sold soul

She could jest, she was partially, lean back into the tease-tango they oft do. Blurt anything facetious. But what could come from her assuaging the situation? Her heart is pounding like a fuckin' herd of unicorns. Jesus shitting christ.

Miss Gothic Fighter finally meeting a bigger foe, and it's something she can't punch her way out of.

She can feel heat flaring her cheeks more, wants nothing more to grab her own hair and cover her face. For once, she didn't flee, didn't run; returned what has always been there. And now, this weird, tingly feeling that feels like something's fluttering in her stomach. This even odder sensation of elation that's rising.

Because despite all the fucked anxieties swarming her head, one thing is succinct enough:

He likes me...More than just a best friend.

And I...I do too.

Her gaze softens more at him, into those blue eyes that reminded her of the ocean but also of the sky right before dawn; where twilight lingers, where stars wink, and where the veil is thinner. A simper, another realization that he's seen her differently. When did it start? Recent? Long ago? She chuckles at his words, her hand lightly squeezing his, ❝ I know, dumb dumb. ❞ A pause. Should she be the one to say it? Always saving his ass, might as well do it here too. Give him time.

❝ Speaking of which, you're an idiot. ❞ Nope. That's not what she wanted to say. What! The! Fuck! A look away, too flustered and too late to back down now, ❝ But, you're my idiot. I...Don't know when or what, m-maybe it's always been there between us but, Trent, I like you. A lot. Fuck you. ❞

But he does acknowledge her saving his ass meant sacrificing her own.

He shifts his legs slowly. The closeness of her presence, which had once been second nature shared between the two of them, now felt more pronounced to his senses. Every motion a tremor, every movement a quake. He stretches his legs beneath her weight to get comfortable, the entire act which now feels enveloped in an apology.

He may have made the first move, but the first confession had been hers. 

“First of all---Yeah, I’m your idiot.” He answers.

Get the easy part out of the way. 

“I like you too. No question. Not just in the way you thought, but,” Heat on his neck and face raise once more. He hesitates, pauses when he shouldn’t pause. No, he needs to continue now, to put at ease the fears they both had. “No matter what, you’re the most important person in my life.” 

The hand that was once at rest on her cheek departs, his fingertips brushing over her skin in a lingering touch. He lays it now on the top of her head and gently at first, before becoming slightly rough, he musses up her hair.

guy who only experienced torture: i don't like this because it's too unlike the torture

And strange.

It nips at her again like a pixie upset about stolen acorns and a button, to say something to bring those walls back up. To hide herself. Choose what's familiar, what she knows; just like any brawl or bloodied-knuckle fight. Lead him on like usual and...And...

Aren't you fucking tired? Tired of holding up these fucked ass walls to protect from what? Tired of denying what's always been there. Because it HAS always been there.

The organ that she can practically hold in her hand pulses in a cryptic rhythm only she can discern against her pallid fingertips as if to accentuate the point.

Roseate cheeks, a flushing color that contradicts her black on black ensemble, not just from this moment of bared hearts but from her self-realization of how badly she teased him. Why did he always come back? Why did he stay? Why did he pick her? What could he see in her that she couldn't with her sight beyond fucking sight?

Tone soft, she chuckles with an even softer smile, ❝ What? Kiss me? You've only done it a thousand fucking times. ❞ She jests, can't help it. She likes seeing him smile, laugh with a bit of crinkle in his eyes like he did earlier.

She can feel her own heart racing as she lays her other hand over the one that just tucked her hair away, eyes catching his as she tilts her head up at him still smiling.

❝ It's us, is there ever a right way? Or even wrong? We're not exactly normal. Even with the added flairs. ❞ So, come on. Let's be weird together.

This kiss wasn't their usual fair. No longer tinged by frustration or lust, nor just another step in their dance of hands-off flirting. Where nothing was sown or grown, nor would it wither. The moment now was an act of confession, their real first kiss.

With an abashed thought, he realizes he's used to acting without feeling, his body reacts as the other one does. Equal parts physical and numb. I'll help you if you'll help me. It never was that way with Divine, was it? He suppressed it for a time, positioned the feelings as his initial skin-deep attraction. Easy to do when the rest of the world peeled off its shell and unfurled another world beneath. The rest blossomed despite it. She's his home as well.

Divine's own anxiety now echoes the same spiral running loops in his head. How does she deal with me? Loser that I am. Always having to save my ass. How hasn't she told me to get lost? She has, but not that she meant it. She should have. I'm going to ruin this in some way, I'm gonna fuck this up.

He tries to silence the stream, prove himself to her. New as this first step was, they never stopped having each other's backs.

"You want me to add in a cheesy one-liner? Cause I can, " he returns the tease, "we can cement this one as a thousand-and-fucking-one."

Her hand in his, their eyes meet. Her smile so soft then, even past the sharp dark hues of her makeup. Her eyes not aglow, but the electric current of blue makes him pause, almost eating the word one as he pronounces it. Yes, let's be weird together.

More alluring.

And frightening.

The crow ruffles her feathers. Wings dare to flutter open and away. Heart thuds so loudly, so wonders if he can fucking hear it. Would probably tease her about it given the chance. Cheesers riling her up like this? Like...

This?

Heat spreads across her pallid cheeks in a smooth rhythm as he draws her attention back with that thumb caress. Gone is that old insecurity, the glow of her eyes dimming to a more muted brightness like that of a diamond moon on winter's eve. They sparkle and they dazzle 'neath that curtain of black before hidden away as she accepts his kiss.

For once, she has nothing to say. No snarky comeback. Afraid her heart will escape her throat and into his mouth (maybe it already has, he only has to inhale). Her own head angles slightly, leaning into him for that sweet gesture.

No...What if...What if-!

The instinct to draw back, away from this warmth, this s a f e t y--This feeling. Take flight, push him away. What comes with all of this? She knows. She knows. Her back itches like its on fire.

But, when he kisses her like this. Like that. Saccharine to the point she wants to cry? She has no choice BUT to trust. And she can, because it's him.

Alley fights and bar fights, late-night takeout with horrible movies, adventures into the unknown, bearing one another's heart in the dead of night with a haze of smoke 'twixt them both, laughter and shouting matches, mixed emotions that ride attraction and something more; all these moments that lay a foundation of trust. Of faith.

She leans further into his kiss, gentle as his own. Hand finding the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, not an inch of space spared. How dare you be so far away? Closer, closer. She can feel herself smiling against his lips.

Even this kiss was something new. The soft motion she greets his action with. Disarming. Reassuring. It's been a long time since he was sure of anything in this strange world. It was her to take his hand at the start to lead him through. If there was any start to his certainty, surely it begins and ends with Divine.

A breathless laugh parts his lips as she pulls him forward, almost breaking their kiss but not quite. The corners of his mouth twinge in a smile. He can't bite the feeling back, earnest happiness for once not muted by a sardonic grin or ironic posturing.

This was a new him too.

Snaring thought. The knot resurfaces from the murky depths like an unfilled promise, a broken oath. But the memory is too hazy and unfocused, it only remains a subconscious sentiment. He quashes the feeling with confusion and an even more perplexing notion of guilt. The air seeps out, begrudgingly deflating before it submerges entirely. He's back in reality.

"You know, I've ... " a beat. Trent pulls away only slightly to let them catch their shaky breaths and runaway hearts. He still ghosts hers, letting them rest in proximity. Faint pink hides beneath stubble in the light flush of his face. His hand still on her cheek, petting away the messy strands of ebony behind her ear. He tries to think of what to say, to sum up the chaotic declarations running amok in his head.

A chuckle to his banter. A quick, nice distraction.

Whatishappeningwhatishappening. The urge to flutter away like a raven, to pull away as she always does. It's like a fucking itch, gnawing in the back of her skull to do so. And yet, it's also dull. Internal alarm bells that are comically punched out.

She gulps. A lick of her sable lips. She stammers. Maybe just like his footing in that world, she can't find hers in this one.

❝ P-Please, as if you could ever rough me up. I'd like to see you try. ❞ She cringes inside. Pray to Gods he doesn't run with these words for any innuendo. Instead opting to attempt a tap to his chest lightly with a closed fist in a friendly jab.

The fist softens more to an open palm akin to a flower blooming as he brushes her hair away. Even moreso when their eyes met, she can see the faint glow of blue on his visage. Maybe that's why he looks down. Maybe that's why he says those words.

An old insecurity rises up.

Freak.

She looks down to their entwined fingers, away from the blue highlighting his jawline ❝ Y-Yeah, we should... ❞

And he doesn't want her to be, not with him.

With the soft impact of her knuckles upon his chest, he lets out an exaggerated gasp, lungs filling with a short but sharp intake of breath. "Ow, I'm sore enough already." A smile.

He'll save the joke for later, when Divine is least expecting it. He has enough foresight to know the right callback could pay in dividends.

A soft glow illuminates from her in blue reflections; the light is not cold nor hot on his skin. The human he is, all mortality and mundane flesh, cannot place the sensation it brings to mind. Completely alien, yet comforting---Because it's her.

A cloud of frustration brews within himself, the indecision nipping at his heels. He's gotta throw this caution into the wind, when has he ever been nervous about a thing like this? Because it's her.

He doesn't want to fuck this up.

Eyes lift from the gravel beneath them, to the unearthly, azure shine of her eyes. He inches forward, close enough to brush her nose with his as he angles slightly. The thumb of his free hand brushes against her jaw, encouraging her gaze to return to him once more.

"Since we both agree," his voice hush in proximity, "... then let's not."

(steel meets skin, laughter turns to breathless stillness)

Training Grounds & Bruised Pride

❛ You’re getting better… but not good enough to beat me. ❜

❛ That swing would’ve taken my head off if you weren’t distracted staring at me. ❜

❛ You call that a punch? Try again. Harder. ❜

❛ Careful—if you keep touching me like that, I’ll forget this is just training. ❜

❛ You’re supposed to disarm me, not pin me down. ❜

❛ If you wanted to get me on the ground, there are easier ways. ❜

❛ Oh, so now you’re blushing? Didn’t expect that from you. ❜

❛ Don’t hold back just because I’m close. Hit me. ❜

❛ You like this too much to call it practice. ❜

❛ You’re bleeding. …and you’re smiling about it? ❜

Clash & Proximity

❛ Stop moving—if you do, I’ll let you go. Maybe. ❜

❛ You’re enjoying this way more than you should. ❜

❛ I could feel your heartbeat when I had you pinned. ❜

❛ You’re supposed to block, not get distracted every time I breathe. ❜

❛ Funny how you only get serious when I get close. ❜

❛ Is this still a fight, or are we pretending it is? ❜

❛ If you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just asked. ❜

❛ That smirk’s going to get you in trouble. ❜

❛ You’re trembling. Adrenaline or something else? ❜

❛ You’ve got a death wish standing that close. Or maybe just a bad idea. ❜

Verbal Sparring & Tension

❛ What’s wrong—afraid I’ll beat you? Or that I won’t stop when I do? ❜

❛ Keep taunting me and I might forget to pull my punches. ❜

❛ You talk too much. Let’s see if I can change that. ❜

❛ Didn’t realize arrogance was one of your fighting styles. ❜

❛ Don’t act so calm—you’re shaking. I can feel it. ❜

❛ You like pushing me, don’t you? ❜

❛ Admit it—you only challenged me so you’d have an excuse to touch me. ❜

❛ I thought you were dangerous. Turns out you’re just distracting. ❜

❛ You keep saying this is training, but you keep looking at my mouth. ❜

❛ Try again. And stop pretending you don’t want to. ❜

Pinned & Breathless

❛ You should really get off me… unless you plan to stay there. ❜

❛ You gonna move, or are you enjoying the view? ❜

❛ You’re heavy. …Don’t you dare move. ❜

❛ Your hand’s still on me. Not that I mind. ❜

❛ Is this where you finally admit you like losing to me? ❜

❛ You can let go now. …anytime. ❜

❛ I said training, not straddling. ❜

❛ If anyone walks in right now, I’m blaming you. ❜

❛ Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me forget we’re supposed to be fighting. ❜

❛ I thought this was about technique, not temptation. ❜

Aftermath & Smolder

❛ You’ve got blood on your lip. …Here, let me— ❜

❛ You hit harder than you should. I liked it. ❜

❛ I should hate how close that was. But I don’t. ❜

❛ You’re shaking. Here—catch your breath. ❜

❛ For someone who swears they don’t care, you sure looked worried when I fell. ❜

❛ You didn’t have to pull me that close. ❜

❛ I’ve fought a lot of people. None of them ever looked at me like that. ❜

❛ Are we still sparring, or… something else? ❜

❛ Tell me you didn’t feel that too. ❜

❛ Maybe next time, we skip the weapons. ❜

Heat flares up like the start of a fire on a December night, color blossoming her pallid cheeks. She scoffs, ebony smile that follows a soft laugh, her worst attempt to wave off whatever this is, ❝ Ch'yeah and you're a masochist. Would you rather I be soft...? Tender, even? ❞

She jests but there's truth in her words: Should she dial it back? He is pretty fragile. Widdle baby.

She moves half an inch closer, the free hand rising to ghost his cheek and gently, so gently, brush strands of his russet hair away. Her fingers, faint as they were already, lazily drawing circles on his cheek after finding some amusement with the hairs peppering his jawline.

"Nah, I wouldn't dream of it. I have so much fun driving you up the wall." He catches her inflection, the way Divine's voice trails into a question. An uncertainty. Hand-upon-hand, his fingers begin to intertwine with hers.

"I never wanna it to stop," he jests. But this, whatever this may be, right now? It was nice. He didn't want this to stop either. Soft. Freeze time, stay here. Stay, stay, stay ...

It was his time to feel the heat crawl up his neck. Divine's touch tickles him slightly, tips of nails brushing upon prickle stubble. Trent finds himself leaning towards her aimless drawing, as if trying to draw more than the fleeting taste of it.

"How about me, you want me to toughen up?" This question, as well, was a joke. He doesn't believe himself capable of it. His bravery with this new world came in slow increments, never a sure foot forward.

"Or, are you worried I'd rough you up too much?" Blatant lie to provoke a reaction. A breath. He moves his free hand to her cheek, mirroring where she draws upon his as he brushes away the fine sable hair from her face. There's an urge in this closeness, the lack of comfortable space between them.

The sight of him writhing in pain, not once but twice now. Of his own doing, mind you. She feels sorry for him, almost. And yet...And fucking yet...

Soft laughter emanates from her, laughter that would roll off his frustrated face. Anger dissipated, she doesn't know why this is all so fucking funny. Why is she even laughing?

Maybe it's because he can't catch a break.

Maybe it's something else.

Either way, despite him moving away from her and releasing her hand-She settles him, hopefully, placing both hands on his chest and give his nose a soft apologetic kiss.

"Thank fuck," he mutters. Praise the lord she didn't decide to take his nose with her. You really want a piece of me, huh? Nah, save the line for later. He's no longer in the mood. The glower on his expression still lingers, brows knitting as his lips purse slightly. A glower which, whilst she laughs, becomes more pronounced.

A bad loser.

Yet when Divine moves closer his look wavers, and as her hands touch his chest there's only a flicker of it left. Then the bitterness enveloping his glare dissipates with her apology.

He crumbles just after it and sinks forward, resting his forehead upon her shoulder as though fatigue had won. His body trembles with his own laughter; he lets go of the grudge.

"Fine, you win," he speaks into the shoulder pad of her leather jacket, exhausted by the sentiment. He raises himself from her after a moment to be eye-to-eye again. His hand finds its way to hers, on his body, and places itself on top.