I don't want to love him. I don't want to love him. I don't want to love him.
Her pretty lies whistle in her own ears. They slide across her lips, across her heart and then it bits into her bones, into her soul and she blinks because Danny is kissing her and the pretty lies fall down, ugly, heavy and uncomfortable, in her stomach.
"You alright?" his nose brushes away the crease on her forehead.
His thumbs are soft against her cheeks, and she tries to smile but her eyes become wet and she hates him (sometimes) for making her feel so much, all the time. His softness, his goodness, she can feel in her fingers, in her feet, like a spirit invading her body.
"I think I like having you around too," she admits in a whisper, answering the question he asked her months ago. And it's the wideness of his smile, the heartful sound of his laugh that makes her warm and fuzzy. He's happy. So she kisses him again, long and slow, as if she wants to remember the entirety of him through the simpleness of a kiss, as if she wants to remember happiness through the sensation of his lips against hers. "Don't let it go to your head, though, McCoy."
He rolls his eyes but his smile is still here. Sam is shining, she is glowing, looking radiant under the dim light of the room, right above him. The rouge of her lipstick is nearly gone, spread all over his skin, and it's when she bits her lower lip that Danny realises that he's far too gone, that he's in it way too deep, and that Sam, Sam, Sam, that girl with tons of smiles and tons of lies, she's going to be the death of him and he is going to hold her till it burns him and love her till it destroys him.
"I like you too, Marquez," he whispers against the skin of her neck, like a confession, like a secret. But it's some three other words that get stuck in his throat, that burn him inside out. I love you. I love you. I love you.
