Terezi stands on tiptoe at Dave's back, face pressed into the scratchy anise wool of his stocking cap, because that is the rule. To be precise, the rule is that she hide her eyes while Dave finds a suitable target; but games are no fun if she can't bend the rules just a little bit. He pivots and she sidesteps to follow, creepy-crawling her hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck as she listens for the tiny motor-whirr of the camera's focus, the sudden hush as he holds his breath for the shutter, and for her chance to strike.

There.

In the instant before the shutter fires, Terezi slides her thumbs below the edge of Dave's hat and lifts. A soft rush of warm cream and the vaguest whiff of salted caramel follows the night wind, carrying a hint of smoke and oil, away behind her as she buries her nose into the soft, secret spot at the edge of his hairline. His scent is always so gentle, feminine even, and the secret, her private dirt on Strider, brings with it a weird sense of your-mine pride. A subtle blip of gummy fondant-pink surges beneath his skin as well as a restrained ripple through his shoulders. Terezi smiles, her cheeks flushing near teal with the thrill of an early victory. She knows where the buttons are, she knows when to push them; she is not above bending the rules.

Dave pivots again, left, right, left, and Terezi keeps step. The mix-up. He stops and pulls away, turning and presenting the camera.

"Ms. SanDiego," Dave says, his deadpan drawl turning into a pillowy little cloud in the cool air. "If you would control yourself."

On its surface, the game is one part I Spy and one part Hide-and-Go-Seek, shits and giggles to kill time. Just beneath, where the good bits are, it's a lot more like Chicken. Terezi takes one last sniff, savoring the fading, but distinct, glow behind the chapped, fridge-taste-smell of Dave's cheeks before pressing her nose to the camera's flickering screen. With a marvelous, exaggerated, wet, and wrenching sort of sound, she takes a long draw from the display. She picks her way past the layer of ozone and oyster brine lingering in the backlight and dives all the way down, just above the pixels. There is a depressing, amount of brown, and gray, and blue.

"What's my hint?" She drags her tongue across the image on the screen, listening carefully for any hidden sounds of disgust as she smacks the taste of the plastic against her lips. "Wet concrete and stupid, sore loser?"

"Padiddle." Dave says. "That is all."

"You're making shit up." She takes another lick of the screen, tasting around for some other pallet in the photo. There, behind a horrid splotch of doorknob-steel and tar-black rubber is the tiniest glimmer of something delicious. "That's not a thing that is."

"I assure you, totally relevant for any red-blooded, road-tripping, sumbitch."

"Oh, my. Is it anything like a kettle? Because if it's nearly as naughty, I will seriously begin to question your motives, sir."

The flavor is maddening at this scale. A miniscule mishmash of tropical sweetness, subdued, velvety, sugar-sweet electric, and something else she can't quite place. She has to make it bigger. This has to be it. Whatever the hell a padiddle is, it better taste this good or she is going to be very disappointed.

"You can't just delete them every time you lose, Tz."

He takes a step forward and reaches for the camera, his creamy, candy scent riding another balmy puff. She turns away from his grabby hands and blips through another menu.

"Shut up, I only did that once." She growls under her breath as she begins mashing buttons with a bit more urgency.

"Sixteen times."

"Thirteen." The camera hums once, retracts its lens and goes dark. "Also, shut up."

"You break it?"

"No!"

Realizing that she'd spit the word with a little more force than intended, Terezi straightens her shoulders, with the dignity of a proper lady, and tugs her plaid, fur-lined cap down flat against her head. She ignores the sound of threads ripping around her horns and holds the camera out to Dave, forcing it into his gloved hands. Taking a quick, half-step as he moves to pull the camera back, she slips her fingers beneath his sleeve. Her fingertips press into his wrist and she clenches her teeth for a moment to suppress a giggle at the sudden swell of sticky pink in the air.

"I've just decided that you're going to take me there so I can show you my sicknasty padiddle hunting skills in person."

Terezi takes hold of Dave's arm with a calculated, just-a-little-too-tight grip and hugs it to her chest.

"I assure you," She smiles, showing her teeth. "They will pay all of the debts."

"Bills." Dave says, stoic.

Terezi flattens her expression and stares up at him until he relents, forces out a heavy sigh and turns back towards the oily smells. She waits only a moment longer than it takes him to set off, to give her that vital directional hint, before forcing a backseat lead. Walking in lockstep with Dave, Terezi pushes his pace faster and faster until she lets loose of his arm and feels his smell fall behind her.

"Hey, Tz," Dave says, the sounds of jogging growing heavy on his breath. "Wait up."

His creaminess is replaced by the thick, sticky stink of tar and she smacks her tongue against the roof of her mouth to flush it out. The smell of oil is near overpowering when she breaks through at last. There, behind the mud and charcoal is the glimmer of the padiddle and certain victory. Bright, fruity, and beckoning, the scent whips up her excitement and settles a strange, bitter feeling into her belly. It calls to her, encased in layer upon layer of smooth clean glass, on the other side of the sticky foulness. Her boots crunch into loose stone and then onto hard, unforgiving flatness. The grey scents roll and mix in the air, jostled by a whooshing rush of sound that swells and fades from alternating sides. Left, whoosh, right, whoosh, oily stink left right, whoosh, padiddle.

Before she can take another step Dave's hand digs into the back of her mottled, patchwork jacket and yanks her back to the loose, mushroom stones. A deep, bellowing sound that reeks of smoke, and coal, and accumulated dust flies by, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Terezi wobbles for a moment and turns back to Dave as the semi's horn fades into the distance. How much of a pain it is, remembering roads, when one doesn't care to drive.

The scent of caramel, thrown strong into the air as Dave pulls his hat off and uses it to wipe the moisture from his face, is lost on Terezi as she touches the toes of her boots together. Cheeks flushed, she chews at the inside of her lip; searching for an apology before she notices a new smell wafting away from Dave as he clutches at the collar of his shirt. He flaps the fabric against his chest like a bellows and it forces the scent into the cool air. It's a sour smell. Fresh, and pink, and sweet. A summertime smell that pulls her out of the winter air and makes her crave something warm.

She feels a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. To take another step closer, at least. Maybe just fluff his hair before he puts that hat back on. Just a little.

"Damn it, Girl," he exhales one more big breath that expels the last plume of that sweet summer scent. "That was a special brand of shortbus, right there."

Head still a bit heavy, Terezi contemplates apologizing. Staring at her feet she thinks about reaching out for his hand and just letting him walk her home, nice and comfortable and close. Her hand even rises a bit, reaching. But then she catches a glimpse of that pin-straight, so-what mouth. His face set and solid, staring down at her silly, flushing almost-smile. Terezi decides that she's not done yet.
She reaches out and takes his hands in hers; stepping in close where all he can see is the sweetness she aims up into his face.

"You saved me." She draws the A out long, into a singsong tease.

Fondant and a lingering memory of the mystery smell threaten to topple her plans. Terezi locks her knees, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and leans in a little closer to Dave. Inches from his chin on purpose. She wants him to see the cold tinge in her cheeks, smell her scent. Become painfully aware of the fact that she is -there-.

"We're getting you a leash." He says.

"Lead me?"

Dave turns back to the road, his hands gone limp despite her grip.

"And a muzzle."

"Ooh."

She can smell the flush in his cheeks even with his back turned. Squeezing his hand, she flashes a smug little grin to herself as he strolls out onto the road. There are no more rushing sounds. No more rumbling in the ground. Dave's breath trails above her head, swirling away into the nighttime mélange against the hard, rapping backdrop of her boot heels against the asphalt.

She stumbles when Dave neglects to tell her that they've reached the opposite curb, the scuffing of his sneakers offering little by way of advance warning. She drops his hand and thrusts her arms out to the side, taking a short hopskip on one foot as she reigns in her equilibrium. Dave doesn't turn to look until he reaches a tiny, purple vehicle. Terezi jams her feet to the ground, planting herself solid before he can see her stumble.
Much smaller than the semi, the car's scent is full of curves and bubbles, like some kind of little insect. It could be cute, even in spite of its horrible, rubber, petrol stink. Dave tilts his glasses, just a bit, and raises an eyebrow as he leans back against the fender. Terezi takes a reflexive breath in search of his irises, though the muddled night air leaves them obscured. She grumbles under her breath.

"What's a curb smell like, Pyrope?"

Terezi narrows her eyes behind her glasses and bites at the inside of her lip.

"Hmm?"

He snaps his glasses back into place, almost letting slip with a little smile. Still biting her lip, Terezi jams her hands into her pockets and stomps her way past Dave. Weaving between big pairs of ugly, colorless boxes with the same nasty, light-headed stink as the bubble car, Terezi searches for the bright light of her goal. Dead ahead the cold scent of glass is thick in the air, behind that the stupid padiddle and Dave's stupid stupid smug smirk wiped clean off his face and crammed under a rock where it belongs.

Terezi sniffs out the doorhandle and heaves with all of her weight. A bell, somewhere above, rattles as the door swings back on its hinges and a wave of chocolate candied meaty crunchy salty sweet junk blasts out on a surge of hot air. She clenches her hands in her pockets and steps inside, breathing through her mouth as much as possible and wiping a helpless bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. Her jaw pops as she grinds her teeth, pushing away the thought of running through the store, licking everything within reach. Now is time for padiddles and padiddles only. The scent is strong here.

Somewhere. Left?

No. Right.

Shelf, shelf, shelf. No. The back walls smell of cold, more glass, and long strips of fluorescent light. The glass is cool against her nose and its scent settles deep in her lungs, spreading in the twisty, branchy way the little white coffee-buckets do when you pour them into water instead of coffee. She pauses, listens to the clerk fold his newspaper to glance at her and then return to reading, and exhales as she follows the neon trail to the corner.

The bell rattles again as she reaches the back wall of the store and the faint scent of cream filters into the clutter of the room. Terezi listens as she tugs the open the nearest cooler door. Here, the nagging, familiar, fruity scent of the padiddle is strongest. Racks on racks on racks of padiddles, stacked inside of an oversized refrigerator. Blue, yellow, purple, green, and red flood her head and for a moment everything goes all swimmy. The points of her teeth peek, excited, over the edge of her bottom lip as she reaches out for the nearest, fattest, roundest red bottle.

It's heavy in her hands and smells so delicious, and confounding, and familiar. The plastic makes a satisfying squeaky noise under the tip of her nose as she snuffles against the wonky, bubbly, twistiness of the label's lettering. Over the sound she can hear Dave, an aisle behind, prodding bags of chips.

F.

The rich, artificial red inside of the bottle leaves her head a little floaty. It's stronger up close

A.

Somewhere before. But, where?

Y.

Terezi's eyes snap open, a strange reflex all considered, and she thrusts the bottle out at arm's length. Fumbling, scrambling to keep it from tumbling to the floor and rolling away, she rips the door open and shoves the soda back into place. Some place. Any place. There, it won't fall nestled into a cloud of cloying blue raspberry. Spinning on her heel, she dives wrist-first into the nearest shelf.

His footsteps come to a stop at her back and she can smell the corn chips and salsa, a lovely syrupy crimson despite her current state, in his hands.

"You didn't do that thing where you smell the shelves did you?" He says. "People make us leave when you do that."

Terezi doesn't answer, only a quick sniffle as she shuffles through the bags of candy dangling from steel pegs in front of her. Without thinking she takes one that smells like him, cream and caramel, and stuffs it into his arms.

"I won," she says. "So it's your turn to pay."

Before he can answer she turns and stomps away, hands hiding her face as she hurries back out of the door and into the monosmell world outside. No cream follows her and she stops trying to listen for footsteps beneath the ugly clang of that bell fading out over the road. Gripping the flaps of her cap, she pulls it down tight to her head and crumples herself next to a big, humming box that smells like plastic and fresh ice.

By the time Dave sits down next to her, bags in hand, her sleeves are coated in a thin film of gooey teal. She scoots away, closer to the box, but he follows. Pinned to the buzzing sidewall, she turns away in a pouting, shark-toothed grumble.

"You are an asshole, Dave Strider."

Nothing.

Moments pass. Dave is silent. The bags crinkle and Terezi shifts. Her fingers tighten into fists and she digs the tips of her fingernails into her jeans, swearing to herself, fuming that he won't even bother to respond. Then, ten tiny pin pricks turn to noticeable tears under her nails as she feels something warm along her neck.

Eyes jammed shut, she huddles closer to the icebox, struggling not to turn and face him. His fingers slip past the band of her hat and tangle themselves up into her hair. A slow shiver runs the length of her spine and, despite her residual grumpiness, she doesn't resist when he pulls her back. Turning as she slides, she buries her face into his shoulder and growls, throwing a punch into the side of his chest with her undersized fist.

"It was the car, dumbass." He says.

Terezi huffs into his coat and thumps his chest again, mumbling against the fabric.

"Cars are stupid."

"You owe me four thirty-seven."

Again, a small silence stretches past and she lifts her face from his shoulder. The high collar of his coat is mussed, wrinkled and folded away, leaving his neck exposed to the cold night air. Terezi presses her nose to the underside of his jaw and smiles at the fair, scratchy stubble grown in since the day before.

"You going to eat this shitty-ass candy you made me buy, or what?"

"Ass-candy." She smiles.

Dave opens the bag, takes one, and holds it up to the light.

"The balls are ox tails, anyhow?" He says.

Terezi can smell the sticky, syrup scent of the candy and the earthiness of Dave's skin mixing in the air around her. Eyes still closed, she keeps herself tucked up under Dave's chin and opens her mouth wide.

"Feed me!" She says, tongue hanging dangling, limp save for some obscene wiggling at the tip.

She waits, his smell and the candy mingling until inseperable. Sitting in her strange, Davesmell bubble she starts against him when she feels his candy-hand at her hip.

"Hey," She says, cut short by the hard edge of the candy pressed to her lips and surrounded by the warm, creamy hush of Dave's breath.

Responding to a slight push from Dave's fingers, still nestled beneath her hat, Terezi snaps at the caramel, using the sticky lump as purchase to pull him to her mouth. Fingers dashing from his chin to the back of his neck, she inhales loud and sharp and hard, holding him in place as her tongue slips the candy from his grip, stashing it in her cheek before she pulls at his lips. A sudden flood of heat barrels into her cheeks and she lets slip a hungry little whimper as she turns further towards his body, reaching under his arm and around the back of his shoulder with her free hand.

And then he pulls away. His hands leave her hair and her hips, brace against her chest, and push her back. Back teeth glued together by candy, she whispers around it and pulls hard at his shoulders.

"No, no, no." When she blinks, she can feel her eyelashes clinging together. "Please?"

She folds up, hinged at his arm as it slips around her waist. Fingers wrapping into his coat, she wads it in her grip and hides her face in the mess with a frustrated half-sob. Another moment and his hand is at the back of her neck, playing with the bits of hair tangled in the fur fringe of her cap.

"Probably my own fault," He says. "But maybe warn me next time?"

She lifts her head, wipes the stickiness from her cheeks with her palms and rests her chin on his shoulder. Nose stuffed from crying, she nestles closer to his neck until his scent swells strong and her forehead touches his chin.

"No," she says. Still a bit damp, her fingers feel cold as she wiggles them up under her glasses to wipe her eyes again. "Who even does that?"

"Does what?" He says, and his deadpan delivery shudders for a moment.

"Uses a stupid piece of candy to-" There's the mystery smell again and its intensity causes her cheeks to flush. Overpowering, sweet, and sour. It lingers just above his skin and she wonders where it was moments before. Taking her hands from Dave's shoulders, she slips them inside of his coat and around his waist.

"To?" He's smiling now, what a douche.

"Shut up, jerkass." She presses her lips to his skin, just once, and lets out a cry-tired sigh. "Take me home."

Dave slips from her grip as he stands, taking the sweet, summery smell with him. Terezi can hear the bags rustle as he wraps them around his wrist, but when he takes more than few steps away he fades away into the nasty jumble of parking lot stink.

"Dave?" She says, scooting forward and rising onto her knees.

"Hm?" The bags shiver somewhere to her right.

"Lead me?" She sniffs and holds her hands out into the air, scrunching her nose as she struggles to find his scent.

Dave scoops both of her hands into one of his and she can feel the heat rising from her cheeks to her ears as she thinks about how nice it is that he can do that. She stands and takes a step towards him, biting her lip and thinking about how silly she has to be to even like something like that.
His grip is loose and she weaves her fingers between his, he doesn't fight it. He doesn't even flinch when she shifts to noodle her other arm around his and hug it to her chest, nuzzling her face into his sleeve as they walk. The fabric is warm. She sniffles. Nothing.

She sniffs again, but still nothing. A vague greyness presses in on her as she tries to pull another breath through her nose. Nothing but a wet, squawking sound fills the air and she darts her tongue out to take a quick taste of his sleeve. It's rough, and a little cool from the wind that's building around them, but tasteless nonetheless. Above her head, Dave clears his throat.

"That is fucking nasty, Tz."

She blushes hard, and jams her face into his shoulder. "This is why I hate crying."

"Because it reduces you to a disgusting droolbag?" A new breeze kicks up and the bags rustle in his free hand. "No wonder."

"No, dick." She rolls her head to the side, taking a mouthful of the cool air. "I can't see you."

Dave is silent for a moment, and then stops. He turns on his heel and slides his fingers up alongside Terezi's chin, up her jaw, and to her ear. Her grip tightens on his arms and she almost giggles at the sticky feeling of the plastic bags, hanging from his wrist, against her cheek.

"I still can't smell, doofus." She says, playing with the bumps of his knuckles under her thumb.

Still quiet, Dave slides his thumb under the edge of her cap, just above her eyebrows, and lifts until her horns are nearly exposed. He leans in close and presses his lips to her forehead, just between her eyebrows where the bridge of her nose tapers away. Terezi shudders for an instant as a fresh burst of that sweet and sour smell, so strong it bashes its way in past her blocked nose, turns her stupid knees to jelly and curls her toes in her boots. Digging her nails into Dave's hand and his coat, she grumbles and bumps her head against his face, all the while biting her lip to hold in the embarrassing little coo stuck on her tongue.

Without a word, Dave slides her hat back into place and begins walking again. Terezi struggles to keep pace, stumbling through a handful of unsure steps before she finds a comfortable rhythm. She clutches his arm, crushing it like the sole survivor her battered plush collection. Dave doesn't say anything. She lifts her head, trying to recapture even a tiny whiff of that elusive smell. He looks over to her and she can hear his glasses settling on his face. She flaps her mouth open and closed, searching for something witty, before snapping it shut and pressing her face back into his sleeve.