#squinty face

You're already a buttface. Which means you probably won't seem like one. You should answer it anyway.]

“Cass.” That motherfucker.

He answered as if he hadn’t a care in the world, “Aye, love?”  

“Are those my pants?” Last week it had been one of her favourite t-shirts. Tulip wouldn’t have minded, except he had broader shoulders than she did, and he tended to stretch them out so they’d fall off her after.

“They aren’t; I’m wearin’ me own pants.” Cass’s tone was one of smug condescension.

He was only pedantic when he wanted to wind her up. She narrowed her eyes as she replied, “Fine, then. Are those my trousers?” He was very good at it, but she gave as good as she got.

“Ah, that’s what yer after findin’ out. Aye, dear, these are indeed your trousers.” He preened a little, flattered by her noticing.

Exasperated, she said, “Cassidy, you’re like a foot and a half taller‘n me. How are you wearing my jeans?”

He did a little spin, pure showing off. “With aplomb, darlin’. With pizzazz. Style and panache.” He was cute, prancin’ around the apartment in her clothes, but his head was gettin’ too big for his shoulders. Best for everyone if she nipped this in the bud.

“They’re floodin’.” Her tone was flat and dead.

Cassidy chuffed, “Stuff and nonsense. They’re perfectly dry.”

“I can see. Your ankles.” Bony and hairy, they stuck out awkwardly from the hems of her skinny jeans.

Cass grinned, delighted. “Why, Tulip! That’s positively Victorian. I didn’t take you for the prudish type.” He had no idea what was coming. She knew exactly where to hit him.

“Y’look like one of those trendy hipster guys.” She looked him up and down, setting her face in a mask of vague disapproval.

Cass was genuinely scandalised. “Now, you take that back,” he waved a finger at her. “I do not look like one o’ them wankers.”

Tulip cocked her head to one side, considering. “No, you know, now that I see it, I can’t see anything else. You definitely do. Especially if you were wearing my top from the other day, with the scarf? And if you had your hair cut like you did when we first met. Definitely hipster.” She nodded with an air of finality.

Cass clutched both hands to his chest. “You wound me! I ain’t no quinoa-munching trendy fucker. Take that back! I’m proper hard, me.”

Tulip raised a sceptical eyebrow, “… is that proper hard like the other night, when you cried at the rescue shelter commercial?”

He was flabbergasted. His eyes bugged out and his mouth gaped open before he gathered his wits to reply, “That! Is a slander!” Cassidy’s voice broke on the last syllable. He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “I was really high that night. That was supposed to be confidential!”

“Honey, if we never talked about what you did when you were high, we’d barely say ‘hello,’ over the cereal box in the morning.” She sauntered over to him as she spoke.

“Woman,” he hissed out, “you keep that to yerself! I got street cred to maintain.” He dropped the tough guy act as Tulip grabbed him by her own belt loops. “How am I supposed to score from the local dealer if he knows I cry when I hear Sarah McLachlan on the telly,” he asked plaintively.

She smiled at him as she pulled him down to his knees in front of her. “That ain’t my problem, sugar. It’s yours, for the future. Your problem for now though, is how are you gonna make it up to me for stretching out my clothes?” She placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly.

He looked up into her eyes. She loved looking at him from this angle. His neck looked so pretty when he tipped it up. “Whatever you want, Tulip,” he said, hoarsely.