"You know, you really need to stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"The thing." He looks at her, as if she were mad(ly in love with him) but that's not something he should know. Ever, know. Seeing as that would be absolutely insane, preposterous, iridescent, funky-licious. Now she's just spouting words.
"Do you say funky-licious?" she interrupts. The answer is a necessity.
Again, he gives her that look. "Darcy, are you well?" He rises from his seat, placing a hand her forehead. Cold. It's always cold. It's wonderful.
Darcy sighs, a smile creeping up. He removes it immediately after, confusion evident. What. Did she do something strange again? You'd think he'd understand her by now, what with his out-of-this-world intelligence. Literally. Ha. Oh, oh that was funny. She laughs to herself, completely disregarding the now worried and hopelessly confused god of mischief.
"Darcy," he hesitates, afraid of another unusual reaction if he touches her. "I think it would be best if you - "
"Meh." She slumps onto the couch, dragging him down with her. "There's no point. There's nothing wrong with me." She says it absentmindedly: "It's you."
"What?" Oh shit. Shit. Shit fuck shit hell why is she so fucking out-of-this-world stupid-
"Ah. I see." He nods and lies back on the couch. He smiles.
He fucking smiles.
"Asshole," she mutters under her breath.
He takes her hand.
Nevermind.