âFuck off, Iâm the hottest punk in Primm. Admit it, baby, Iâve got the best ass,â the vocalist teased, grinning and winking at her. He tried not to be stupid and overthink what was going on between them, dismissing it as anything else, as he did with so many people he wasnât in relationships with, past or presentâ Damian, Luna, Tyler, Emerson, Lucy, countless faces of people in his past he had looked the other way. When he thought about it too hard, it often freaked him out, stuck in that odd mindset that if he did end up in a relationship with them, they would stop loving him. That was what had turned out to be truth in all of his own, wasnât it? High school sweetheart turned to the needle, Melanie was fucking dead and buried and never his to keep or fuck, his ex-fiancee had pushed him into a fucking mirror and spat how much she fucking hated him, and heâd only married Mishil out of obligation when sheâd asked, because it was the right thing, even when their love faded and withered away. Loyalty overcame his desire for happiness, and heâd never been a happy person. Hell, Damian and him were never a we, they were just fucking, and to fall in love with his best friend ripped apart his world, chewed up his heart and spit it out. With Carcosa, it felt right, effortless, chalking it up to yet another case of friendship. And emotions were messy, heâd made a mess of his own the second he opened himself to her. To let spill the lurking demons underneath, in an affair that had started before his time of a toxic engagement. And thereafter, when he revealed it, black-and-blue bruises lurking behind makeup after heâd broken up with her, seeking comfort in a familiar body to hold between his hands, to kiss his pain better, bruised throat, black eyeâ gentle hands. Whatever unspoken emotional connection, neither of them had guts to say it. Heâd never had guts to say much in way of romance, complacent to be used. Besides, he couldnât promise anyone their dream boy. Of course, with or without, they were still at itâ and frequently, with newfound single status beyond the casual dates heâd had with Lucy, indulging in the stress relief. The intimacy of being able to sleep next to someone who didnât sleep on the other side of the fucking bed, like Mishil always had. Intimacy had grown cold before the marriage started. But there was always that with the brunette, fingers interlacing and bodies pressed together, and the thing he craved mostâ she made him feel wanted, like he was shaking and somewhere between the gates of Heaven and earth simultaneously and he never wanted to come down from that high, or like he was at peace when her head rested on his chest. He never got that opportunity with Damian. His long fingernails would scrape her skin, gently trailing the line of her spine, admiring her figure in the moonlight, eyelashes brushing the slant of fine cheekbones. Safe. Someone he trusted after his assault heâd seldom admitted to anyone, most recently his sister-in-law and half-sister, and before that, her. He never flinched when her hands ran lower than his waistband, and in return, maybe he did a few too many things he shouldnât, like kissing her over and over when the fun was said and done, smiling against her mouth, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. Like laughing too loud when she joked with him, nearly waking up her mother and no, he wasnât a quiet lover, and heâs a screamer by all means, but he could bite and mark to shut himself up, momentous happiness passing him by. Smirking when the snowball made its mark, he failed to duck in time, cold snow hitting him in the face and shaking his head, managing to avoid the second by throwing a snowball in crossfire. âGet back here!â he yelled, scrambling through the snow after her when she started to run, lanky legs urging him to chase after her, âIf I catch you, youâre gonna regret it!â
âFantastic ass, but a terrible ego.â The idea of prompting the dreaded question had crossed her mind on several occasions. The words had formed one too many times on the tip of her tongue, forced down and crammed back into a neat little box where she kept everything so carefully tucked away, only to claw their way out and attempt to break free once again the next time her hand instinctively reached for his or their gazes lingered on one another for just a bit too long. What were they? The question came loaded, but had no clear answer, neither Carcosa or Cyrek daring to be the first to ask it. They werenât just friends despite what they tried so desperately to make themselves and those around them believe. Just friends didnât find themselves tangled between the sheets after a long day. They didnât slip suggestive remarks into conversation or sneak heated touches when no one was looking, and just friends certainly didnât fuck the way that they did. But there were many, many times where they didnât appear to be just a casual fling either. Casual flings didnât stay the night after the fun was over. They didnât bare their souls to one another with such ease. Casual flings didnât hold each other close or place tender kisses on the otherâs forehead when theyâd had a bad day. Casual flings didnât care so goddamn much, and they certainly didnât look at each other the same way Cyrek and Carcosa so often did. Whatever they were, it was messy and it was complicated and it was asking for trouble. Thatâs the only conclusion she had ever been able to come to without asking him outright. But she remained silent, her desire to know nowhere near as great as her fear of losing whatever this was within the blink of an eye. She knew his love life had been nothing short of a train wreck; from an abusive ex to a loveless marriage, even to falling in love with a boy that just didnât love him the same. Her heart broke for him time and time again, the memory of deep purple bruises and a dark blue ring around his neck forever seared into her memory. Carcosa held him with such a delicate touch, the fear of hurting Cyrek just as others had done before her something she wrestled with every day. How much she cared for him could be overwhelming at times, Carcosa never sure of what the appropriate amount of compassion was to display in a situation like this. She didnât know where to put it all down. And try as she might to stuff it all away in her heavy little box of emotions and things she just couldnât stand to face, it always seemed to bleed through the cracks and seep through the bottom, spilling into even the most mundane of her actions. She didnât want to scare Cyrek. Didnât want him to feel pressured or as if their arrangement had to turn into something more. And perhaps Carcosa herself was a little fearful, if she were being honest. Fearful of the private little world theyâd built together crashing and burning to the ground if either of them so much as even dared to to tackle the subject. Fearful of being the only one that felt the strong emotional connection, and looking like an absolute idiot when it all came tumbling down. So she kept it all to herself, refusing to touch the matter and hoping that if she for once in her life left well enough alone, then perhaps the mess theyâd already made would remain somewhat manageable. âYes!â The woman cheered when her retaliation made contact, pausing mid-run to giddily punch the air. âNow it looks like Iâm the one kickinâ your ass!â She swiftly dodged his incoming attack, flipping him the bird with a laugh. Her eyes widened at the sight of the much taller man barreling at her, Carcosa squealing with delight as she broke into a run and dashed in the opposite direction. âTry all ya want, but youâre never catchinâ me!â