#leoxcain

“I can’t stay here.” Leo says back, fingers pulling at the curtains to stare at the storm clouds above. “It’s not even bad yet.” Her tongue presses to the roof of her mouth as Cain keeps going. Flinches when she says not to piss her off. “I’m not trying to piss you off.”

She knows by now that Cain is volatile, but Dale was more so. And her loyalty would always be to him.

The bar is buzzing, loud and obnoxious patrons take up every single corner. They haven’t been there for very long and her head is already pounding. She’s one vodka tonic deep – her nose wrinkling as the second starts to go down roughly. The goal had been to take her mind off things at home, the dumb shit Morgan had said from digging in her past and her spat with Dale… which, of course, Cain seemed more than delighted about.

As the night grew on, Leo began to lick her wounds more openly, more stupidly. More drinks, more dances, lines blurred between herself and strangers. She doesn’t notice the murderous rage lighting up Cain’s eyes, or the way she keeps getting closer. More aggressive. More willing to insert herself between Leo and whatever soul she was trying to earn drinks from.

And then those five words come spilling out of her raven-haired friend’s lips. And she freezes, eyes blowing wide. Even in her drunken haze, she knows that’s a goddamned red flag. A fire alarm going off, truly – but she’s drunk, she’s happy, she’s not thinking straight.

“What?” Leo leans closer, grinning and giggling. “Why?” She tucks strands of hair behind Cain’s ears, her touch lingering – nails dragging slightly against the skin there. “Is something wrong?”