side of his mouth, taking away a stray salt rock. Had it been there the whole time? She quickly sucked it off her skin, taking it past her velvety lips.

He swallowed the lump in this throat. An involuntary shiver slithered down his spine, and he became very aware of a lingering aftertaste. "I'm willing to share if you are," the girl said, and his head almost exploded.

"What–?" he asked.

"The bill, stupid." She got up from the booth and swung her bag over her shoulder, catching its weight with her regrettably unmarked collarbone. He pretended not to notice.

—Four. It always impressed her, how quickly he was able to fall asleep. One minute they'd be talking, and the next, he was quiet as a corpse. He came home that day and demanded she get up from the sofa so he could take a nap. When she refused, he gave her one warning. Then he sprawled himself over the cushions, over her thighs. He tried to warn her. She told him to get off. "You're too heavy!" she complained, shoving him to no avail.

"Can't hear you, already asleep," he said, cushioning his head with his hands.

"No, you're not!"

"Gravity is increasing on me…"

"No, it's not!"

He grinned and closed his eyes, relishing in her pitiful squeals for help. "I'm already dreaming… there's this… annoying girl… in my apartment…" He wriggled around, getting himself comfortable. "She won't pay rent, but she eats all my food… what a nightmare…"

"I swear to God, Reno. I will do something drastic if you don't get your bony butt off me."

He chortled, just a quick breath leaving through his nose. He didn't say anything, just let the tendrils of sleep begin to wash over him.

"Last chance, bro." What was she gonna do, tickle him? Pull his ponytail? Pinch, poke?

He was just beginning to drift when he felt something: soft fingers, tracing the indent of his cheekbone, following the line of his tattoo. He let himself float just above the surface of sleep, more curious than tired. Her legs tensed beneath him to accommodate the bend in her spine. Long hair brushed over his eyelids, and he knew. He could smell her coming close, filling the empty space between them, once so cavernous, now only as vast as skin could permiss. She kissed him, she really did it. Squeezing his chin in her hand she broke the floodgates. The kiss was sticky with old lipgloss she'd applied hours ago, for someone else.

He poked the tip of his tongue past his own lips – peach flavored, he decided. It seemed this was just a bit too much for Mel. She backed away, startled.

Intrigued, he opened one eye. She stared down at him, color flushing to her face. "You're right," he said. "That was drastic." Seconds later, he was asleep.

—Five. "Please don't do that," he said to the back of her head. He didn't see the tears, but he felt them in the air. He watched trembling hands go to her face and come away wet. He could almost taste the ache leaking down her cheeks. He said again, "Please don't do that. It makes me feel…" Disturbingly human. Terribly responsible.

"Leave me alone, then." Her voice was clear, crisp, practiced. Sharp enough to cut through her own turmoil. A knot formed where dust once collected in his stomach, anchoring him to something in the back of his mind – a memory perhaps, of a time when he could see a crying girl, and feel something. Anything. He scratched behind his ear and frowned.

The girl sniffled, betraying herself. Something in his chest quivered, like a hummingbird's wings. This, he decides, is uncomfortable. He wants it to be over. He wants it to end. Shit. "C'mere, girly."

He draped an arm over her slim shoulders and tugged her closer to him. His whole body tensed, as if he were embracing a permeating poison. He almost expected a smack, or worse. Yet the anticipation went unresolved. She didn't make a sound, but he felt the wetness disappearing into his shirt. "I gotcha," he said. It seemed like the thing to say. "I've got you, Mel. You're gonna be fine, alright?" It's a lie they both love to tell, but god, why does it weigh so much? Why does it burn in his mouth?

A meek little sob managed to break her silence. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was already snaking through her hair. He planted his lips to the crown of her head. Somehow, he expected her to smell like blueberries up close. Instead he caught hints of color-safe shampoo, chocolate, coffee. And cologne. Someone else's cologne.

He wondered, briefly, just who broke her heart tonight. Who was kind enough to send her back to him, in pieces.

"Whoever he is," he said, in a low tone, "He doesn't deserve you."

She clung to him that night, even as she slipped into slumber. And he knew, in that moment, he would always have her. Whether he liked it or not.