A/N: This is a bit short and for that I apologize. Originally it was going to be one of two scenes in a chapter, but I'm posting this because I really feel bad for my absence. So excuse the brevity but I hope this will hold you over until I have time to write.
"Write down all your reservations
They may help you save some face but
They won't prove what you're really made of
I love it how you sound so cold
You talk fast but you're moving slow
I'm tired of what you think you know."
What You Think You Know - The Coronas
"Do I look alright?"
Tom looked back to Sybil, wondering, before he was even able to take in the wave of her hair or the shimmer of eyeshadow she pressed to the inner corners of her eyes, how she was always trailing behind him. When he met her, she was so sure of herself, and just now back at the home he grew up in, after she changed into an outfit suited for a night out in Dublin, he was reminded of that. The two shared another meal, one of leftover snacks Tom didn't want to go bad while his mother and sister were out of town. On the love seat by the window in the front room, Sybil kicked at Tom with her sock-covered feet, doing so as she threw her head back in laughter, keeping the bowl of cucumber slices steady as her breathing performed the opposite function.
Tom was funny and Sybil knew that now. She added this fact to the others, like how he had a scar on his forehead, one that interrupted his otherwise flawless complexion and how his wardrobe seemed to only consist of several choice colors: black and greys and greens and navy. He always wore jeans too, those that were a dark denim or black, the latter of which refused to fade. As Tom made Sybil laugh she wondered how she appeared to him and if he too were keeping a tally of all the things he was learning about her.
"Tom?" Sybil tried again. He was still staring and she was beginning to feel as if she might melt under the heat caused by his intense gaze. "Are you okay?" He went to respond, but she continued. "I asked if I looked alright."
Comically, Tom shook his head before nodding. Like Sybil, upon their first meeting he was cocky. Up until this specific moment he remained as such and it was endearing, if anything, to see him soften, so much so that Sybil let out a breathy laugh of disbelief at discovering his bewilderment. "Do I look the part?"
It was this that had him confused. His brow furrowed and he swallowed heavily. "The part? What do you mean?"
"Of a stupid English girl?" Sybil explained. Feeling defeated by his ignorance, she slumped into her sigh.
"What does a stupid English girl look like?"
Sybil raised an eyebrow, completely taken back by his question. "I don't know," she stated simply. "I thought you would—"
"I've actually never met a stupid English girl." For a moment, Sybil thought this was a compliment, and perhaps it was, but Tom's words had a different intention. "Actually," he continued, "you're the first English girl I've ever met."
Sybil's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"Does that shock you?" Tom returned. He was constantly set ablaze by her curiosity.
"Well, yeah, a bit. You're not the first Irish boy I've ever met," she conceded with yet another shrug. The act was a peace offering, one meant to keep even offensive words from performing their otherwise intended task.
"Yes, because you go to university here. It also makes sense that people would flee Ireland. It doesn't make sense that non-Irish people would visit. Hence why I've never met English girls and you've met loads of Irish boys."
"Not loads…" Sybil corrected with a sly smile.
"A few?"
"A few," she nodded. "Most of them stupid. But I find it's not because they're Irish. It's usually just because they're boys."
Tom chuckled. "Well I think you look fine—"
"Fine?"
"Well the initial bet was to bring some ugly bird and you certainly don't fit that bill. In fact, I'm winning the opposite of that bet."
Sybil looked to the ground. "No you're not," she corrected.
"Oh yeah, why not?"
Her confidence returned and she moved to face Tom, a beaming smile pulling at her pink cheeks. "That would require you to bed me."
Tom laughed out loud. "To bed you?"
"For us to sleep together," Sybil explained, suddenly wondering if the expression was an English one or if Tom's risky lifestyle just had his ears recognizing the colloquial term as foreign.
"And you'd never sleep with me," Tom sing-songed, believing he was entertaining her very thoughts. As he did so, his face came close, giving Sybil the perfect opportunity to push him away from her, ultimately regaining control.
"I never said that," she stated quite confidently. She was teasing, that much he knew, and the energy her boldness had given her had her running up ahead. Eventually, Tom caught her, her feet stilling as her chest heaved, in and out, pressed tightly against his own.
Their proximity, or rather, her acceptance of it was all the permission Tom needed. With her back against a telephone pole, Tom reached forward to cup her face. This time, she wasn't shocked or even afraid. In fact, it was her lips that leaned forward and carefully pressed into his own. Her arms also snaked around him, pulling his hips into hers, that of which ground against hers as she tucked her hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
This is right. This is natural. These thoughts, amongst others, manage to both whisper and scream as their embrace strengthens. But even through the chemistry both were forced to acknowledge that such a strong show of affection should most definitely not be happening before dusk on a busy street in the heart of the city.
With this knowledge, the two awkwardly fell apart, disregarding emotion or trying to decipher it just as they had the first time they kissed. Already the night was darkening around them, causing the two to fall back into stride. For a moment, Sybil wished to hold Tom's hand but was stunted by the thought that maybe he wasn't comfortable with that. And would a cocky Irish boy hold hands with a stupid English girl he only planned to sleep with?
It was unlikely. All of this was unlikely.
"So what?" Sybil asked casually as the two continued down the same sidewalk. It felt as if they'd never arrive and Sybil was grateful for this. "You introduce me—"
"No, no no, you'll stay outside." Tom gestured, throwing his hand in front of Sybil much in the way he would if stopping abruptly at a traffic light.
Her nose flared and her eyes widened. Like a child, she moved her clenched fists "I will not!"
"You will too!" Tom gave back, just as childishly. "You'll stay outside, I'll explain that we're about to go fuck—"
"Which we are not—" she reminded as her hands fell limply back down to her sides.
"But they don't know that…" He sighed, not wanting to argue. "And they'll give me my quid and we'll be on our way."
"Your plan is stupid."
With a high brow, Tom chuckled. "I don't care what you think my plan is, Sybil. It's what we're doing. They're my friends. Trust me, alright? I know how this will go and if I can guess, half of them will be tossed. They'll believe me if you wait outside."
Sybil crossed her arms over her chest. "Well they're dumb for believing you then."
"I never said they weren't dumb."
Again, her hands fell away. "But they're your friends…" Why she was defending boys who had been less than kind to her was seemingly out of her control. But she was right; they were Tom's friends, and if they meant something to him, they meant something to her. The way she quickly cared about him and his world was startlingly at best.
"And they have other qualities that are important to me."
"That's unkind."
Tom took a step back. "You're allowed to call boys dumb but when I do the same thing, I'm being unkind?"
"They're your friends, Tom," Sybil reiterated.
"And like I said, they'll hopefully be knackered!" A heavy sigh allowed Tom to pause. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"
"I want to get out of here," Sybil whispered.
"With me?"
"Yes, with you! But maybe we could just forget about this…"
Tom found himself laughing, the action attracting his body back to Sybil's. "They're stupid, Syb. But they're my friends and we've been through a lot. And if I don't go tonight and explain to them that you're the dumb English girl you're going to pretend to be...they'll know something's up. And they'll hate you. And they'll lose trust in me. Because at the end of the day, you are English, and it doesn't help that you're feckin' fit as hell, alright?"
Her breathing hitched. "What are you saying?"
Tom took a step back. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, one that did little to upset his gelled fringe. "I'm saying that if they knew that you were in my life for any other reason than for me to make a fool of you...that'd be it. They'd beat the shite out of me."
"No, they wouldn't," she stated loudly and with conviction. Her eyes spoke volumes of the same.
"Yes, they would," Tom returned with a laugh. "I mean, do you know how offensive that is? If you haven't noticed, I'm quite the ride."
Sybil laughed too. Instantly, her hands were crossed back over her chest. Their conversation had them both ebbing and flowing toward one another. Constantly it was like this, with their words bringing them close, then pushing one another away again as their minds thought quickly or needed more time to make sense of all of this. "You're full of yourself."
"And the girls love it. I went to university. I come from a good family. I'm not half-bad to look at. Fucking you for any other reason than to leave you high and dry, is a big ol' fuck you to the 'RA. The way they look at it, there are plenty of women here who deserve me."
"Do you want them? Should I go?" Sybil asked casually while throwing a thumb over her shoulder as if to suggest she leave. "If they deserve you, then I clearly don't and—"
"I said that's the way they look at it, Sybil. I don't believe any of that."
"You know, you're not a possession, Tom!" Sybil let out, showing just how exasperated she was. Once again, this was for his benefit. "That's not how marriage and love work. You don't date people because—"
He leaned in, his voice gruff against the curve of her ear. "But we're not dating, Sybil. Marriage and love? I'm hardly familiar with either."
With narrowed eyes, she looked to him wondering if he had changed altogether, morphing into someone unfortunate looking and nasty in disposition. "Why are you being so cruel?" All she seemed to be able to see was Tom, the same boy she was growing feelings for, staring back at her with a distinctively serious expression. He was beautiful and sweet when he wanted to be but this place was ruining him — just like it had already ruined her. Or perhaps it was the other way around.
"I'm not being cruel, alright? I'm just telling you how it is. For a moment you made me forget but I can't forget. This is my life."
"And we're leaving—"
"We haven't left yet." His reminder was far more biting than hers. Sybil was left wondering if that was intentional.
"Are you regretting it then? Do you not want to go anymore? Tell me now, Tom. Tell me now before I actually am some stupid girl who has told you all of her secrets and kissed you and—"
Tom grabbed Sybil's face in a bold attempt to quiet her down. "Shhh," he whispered. It is only now, with his hands upon her cheeks, that Sybil realizes they're tucked away in a small alley; the nightlife continuing to awaken around them.
"You think you're scared, Sybil?" Tom continued "I'm fucking terrified. You're the most real thing in my life right now, and I've only just met you. But you are honest and beautiful and I am trying to get over the fact that you are nothing like what I imagined."
"What did you imagine?"
"That I'd hate you." His words seemed to even surprise himself. "I mean, I want to hate you. I should hate you. But I don't. I don't hate you even a bit. I quite like you."
Sybil smirked. Her coy naivete from before was forgotten as her smirk turned to a full smile and she accepted what it was Tom was saying. "I quite like you too."
"And I want to get this over with so we can go somewhere."
Tom's proposition scared her. "Somewhere?"
"Anywhere but here…" Above, a train whizzed by, reminding Tom where they are. They are closer to Cleary's than he originally thought. "When we get there, just stand outside. Don't talk. Just wait for me."
"Alright," Sybil sighed. "I'll wait."
x. Elle
