You have seen Flambae lighting Robert's cigarette when they are smoking together Now get ready for Robert thinking about Flambae while smoking alone (or not smoking cus he didn't even light his cigarette)
You know it's love when you begin to see them everywhere: along the popular pub crawl between the office and the post office, burning inside torches lining the local tiki bar; in the quaint gas lanterns that hang in shopping districts two pay bands outside of his grasp; in the flicker of his lighter, overlooking his balcony as the sunset bleeds red and orange over the night sky.
Can he call it love? Is he even allowed to love?
Awash in those vibrant reds and golds, he remembers the shock in that once-arrogant gaze. The dawning realization that, even as a villain, he is most certainly not invincible.
Robert snaps his eyes shut.
The horror fades into mirth and delight. Raucous laughter. Those eyes that contain the fire and the flame are brighter than anything he has ever known, and just as blinding as the sun, except—
Except he can stand to look directly at Flambae.
He pokes and prods and incites a reaction as potent as lighting a spark. When he turns away to mask his amusement, that's when Flambae's chagrin shifts into a tepid smirk. Then a scoff. Sometimes, if Robert doesn't push too far—
The memory of that smile sits at the end of his cigarette, telling him to wait for the right one.
"If he asks, could just chalk it up to..."
Heartburn.
