She can't decide if they are all morons or idiots. Why are they not able to accept the inevitable? Why do they insist on being rebellious when death reincarnate is staring them in the face? Do they not know the meaning of pragmatic?
But, no, they must strain at their metaphorical handcuffs. They must insult him, and throw him disgusted looks. The morons.
She sighs. It seems to be up to her to save her own life, so she moves away from the kicking, screaming pack and demurely sits down in a corner, waiting for him to notice.
Of course he does. He walks over to her, eyes narrowed, with all the poise and grace of a leopard. His presence demands attention, captures stares. It captures hers.
He lowers himself down to her height, balancing with ons knee on the dusty floor. From this close, she can see the details. The way the black leather sits snugly over his light grey t-shirt. The way his impeccably styled hair falls across his forehead just so, poised to be pushed out of his eyes in a flirtatious moment.
She begins to wish she was that flirtatious moment, and in a heartbeat, everything she has been told about his charisma, his charm, that she had dismissed with a scoff, hits her like a train. A sharp intake of breath later, she has her senses back in control.
"You're agreeable," he states. It isn't so much a question as an observation. He prides himself on being able to read everybody, but this girl… This girl, who sits quietly when all her peers rebel, who looks too innocent, with her wide eyes and dark hair, but can't be, is an enigma. A code he must break.
"Better than dead," she replies, her tone almost snarky, but not quite. He raises a manicured eyebrow at that.
"Pragmatic little thing, aren't you?" he shakes his head. He leans in closer, and she can feel the tension in the air skyrocket as she becomes aware of the mere inches separating them. "Dare to play with fire?"
"I'm not afraid of being burnt, pretty boy," she retorts, sparks dancing in her eyes, her tone all ice and fire. He smirks, a cocky, arrogant, smirk that makes her want to slap it off his face. Which she can't do, so she'll settle for next best. She leans in closer still, so her mouth is no more than an inch and a half from his ear.
"Are you?" she whispers, and his blood runs cold, because he can feel her breath on his ear and hear the words resonating over and over in his head, without any of it actually making any sense. Nobody has ever had this effect on him before and it is all so confusing, and he doesn't ever want to feel this way again, feel so out of his depth, so lost and yet he yearns to feel this way again, to lose himself in another's words, to be intoxicated by someone.
All too soon, she draws away from him, and he finds himself missing it. He misses the scent of her, her shampoo, something decisively chocolate, and something very citrus. He misses the warmth of having a body so close, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss. He misses the bright red of her lips, so close; he can almost feel their imprint on his skin, taunting, playful, bold. He doesn't realise that his senses are under assault until they aren't anymore, and then he misses the sensation.
And while part of him, every part of him, really, wants to dive in deeper, see what's in store, he cannot. Not really. Because they are watching. They are always watching.
Waiting to find a chink in his armor, a weak point, something they can exploit, something they can use. Something that will bring his empire tumbling down. He hasn't gotten here by being sloppy, and he isn't about to get sloppy now. Because that is what this leap he is aching to take is: sloppiness.
But…There is a part of him that feels differently. That is willing to let his empire come crashing down if it means that he will feel this way again. That part of him wins. The word falls from his lips unbidden, and there is no turning back.
"No."
A/N: This one got done really, really fast, because the inspiration just struck, and would not leave me. In the future, updates probably wont be as frequent. Just saying.
To everyone who reviewed/ favourited/followed: thanks a ton!
As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, as are prompts.
Affly,
M
