AN: Shorter chappie, mi scusi, but it seemed like a good place to cut off. Lurveslurveslurves!
We leave what I have learned is called the Life. Mo winds her elegant fingers around mine, and somehow, this doesn't surprise me. It's an innocent gesture, like a young girl would take the hand of a friend. Yet, I can feel the heat rising up my neck; I've always felt a bit nervous about public displays of affection, and the feel of even the flesh of her hand is perplexingly maddening. But, her hand is so soft and cold, I dare not take mine from it, depriving both of us comfort that while different, is equally appreciated.
We walk the four and a half blocks to my apartment building in almost complete silence. Mo occasionally sniffles, but that is the only sound we make, save the clacking of our heels on the pavement.
She finally speaks on the stairs up to my flat.
"Hey, I thought you might want to know that if you have as much money as the thread count in that jacket suggests, I might have to leave before entering."
I am surprised that she knows fashion as well as she does, considering her 'eighties throwback leather jacket and magenta corduroy pants (which hug her in magical places, I must add), and slightly confused by her comment.
"Why would it matter how much money I have? Are you backwards-elitist or something?"
This retort seems to please her, as she smirks widely and squeezes my hand.
We get to the landing without further conversation, and I slide the key into the lock. When the doorknob refuses to turn, I kick it upwards to un-jam it, as I've had to do many times; my landlord is a money-pinching prick, and has yet to replace it. I wonder if that's a prerequisite for the job.
Mo looks impressed by my feat, and waltzes through the door, as if it was what she did at the end of every day, and throws herself haphazardly onto my couch. I giggle despite myself; she is so gloriously undignified.
"So, is there anything I can get for you?" I struggle not to add "my liege".
"Erm... do you have any rum? I could use something with a bit of a burn right now."
I remember now why I invited her here, excluding her obvious loveliness, and find a bottle of Jamaican rum in a cupboard in the kitchen. I flop down beside her and hand her the bottle.
"So, do you want to start talking before or after you can't remember what you say?"
Mo smiles grimly. "Let's start now. May as well."
She takes a swig, throwing her gorgeous locks back dramatically. Each strand catches the light in a slightly different way, having an almost hypnotic effect on me. After placing the bottle on the floor beside us, she curls a bit closer to me, and begins. "I've known Mark since I was five years old..."