For Aly and Elie.

Slightly depressing...sorry!


She dislikes his inane grin when he knows he's right. The way his eyes sparkle with mischief and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes make him seem almost childish and carefree.

But it's the special grin that is used only when she is wrong that she dislikes the most. The one that reads admit it Jenny, I'm always right.

She wants to wipe the grin off his face, but more often than not she ends up trailing fingers over his mouth, his strong jaw, and covering the grin with her lips.


He dislikes the way she put an extra sway in her hips when she stalks away from him after an argument.

She does it on purpose, letting him know exactly what he is going to miss that night because he had gone out of his way to piss her off.

And then he barges into her office, intent on making everything worse, because once he's pissed her off, why not go the distance, and she crosses her legs slowly and takes off her glasses, moistening her lips in the way that drives him crazy. His mouth goes dry.


He dislikes it when she's not there, not there to fight with, to argue or bicker or laugh with. He suddenly realizes how terribly quiet it is without her.

He sits and thinks that if she were with him at that moment, she would quirk an eyebrow, or look at him like he was the answer to every question that she had asked, and every question she hadn't asked yet, the look she used to give him when she thought no one else was looking.

His chest tightens with the thought of what was missing and he wonders if it is possible to drown in empty space.


She dislikes the way she can't lie to him. She can feel her eye twitching, and the smirk that tugs on his lips makes her want to scream.

She dislikes the fact that the one time he didn't know she was lying, was the one time she wanted him to know, was the one time she wanted him to gather her in his arms and reassure her that it was ok, everything was going to be fine, even though she knew he would be lying.

My health is fine. Her body shudders at the lie she spun so blatantly to his face, and she remembers the look in his eyes, uncertain yet so sure. And she stares down at the piece of paper in her hands, the piece of paper with only two words, and she knows that she can't lie to him anymore.


He dislikes the helpless way he says her name, like a prayer to the god that he lost faith in a long time ago. He dislikes the way she smiles against his skin when he says it, lips curling against his collar bone, the sharp angle of his hip, his stomach.

He dislikes the way his pulse speeds up under her hands. Because how is meant to be the strong one when she reduces him to such helplessness?


She dislikes that fact that she often feels that there isn't enough time. Not enough time to bicker with him about his annoying quirks, his stubbornness, his single-mindedness. Not enough time to memorize every plain of his body, every scar, every imperfection that makes him almost heartbreakingly perfect to her.

But nights when he shows up unannounced, and they take their time, slowly searching, fingers touching every inch of skin, those are the nights that she knows she has enough time. And she takes it.


V!

xox