Author's Note: Revamping and rewriting the StarsxMorris series. I feel like I've grown as a writer since I first wrote these, and I wanted what was published here to reflect that growth. Hope you enjoy!
Morris Delancey didn't like rain. He felt like it coated the air with a kind of darkness that he already had enough of in his life. But he had to make this meeting, and out in the rain seemed like the only place that wouldn't out him. Or her.
As he stood at the edge of the brick alley, he smoked a cigarette and had his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was hoping that she wouldn't take a long time to meet him, and that their meeting wouldn't last longer than a few minutes. Soon enough, his brother would be wondering where he was.
He heard her before he saw her. He noticed that she kind of just shuffled along, however quickly, never completely picking up her feet. When she finally began to approach him, she kept her distance. She was just close enough for him to see the big bruise around her eye.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
"Like you even need to ask," she replied. "I talked to Jack about what happened. Both of you promised me that none of the girls would get hurt in this."
Morris straightened. "Why are you talking to Jack? Stars, I thought I told you—"
She glared at him, and he could feel the disappointment seething. "It doesn't mean anything anymore. And you don't own me, Morris. But you do owe me. You at least owe me after what happened to the girls. They weren't supposed to get involved in the strike. Everybody knew that, except your brother, it seems."
"Yeah, well, I don't own you, but I don't own him, either. I don't have any power over what he does."
She laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, because there was no way for you to help yourself from nearly beating Crutchie dead. God, what the hell were you thinking? He's just a kid with a bum leg. He never could have—never would have—hurt anybody."
He balled up his hands. "He's not just some kid to Jack, okay, Stars? We're at war here. We do what we can to win."
Stars shook her head. "You've got to be joking—you're a kid, Morris! We're all just kids here! Just pawns in the big man's chess game. Even if this was a war, it's not our war. We're just being forced to fight it."
"Yeah, well, the big man takes care of me. And I take care—l"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that bull. You're just trying to take the blame off yourself here. And don't get me wrong, I get it," she said throwing her hands up. "We gotta take care of ourselves and our own."
There was a pause as he thought of what to say back. There wasn't much he could say without making her angrier. He didn't want to disappoint her; there was too much between them for any more of that to happen. He felt too many things for her to let her down now. But what choice did he have?
"I don't wanna fight. But I can't leave my family. They're all I got." He turned his head away from her. He didn't want to see her face fall.
She closed the gap between them and put her hand on his cheek. "I am your family. You told me I was enough for you, before all of this strike business started. When did I become less than what you needed?"
"I can't give you what you need. And even if I can, I can't give you what you deserve. I'm not that person."
"That's not gonna work on me, Morris Delancey. I know what kind of person you are."
"And what kind of person is that?"
She looked into his eyes, and he looked back. Hers were a sea of dark blue, filled with sadness and hardness, but also with love and compassion. She leaned up on her toes and kissed him, winding her arms around his neck. It wasn't much different than what they'd been doing for the past year, but somehow it meant so much more.
She pulled away. "The right kind," she whispered.
He pulled her closer, and she rested her head and her hands on his chest. "I'm tired of the games, Morris," she sighed. "I'm tired of the fighting."
"I know," he whispered into her hair. "But it's what we are right now."
"I guess that's all we can be."