a/n: I'm doing a good job of writing frequently, but y'all aren't doing so great on the reviewing front. Let's try to improve that, okay?

As for this piece, I have mixed emotions. It's weird, but I kind of like it. I think. I don't know, maybe it's too emotional and not descriptive enough of the tangible things. You tell me.

Pairing: LyDom

Word count: 851

pretty, pretty perfection

"I really messed it up this time, didn't I?" He asks, but he already knows the answer is a resounding yes. She's pretty, pretty perfection and she has enough options that it wouldn't pain her too much to exclude him from his position as an eligible fit. He knows that this is the end, that's it, show's over folks, for him.

See, because it was all just a little game for him and an equally insignificant game for her. It was nothing more than skin on skin, flesh on flesh. Kisses and bites with no feeling. No attachment, it was just hot stolen kisses with no attachment. That was the fun of it all, the lack of emotion. Emotion made things messy, she knows, and she likes neat and clean and perfect straight lines that don't deviate from the expected.

But it couldn't just be that. Of course it couldn't, because these things never work out perfectly, they never break with perfect edges that aren't ragged with pain. And it was her, enchanting eyes and hair perfectly tucked into a bun, so it was natural that he fell.

She knew it was happening, she knew he was falling in love with her and she couldn't stop it. She tried, good lord did she try, but he started wanting to talk about futures and dreams and she couldn't help herself. In a family like hers, nobody listened to the individual's ideas, but he wanted to hear. So she spoke. And with each perfect word, he fell harder.

She nods her head and a strand falls from the perfectly slicked back twist. She nods yes, yes he did mess it up. And then her nodding becomes vigorous and she can't stop because all she can think about was how much he ruined and how now he was ruining her hair and why couldn't she just stop?

"I'm sorry," he says simply, like that'll fix everything. But it won't, it won't! And she tries to tell him this but her mouth is too dry to speak and her head is spinning and her hands are clenched tight in her lap because otherwise they may do something stupid, like run themselves through his hair.

Oh his hair! Dark brown, almost black, now. Somber, like the mood in this empty classroom. The sun is setting and paints the small piece of sky visible from the window orange, but she doesn't glance up at the beauty and he's too busy watching her to bother looking. The orange light does strange things to her hair, too, making strands glitter gold.

"Doesn't matter," she finally responds, tearing her eyes off him, instead focusing her intense gaze on a spot of dirt on the white wall behind him. Her voice comes out hard and cruel, making the words taste bitter in her mouth. She watches that unmoving spot, determined to keep her eyes, and her hands, off of him.

She speaks the truth, of course. It didn't matter in the slightest, his infringement. It would be rather hypocritical if she were to get angry at him over the infraction, when she herself had opened up to him, despite the strict rules she had put in place from the start. It wasn't going to be about love, or commitment, or heavy sighs and small smiles. It was going to be about hands, grabbing, squeezing, pulling her closer, before she'd push him away and they'd go on with their day, not thinking one more thought about the other until they both had a spare moment and were near an unoccupied broom closet.

He, though, mistakes her curt phrase to indicate that his apology was ineffective, just as he suspected it would be. She had meant nothing of the sort. He gets up, rising from the red velvet couch to leave. He can't be here, can't stay near her and her stormy eyes and hair pulling loose from the severe style one ringlet at a time.

She can't stand the thought of him leaving. Because if he leaves now, it'll be forever, and forever's the kind of thing she thinks of frequently when they're together. So she grabs his hand and yanks him back down. He looks at her and she can't help it, can't help it, can't help but crash towards him and press her lips to his.

The kiss continues for longer than she thought possible. It ends up with her in his lap, his fingers tangled so much in her hair that she has to untie the elastic band and set her mane free to release him. He looks confused and she looks pleased and they both have a little twinkle in their eyes that looks suspiciously like love.

"I think I might love you," she breathes. He touches her hair, her lips, her cheeks; exploring her face with gentle fingers.

"I love you," he tells her.

It's not neat and clean, with straight edges and unbending lines. It's full of emotion, so it's messy and even painful sometimes. But she's her and he's him and together they're pretty perfect.

a/n: Review!