This is a request by The Gun Fairy, which is why it's a bit dark and twisty. Not happy Frangie. No infringement intended.
Playing At Grownups
She doesn't believe in fairy tale romances. She knows that the villains don't always get what they deserve and that the heroine doesn't always fall in love with Prince Charming. She knows that sometimes the villain and the Prince are so mixed up and convoluted that it's impossible to tell them apart, if there's any difference at all. She's wounded and dark, but not him.
He has no room for cynicism. He's optimistic and pure – a lover, a dreamer, a believer. He trusts in happily ever after, and the promise of riding off into the sunset, away from the shadows and demons. He believes in soul-searches kisses and tender touches and true love. It's a faith, a reverence for the truly magical.
There are days when she can't bear to look at him, days when his smile seems too bright and too pure for her to taint. And there are days when her darkness is too deep for even him to illuminate. By all accounts, they shouldn't work. They don't work. But they try despite their glaring differences, and in the cold dark nights when the hopeful romantic and hopeless cynic come together to share in their loneliness, that effort is enough.
She flushes when she sees him; warmth spreads in her body and she turns pink at his touch, but she knows the truth. It's so adult, so worldly to pretend to be in love, twirling matches with their fingers as they kiss. One day, the matches will fall and the floorboards will burn, but until then she'll drink in the sight of him, savoring his taste on her lips as the inferno rages around them.