Double Lariat

Cress was the type of guy who choked in front of school auditoriums at age six.

Dinner dates turned into nights at seedy cafes, and those turned into an ill kept apartment room with grimy countertops and midnight laughter. Her headphones found residence in his dresser drawer, tucked in between two pairs of crisp, oxford shirts. His bow tie stumbled upon her neck at the Nimbasa City of Lights Gala, incredibly exclusive and prestigious fashion event known for its high end couture and burning scandals. Her lips were blue at one point, bruised from the scraping of pearly teeth, painted from the most dazzling cobalt lip stain.

A whirlwind of lust and lavish getaways ended in brightly lit room, two chairs to a ratty old, chipped table. They stared in silence, neither sure of what to say. They held each others hands, yellow polished nails dug into bony knuckles, and the waiter held his breath as she inhaled his. Upon her frosty pink lips, a smile wavered, then a scowl.

She needed to say something, she needed to say something. It was obvious, too obvious, engraved on her face like three wicked scars, the focus was theirs.


The ticking began.

Tick, tick, tock. The ticking time bomb, placed so abruptly in the middle of the room. Cress attempted to figure out a manner to defuse the catastrophe, the calamity before it began. His ocean eyes flickered, stopped. Blinked. Looked back at the blonde he cautiously called his girlfriend at the cafe only weeks ago, before the icy chill of glares from customers, and the hooting laughter of red haired brothers suffocated him.

Cress was the type of guy who choked in front of school auditoriums at age six.

("She's my...uh, girlfriend?" he started, his hand shaking as it gingerly held hers. She laughed, brisk and short. She planted a kiss on his lips, absinthe flavored lipstick smeared across his cheeks sloppily.)

"If you're breaking up with me, make it quick."

He pressed his fingertips against the lips she tore apart last night. He didn't mean that. He didn't mean that. Her lips stretched out into a wicked smirk, the smirk he remembered from their first maybe/maybe not date at the ferris wheel so many weeks ago.

"That wasn't the intention," she breathed, in that smoky girl voice that didn't fit her whatsoever. Cress flinched, and returned his left hand to her slender fingers. He brushed his calloused finger pads against her skin, reveling in the feel, soft, smooth, warm. "If you want it to be, I can make it happen."

She leaned in, blue eyes larger than life. Fixated on his. Their noses were millimeters apart, and with a simply turn, their faces touched. She smiled against his forehead, and his hands brought her closer to him, closer to his lips, and she did everything to avoid them, planting airy kisses on his jaw, cheeks, the edges of his mouth. Her knees dug into the oak table, elbows buried on the blue haired man's shoulders. Her bony fingers simply rasped against his scalp, playing with his hair, playing with his collarbone, now exposed under his unbuttoned shirt.

"Kiss me already, god damn," he murmured, and she laughed his favorite laugh.

Elesa kissed him, and pressed her forehead against his.

"I love you."

"Good thing, I was wondering if this was a one-sided thing."

His snark went appreciated, and she rolled her eyes, and kissed him again.