Annie, I got impatient (nothing new) and posted it before you edited. It's okay! Less work for you now, yeah?
WARNING: This turned out a lot fluffier than I wanted. So, um, yes.


Try Honesty
by: ohwhatsherface

They both lie on the grass and stare up at the night sky because it is beautiful and it is peaceful and it just calms him.

They are both on their backs, so close to each other than he can feel the tiny hairs on her pale arms standing up from the slightly chilly air.

Neither speaks. There is an unspoken rule

(touch-no-look, not look-no-touch)

and he feels like it is being screamed in a loud, blaring voice that he thinks is that of his blond best friend, mocking him and taunting him because he wants to change that stupid and ridiculous and annoying rule, and he wants to touch her because she means something and nothing and everything to him but now, to her, he is—

"What do you think of me?" he asks quietly

(too quietly)

as if he does not want to ruin the serene setting that they are in the middle of.

He is dark and twisty and tainted and nothing but a cursed monster deep down

(or so he thinks)

and although he would rather die than say it out loud, he feels he has no right to be in the presence of such a sweet and wonderful girl like the one beside him.

She turns her head

(breaking the rule, oh god, breaking the rule)

and looks

(what is she doing? She's looking)

at him but he does not look back.

"Seriously?"

Her tone is dry and almost mocking and he holds back his scowl because he is serious. If there was one person who had an opinion that meant anything at all to him, it would be hers

(or maybe those of the blond idiot or the porn-loving pervert).

"Seriously?" she repeats.

He turns his head slightly to meet the beautiful green that is her eyes and he shows her that yes, he is serious.

"Seriously," he hisses, more forceful than he had intended, but just as mocking.

She smirks good-naturedly for a moment as they gaze into each others eyes, but just when he begins to see care and hope and promises that he did not

(should not, could not, would not)

want to be there

(because what if they were not real? Why put trust into someone when they could very well just be lying, like that stupid and sick and twisted and blind brother?).

Her lips fall into a straight line.

"I think you're arrogant," she begin

(harsh and honest and nowhere near the gentleness he was used to)

"Full of yourself. Cocky. Don't realize that sometimes people can be better than you."

She raises her lithe body into a sitting position and keeps her eyes straight ahead but still pays attention to him, behind her. He stays down there, staring at her back, wondering when exactly it was that he lost that place as the centre of her world, not joining her to sit.

"And you're mean. Sometimes. You're too honest. And frank. Blunt. Synonyms. You do most things on an impulse."

His dark eyes widen slightly at every word that passes through her

(delicate, pink, supple, kissable)

lips, and he opens his mouth to defend himself but she puts a hand in his face despite not seeing him, telling him not to talk because for once, it is her turn.

"No," she says, pausing momentarily. "You do just about everything on impulse."

He growls lightly

(because he hates the truth).

"You're impulsive, ergo. Although, you don't quite seem it. Impulsive, that is. You seem to be hushed and thoughtful and like you think everything trough, and hell, maybe you do think everything through, but I like to think that you don't think everything through, because if you did think everything through, and said thinking got you your past results, then clearly thinking isn't exactly your forte."

He glares at the back of her head unconsciously

(who's the blunt one now).

"And you have one freaking hell of superiority complex," she adds.

She stops for a short minute and he thinks momentarily that she is done but no.

"And your ego," she hisses out, shaking her head slightly. She turns her head to look at him with annoyance in her bright green eyes. "Ugh, and you lack social skills, too. And tact. God, you really need to watch what comes out of your mouth—"

"You're one to talk," he snaps back

(impulsively)

softly.

They share the same thought and she smirks and scowls.

She shrugs before leaning backwards once more to lie beside him.

"Well," she drawls, turning onto her side to face him. Her head rests on her arm, folded under her head as she stares at him but he does not look back. "You asked."

She looks at him while he keeps looking at the stars but not really since he is just looking at anything but her.

"And you're too quiet. Sometimes. There are moments where I need it because to hear you would mean you're making a comment I don't like, therefore making me feel worse, but it's those times where you just being around helps. But at others, your silence is just infuriating."

He thinks he hears her teeth grinding.

"Like right now."

He diverts his gaze slightly from the brightness of the night sky to that of her eyes and he starts to see the care and hope and promises that he did not want to be there

(stop it!)

and just as quickly, he looks away.

"Is that what you think of me?" he asks quietly

(firmly, surely, seriously).

"That's what I think of you," she replies. He can hear the slight laughter in her light voice as she continues to speak. "You're cocky and full of yourself and rude and tactless and absolutely infuriating half the time."

She places a hand on his cheek to make him look at her

(just for once, look at her)

completely.

She smiles and the happiness of it all reaches her eyes as she stares back at him

(lovingly).

"And I wouldn't have you any other way."