REMI.

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It was an ironic sentiment which he kept buried deep and refused to let it come into fruition—he didn’t want Remi’s unconditional adoration, at least not in the way he desired it from others. He wanted to live as a formidable force; a king in his own castle revered by those outside his walls. But her—he wanted her beside his throne, if only it would have worked out in the way he’d wanted. Feverish, Charlie didn’t wait long to cradle her back into him, lips rejoining. His callused fingers glided up and down all garments clad to the body he cherished. Yet no clothing was removed, only an unclasped bra strap which he paused after, eyes searching for permission to continue.

There’s too much shame in the way she’s talking.  He doesn’t know how to deal with the blonde beside him so exposed and he finds himself speaking to soothe without thinking.  "True enough,” he shrugs, “but who do you know who is a good person?” He places another cigarette between his lips  “If there is such a thing as a genuinely good person, like to their core, I’ve never met one.  Everyone has their own fucked up bag of nonsense they’re carrying around, we all know that, but we judge each other based on how much we let that bag of garbage drag us down.”  The lighter brightens his face for a brief moment before it’s gone and the dealer inhales. “Bullshit-secrets? They’re only as powerful as we allow them to be.”   Smoke is between them then and for one minute his eyes are cold on hers, a warning, caught in his own weakness.  Then Ezra Buchanan forces a laugh of pure artifice.  “Dunno.  Depends on my mood.”

It was a lie if he’d said that he didn’t foresee this, hoped for it. Their lack of touch the night prior had left him restless and unsatisfied. The semblance of a “me too” echoed inside her, as Charlie pulled Remi as close as possible to his chest. They stumbled backwards, the force of his body outweighing hers. Palms moved to her thighs, lifting her dainty figure with ease onto the bed. He paused then, hesitantly, barely removed as their noses grazed. “I’d never make you get down on your knees and beg. I should be the one doing that.”

“Anything for an old friend,” he returned, his smile widening. Tripp could feel eyes upon them, there was something thrilling about the shamelessness that he could live his life in– there were never any consequences for his actions; besides the scathing look or line from Margot, he did as he pleased. Remi’s lips tasted of the alcohol that she’d downed, his own mouth was numb from the brush of the powder a moment before. “Rather me than you,” Tripp noted, despite the fact that Margot was more likely to blame her brother for things than anyone else. He felt weighted, his fingers lingered at the curve of her hip, tracing the line as he leaned in. “Don’t think anyone’s outside, my car’s out there…” A unconventional proposition, but an exciting one. His Mercedes was mostly street legal; despite boasting a bass system that straddled the line of legality and a window tint job that was nearly pitch black from the outside.

Lingering contact threads them together, and Remi's blind to the twist of necks of those surrounding, how brows lift and whispers are swallowed whole by the engulfing melody: the best friend and the brother. The male's sentiments hook the edges of her mouth, tugging an upwards arc until she's left beaming: in Tripp she has always found a sort of tender solace, a subdue to the weight threaded to shoulders. And so at his offering she nods, almost habitually, touch descending to the stretch of his palm. "Take me for a ride, Wright," a simper coils to her mouth, an innuendo wedged between syllables.

“What do you mean,” Ari asked, completely oblivious. As the outside wind passed him, one thing became immediately clear. He needed much more alcohol if he was expected to keep this way. “I need a new drink.” He peaked over at Remi’s cup, of which content had been emptied on the shirt in his jeans pocket. “Looks like you do too.” He gestured them toward the bar, but didn’t check if she followed, yet he kept speaking under the same assumption. “Have you let your hatred of me go yet?”

His inquiry lifts brows, momentary disbelief colouring her features, "I think your freshman fan club may be planning your kidnap attempt," the curve of her chin lifts, motioning in the direction of a cluster of girls who couldn't possibly pry their eyes from Ari's bare torso. Her frame finds motion, trailing behind the male through the thick of bodies, dodging teetering girls and tipsy frat boys. She scoffs, "I spent a month picking up trash because you snitched, Haven. What do you think?"

Jealousy and desire melded into one, blurring his surroundings until they suddenly descended into nothingness. Her words crashed and echoed inside his skull and it was then that Charlie couldn’t take their distance anymore. Inside the safety of her room, they could do whatever they wanted. And there wasn’t anything he wanted more than her. His formidable hands drowned Remi’s dainty head as he held her, lips encasing hers. This was more than words could say and deep down, it was an apology, for all and anything he could apologize for.

The decrease in distance halts a breath between the ridges of her sternum, the lack of oxygen prompting her dizzy, lids heavy as the full of her mouth falls to an involuntary part. At his contact the entirety of her skeletal hums; she's whole again, home again. And she meets the touch in a manner fervent, palms lifting to press to the back of his neck, the tips of fingers pressing divots to his skin. Her pulse lifts to something erratic, prey-like, murmuring against the bend of his lips, "I missed this."

“I’m not sure you’ve earned three whole passes from me, but I’m interested,” there’s a lightness returned to his expression. His tone turns to theatrics, trying to distract with truths. “Let the games begin.” They’ve moved apart now and it makes this looking he’s so accused of both easier and harder to do.  Ezra wasn’t trying to see her, no more than he did anyone else.  The bottom line was always ‘What do I stand to gain?’ but here, Ezra found himself less eager to exploit . She’d veered him uncomfortably towards something genuine.

“Should I stop?” Ezra laughs just the slightest at the end of his words. He takes her on again, because fuck it, he may as well call a spade a spade. “I can only see what you let me. Why do you assume what I see is bad?” The smugness simmers begins light eyes. “Or is there that much you’re trying to hide?”

“A nice girl like you,” he murmured back, the words sinking into the warmth of the skin of her throat— Remi liked to be close, he could smell the perfume that clung to her clothing and feel the harrowing rhythm of her heartbeat, “You deserve so much better than just a room with a lock.” Amber eyes found hers, an equally compelling shade of molten; and he could see a hunger there. They were both insatiable people he supposed, but they were starved for things in different capacities. Remi, he suspected craved love: she sought it in other people and things that couldn’t give it back to her— had Tripp of been a thoughtful boy he might have felt sad for her. Instead, his head bowed, capturing her lips in a kiss. Brief and with a grin chasing it as he pulled away, the male looked back at his companion. “Is Mar gonna kill us both if we get out of here?”

Tripp's syllables seep to the crook of her jaw and knot to pearls beneath the hollow of her throat, coaxing the tilt of her chin so she can meet his gaze with pupils matching the width of fine china, her lips quirking up, "you spoil me, Wright." An unsteady silhouette, her digits rest to the dip of his shoulder for stability, her features tucked close beneath his-- the contact of his mouth is fleeting, though enough for embers to spark beneath flesh, coaxing the satin unravel of both desire and chaos. "At least one of us," though amusement flushes her aureate, the blonde grinning something holy even within the shadows, a brow lifting, "worth it, though."

In a moment his face fell but it was composed once again, bar the smile that once was. “If he was really that beautiful, he would be here with you right now, not me.” A passion of possession stirred inside Charlie, and he was stupid as to whether he had the right to feel that way. There were others that pined after Rem and he was always aware of that, but hearing it from her hit differently. It urged him to be closer, lowering his height so that they met eye to eye. “Would you have let me have my way with you?”

Tug a frayed edge of the male's syllables and she's certain they'd unravel to reveal envy, and such a notion coaxes her pulse to double in octave. "Maybe you just passed him in the hall," she counters, digits lifting to rest against her mouth to mask an expanding grin, feigning sincerity. The proximity between them folds in half, and she would have sworn her pulse was now audible. At his inquiry, Remi wedges silence between them in attempts of stretching out the male's irritation, of grazing his patience with the lethargy of something feline. "For you, Charlie?" irises dim to something stormy, "I would have got down on my knees and begged for it.”

Raising his brows quickly, Emmett pondering the thought as an act to go along with the conversation. “I’ll just have to be the best influence so you don’t miss anymore of the days.” He nodded, sighing as the burning sensation of the whiskey turning more into a comfort and relaxing feeling that trickled down his throat. “Nope, he isn’t. He does have a big company. But I’m not exactly the one he wants taking over.” Emmett laughed, knowing that running a multi million dollar company was no where near his alley and most likely he would be the one to run it into the ground. “Was it one of those close your eyes and point your finger situations?”

Her mouth twists to a grin, "alright, alright. I'll dig out my best spandex and you can show me what you've got." I'm not exactly the one he wants taking over. Light features knead in curiosity for a moment, and perhaps if sober she would have pressed further, though due to both her current state and their position enveloped amidst the club-like melody, she simply moves on, "basically. I mean, I'm interested in fashion," she shrugs, "but it isn't a real job, or so my father says. So who knows, maybe next year I’ll be on to the next major."

He was used to seeing Remi like this—tangled, somewhat dishevelled, all the while carrying herself with a languid sort of bewitchment. If they’d been seen like this together, there would be questions and prying eyes. “If I knew looking like this robbed me of breakfast, I wouldn’t have bothered.” With a fond smile, Charlie stepped into her room while ensuring the door closed behind him. “Why? That great of a night? Tell me all about it.”

"If I knew that was all it took to see you undone, I would have had a whole buffet awaiting your arrival," canines tug the full of a bottom lip inward to keep a grin at bay, and so she imagines him like that for the thrum of a second, Charlie a mess of a boy: a rasp folded to his cadence, insomnia tenderly pressing violet beneath eyes, lids heavy; something stirs against lungs and Remi swallows thickly. "I would, but I'd hate for you to be jealous," a smile unravels then, meeting his gaze, "you should have seen the beautiful boy I met on the dance floor, I nearly let him have his way with me right there."

“I won’t be booting you just yet.  Money is money. Besides, I like to prove the quality of my goods before I get snooty and turn away clientele.”  He taps his trusty pocket again, another nod of promise to what he has ready for her.   “And now you’ve made it a game. An interesting one at that.” The grin on his lips fades to a ghost of amusement, the kind that fails to reach his eyes. It’s an expression that promises there’s more behind his words, something there he will not say.  

The ease of their banter dies sudden and Ezra finds himself listening. He listens, telling himself it’s what he’s meant to do to keep this transaction clean, that it’s the way to gain her trust and make his cut. But, if he were honest, he’s interested in her as well.  He’s sat across from the blond for months, dealt with his fair share of frustration as her tutor.  This is the first time he’s found himself genuinely intrigued by her.  Sober, masks down and ego stripped, the nightmare pupil has become human.  He wonders for the first time about this green eyed doe spilling fears like a wound from her lips. It makes him wonder when he lives to be removed. 

“I get why the Margot and you are so close,” he comments softer, as if to himself.  He’s not sure he wants to address her demons, not sure where it will put them.  He mentions Margot to sound contemplative, to seem less interested even though the comment is honest. There are shades of them in one another and he thinks again how like calls to like.  “Not stupid,” he stops walking, “You don’t want to be seen.  Least of all by the rat.” His gaze is careful, effortlessly empty as he offers her a padded hand. “Correct?”

"Does that mean you've agreed to play?" she lifts a brow expectantly, mouth hosting the phantom of a bend, swaying in step to bump shoulders with her company. "If so," she starts, allowing a moment's pause for dramatics, "does that mean I get to cash in all past passes now? I think that'd earn me, like, three whole truths."

The mention of her counterpart prompts a neck to bend to meet the male's gaze, as though a floret twisting to steep in the sun's rays; Margot's name is enough to coax something luminous to the onyx of pupils, fondness pressing light to lungs. The pair of girls had similar demons, those who stretched feline between ribs with a penchant for similar vices. But it had always gone unsaid, causing Ezra's quiet proclamation to stir intrigue, and she nearly asks, but instead remains quiet.

What better way to return to Daleton. Unlike a considerable proportion of the student body, Charlie had risen from his bed quickly refreshed and sparkling brand new. As messy as he could get, he rarely strayed from his routine of keeping up his fluids and at the very least, ending up in his own bed or a bed. Vitamins and supplements-filled, he’d managed to arrive on time and focused to his first class back, despite its low overall attendance. That was all that had kept him from eventually venturing to Remi’s dorm. “Hi.” Hands hidden in pockets, emerald eyes scanned the blonde before him. “Can I come in?”

The male is the opposing side of the same gleaming coin as Remi: seraphic, Charlie remains a vision seemingly unscathed by the prior night's transgressions, as though he had skipped them entirely. Such prompts a grin to curve wide to her mouth, head shaking as mirth blooms, "I'd offer to order us in breakfast, but you're looking just peachy, Hearst," she steps aside, providing space for the male to enter, "maybe I should've pinched myself last night, I think I might have been dreaming," she peers over her shoulder at him, brow arching, moving towards the stretch of her bed.  

Margot’s expression soured at her brother’s name, a drop of acidity in her current cloud of pleasantry. No, she didn’t hate Tripp. She was sure that she loved him, and dearly, ever since they were children. She’d just made a habit over the past few years of not particularly liking him. He’d started it, of course, tangling with Remi and preying on her friends. Every time she thought he might be due for forgiveness he blew it in one way or another. An exception could be made for tonight, however, she wasn’t completely unreasonable, and she nodded in agreement with Remi. Swiping a finger under her eyes and shaking out her hair, Margot sniffed, the powder was giving her a rabbit’s heart– if she didn’t hit the dance floor soon she was certain it would ricochet out of her chest. “Everybody wants to dance with us,” she said, laughing as soon as the words left her mouth at how self-absorbed the sentiment was, before stepping forward to be swallowed up into the swell of dancers.