#zfzdrabble

Kill Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.

The gun was gently palmed into her hand: small, smooth and black. As Sofi looked down at the foreign weapon, so out of place intertwined with her own fingers, she realized never to judge by size or cover. It frightened her how something so small could be so deadly. “Now choose.” The cold command pulled her from her reverie, coming from the mouth of the lead kidnapper who stood in the corner, watching the events of the room unfurl with a sadistic gleam in his eye. Choose? Choose what?

And then she noticed the two people sitting right in front of her, arms and legs bound to hard chairs, mouths taped shut. A sudden, dreadful chill snaked down her spine as the whole weight of his order dawned on her. “You don’t mean—” Her head whipped around to look at him, horror written in her expression.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he answered back smugly, nodding as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

"No, you can’t make me! How can I choose between—" She faltered, not able to being herself to say it, eyes flickering first to her poor father, who was much too old to be tied up, and then to her best friend Gabe, his dark eyes indignant. She couldn’t bear looking at them for too long. Perhaps she knew that at the end of the day, no matter how she bartered with their kidnappers, she’d be responsible for the death of one of them, although having to choose between the two people she loved the most was absolutely preposterous and simply cruel. That was probably the reasoning behind choosing them: to cause her as much grief and strife as possible.

For a moment, Sofi just looked down at the dangerous weapon she held. She never would’ve imagined herself possible of taking a human life, but she wouldn’t mind so much aiming at the smug kidnapper. As if reading her mind, he spoke up, “If you shoot me, you all die,” he snarled. Two of his cronies walked up, one for each victim. They both held guns of their own, and as cold metal suddenly touched the back of Sofi’s neck, a chill creeping down her spine, she knew there was one for her too, aimed to kill.

Tears pricked at her eyes, as they always did when she was scared, and she furiously tried to blink them away. She couldn’t show weakness now — not to them. “Please, take me instead. Kill me. Don’t harm them,” she desperately pleaded to the leader, holding up her hands as if to show her surrender.

"No can do, sweetheart," he smirked, clearly relishing her anguish. "And if you even think about shooting yourself, they won’t survive a minute. So choose. Either all three of you die, or just one. I think you can do the math." 

Sofia’s face crumpled like a flower as she looked down again, unable to stop the flow of tears. The gun seemed to be getting exponentially heavier in her hand, if that was even possible. “If you’re having trouble deciding—” Her head shot upwards to look at the kidnapper, her expression hopeful. “Perhaps they can help you make up your mind.” At his nod, the henchmen ripped off the masking tape that silenced her father and her best friend, both letting out roars of pain that made her wince. It would’ve lessened the guilt if they stayed silent, so their last words wouldn’t be begging her for their life.

Her gaze cautiously crept up to her father first, her heart nearly breaking at the sight of him. He looked older than usual, his face weary and tired, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “Sofia,” he addressed her with a small smile. “Darling.” And that was when she knew that she could never physically bring herself to kill her father.

"Daddy, no." She shook her head, tears falling quick and fast. "Don’t say anything more. Please."

His smile did not falter as he looked at his daughter fondly. “I am an old man. I’ve been happy with my life. I married the love of my life, I am the father to a beautiful young woman, I’ve succeeded in my career. I’ve experienced the world, mon petite. Your friend—” William looked over to his left at Gabe, offering his terrified companion an understanding smile. “—Gabriel has a whole life ahead of him, and I know he will do great things. Do not take his future from him.”

"No - no, Daddy. Stop. I - How can you expect me to k-kill my own father?" 

"I will not be angry at you, Sofia. Be strong, ma fille.” William Astor seemed terribly at peace facing death in the face, and Sofi knew that the slight trace of fear she spotted was fear for the inevitable loss of his daughter’s innocence. 

With difficulty, Sofi tore her watery gaze from William and looked at her best friend, a gesture he took as a cue to speak. She wondered how he managed to stay quiet for so long.  

At first, he did not acknowledge her, shooting a dirty glance first at the man holding a gun to his head and then at the boss in the corner. “I am giving you one and only one chance to release us unharmed. There will certainly be repercussions, but they will be much more severe if you bring harm — physical or mental — to any of us. I advise you to put down your weapons,” he announced loudly, dark eyes blazing. This only earned him a jab on the head from the butt of the gun facing him.

"Did you not understand any of what I just said? You just harmed me! There will be consequences from your actions. Do you know who my mother is? Do you know who I am?” In a lighter situation, Sofi would’ve laughed. “If the words Lister & Co. don’t hold any weight for you, allow me to elaborate. My mother heads an international law firm whose ratio of successful cases has remained unrivalled and unbeaten for the past one hundred and thirty years. We have ties to the government, and I can guarantee you that there are members of the law enforcement searching for us right now. If you value your lives, you will release us.” When no one seemed to be taking his threats seriously, Gabe decided to take another approach. “If it’s money you want, I have loads of it! Name your price!” 

This only elicited a laugh from the leader. “I advise you to start appealing to your friend, as she chooses your fate, before I put a bullet in your mouth myself.”

Only now did Gabe look at Sofi, and she tried her best to convey a sorry look in her eyes. He did not ramble as he often did. Perhaps he was aware of the delicacy of the situation. “Sofi, please. You heard your father. I can’t - I can’t die now. Think rationally.” Gabriel was no master on emotions, but even he knew that the bond between father and daughter was stronger than most friendships.

While he spoke, Sofi had been shaking her head vigorously, and when she looked up again, she could barely look at him. “Gabey, he’s - he’s the only person I have left.”

"You have me. I’ll always be there for you, Sofi,” he stressed, attempting to mask the notes of impatience and panic that were creeping into his voice.

Sentimentalities like that usually soothed her, but she was still shaking her head back and forth, cheeks apple-red and glistening. “I can’t kill my own dad, Gabe,” she stated, her voice small but firm as she tuned out her father’s protests. 

Gabe’s cheeks puffed as he let out a frustrated breath. She just needed a little more convincing… “Sofi—” The words died in his throat as his best friend’s trembling arm rose, the gun aimed at his head. The room was deathly silent. “…Are you sure?” he whispered softly, trying to make her doubt herself.

Sofi only nodded in response, her finger trembling over the trigger. She was shaking so hard her entire body seemed to have the chills. Gabe visibly gulped, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"I’m really sorry, Gabey."

Fuck, he nearly fell over. Staggering to keep up, he knocked on the door. Or tried to, at least. Either way, he was making enough noise for Kat to come outside and at least check what it was, which she eventually did, quite obviously tired from either sleeping too much or having never slept at all. He couldn't really tell. But, then again, in his current frame of mind he could barely tell left from right. Leaning on the doorframe, he fell inwards a little when the door opened, letting out a far more elongated than necessary "Woooah," before looking up and meeting the now somewhat-infuriated looking eyes of a certain Katherine Silver with his own, which were glassy with a certain sparkle that reeked of unapologetic happiness. Not the real kind, of course. If it was the real kind it wouldn't have left behind more empty bottles than could be counted on its way over here, would it? Either way, it was a release, and a well needed one for Riley. Drowning out the ups and downs of a rollercoaster he was longing to get off of, but for some reason just couldn't. But, obviously, in that moment, Kat didn't exactly share his sentiment. 

"Riley?! What the fuck? You're... Just fucking get in here!" The tone of anger in her voice was evident as she glared down at him, both trying and failing to stifle a giggle as he entered the room. He didn't even remember why he'd come to Kat's house in the first place -- it just felt the right place to go. He couldn't really have gone home in this state, and everyone else was asleep. Well, so was Kat -- until he'd rudely awoken her. But damn would she be pissed. In an entirely different way to the way in which he was pissed. Polar opposite, in fact. Hah! Polar bears. Weren't they cute? With their little beaks and things... Or was that penguins? Fuck, he was too wasted for this. 

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?!" She glared down at him. The hurt in her eyes was obvious but he didn't want to realise it. Or the alcohol didn't let him. Either way, he only snorted -- a gesture that was possibly intended as a laugh? -- before collapsing into the sofa behind him.

"Anything you want, Kat," he managed to say, the words almost as slurred as his thoughts in that moment as he tried not to hurl. Oh, fuck, he was going to, wasn't he? No! No, not on the-- Great. All over the expensive-looking rug -- well, not so expensive looking any more, but that was part of the problem. If she wasn't going to kill him before, she definitely was now. Slowly and painfully and probably involving parts of his body he really didn't want to think of someone torturing. 

"Riley! For fucks sakes, get the fuck off of my couch. Now!" He got up, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. He didn't feel good, and he was halfway sure that he'd puke again in the next few minutes. Hold it in, Riley, or she will not hold back. The room was a blur and he was pretty sure he was going to have to hold onto the floor to stop himself from sliding off of the Earth pretty soon, but he tried to mentally focus the image of Kat -- or Kats, since it seemed that Kat had invited her twin around. And also that they were both pretty pissed at him. Wait, why was--?

His thought was cut off by a sudden outburst from Kat. "Is that a lipstick mark?!" He was in for it now. Fuck, why did she always have to get so goddamned angry? He'd just had some fun. Given, she was his girlfriend, and she had every right to be angry when he turned up on her doorstep at 4am, drunk out of his head and puking on her carpet, but he was far too out of it to even care at that point. He was just getting a little pissed that she wasn't perfectly fine with it. She'd been his first port of call in a moment of need like this -- that alone was something she should be thankful for. Right? Personally, he couldn't quite decide right then whether he'd be thankful if someone woke him up only to violently vomit on his favourite rug, but he sure as hell expected Kat to be. Well, what else were girlfriends for? She could buy another rug if she really liked it that much. 

Returning his attention to the the question that'd been asked of him quite some moments ago, he tried to think of an answer. How did... words work again? Riley closed his eyes for a few seconds, hoping maybe the darkness would help him think. It did, but only vaguely. "Uh, yeah, I think," he said, the words slipping from his mouth like it was an accident and he couldn't quite shape his lips around the ones he really wanted to say. 

"I'm so fucking sick of this, Riley! You can't just--"

"Shut up! I'm... I'm so sick of you telling, tell...ing me what to do, Kat!" Wrong move. Fuck. This wasn't going to end well. Actually, when was this ever going to end well? He and Kat were a fire that was quickly running out of fuel: damned to end in destruction. Either way, it was going to end even more badly than he'd originally thought now. She was pissed, and he was pissed in every sense of the word. 

"You know what? This," she gestured between them, eyes blazing with fury at the fact that he'd had the audacity to even think of saying something that wasn't a heartfelt apology, "is over. It's fucking done, Riley! You and me? Never happening again, alright?! So shove that up your ass, y--"

The sound was loud. Heavy, even. It silenced the room. The ticking of the large clock in the corner of the room was the only thing that reverberated through the sudden quiet as both of them tried to understand what'd just happened. He hadn't hit her that hard. Well, Riley thought as much, at least. Her hand lay on her cheek, eyes brimming with tears of pure and lethal anger as she glared back at him, the rise and fall of her chest becoming visible as he tried to comprehend what exactly he'd just done. God, if time had been flying before then now it'd slowed down to an excruciating speed, and in Riley's barely conscious mind it was like the world was nearing a close. If that was possible, at all. It was then than it came to him that he and Kat were like a broken CD. Always so goddamn...

Thump. The soft darkness enclosed over him again -- this time not of his own choice -- and took him away, far from the land of vomit stained rugs and screaming girlfriends. His body lay limply against the bottom of the couch, dangerously close to the puddle of vomit, the peaceful expression on his pale face letting on nothing about what the real circumstances of the situation were. A light pallor had settled over his skin. The hand that'd slapped her lay beside him, the twenty or so tattoos that ran up and down his arms contradicting his various commitment issues. It wouldn't always be like this. Or maybe it would. And that was all anyone would ever know.

And I built a homefor youfor me

Soft footsteps and drops of water dripped onto the dark hardwood floors, nothing but calm silence echoing through the hall as Katherine stepped into the living room, towel wrapped around her glistening body. The living room was quite possibly her favorite room, aside from the master of course. Memories of 2 months ago flashed across her head, back to the time when Katherine and Cole had decided to buy a place together.

Of course they’d decided to start their search in Kensington, as Billionare Row was the only place Katherine and Cole would ever consider living in. And upon setting eyes on one particular penthouse, they’d fell in love. Much like they had with each other. She’d still remembered their bickering when they’d decorated, Katherine insisting the Prada inspired art piece was to go on that side of the room. Flash forwarding a week, the two were dresses in their worst clothes, old Asteria T-shirts and ripped shorts. Cole had not wasted any time to splatter paint on her, a gigglish scream as what had been planned as a wall painting session turned into a paintbrush fight between the two of them, which later resulted in a warm bath together, which by the way, was Katherine’s favorite part. 

As if the 2 months flashed by her eyes, Kat smiled slightly, her blonde locks falling just beneath her shoulders as she walked into the room and stood in front of Cole. The smile was replaced by her hands on her hips, head tilting to the side in frustration. “Cole, we got home an hour and a half ago. How long does it take to wear a suit?” She accused, crossing her arms as he turned around. 

He turned around, adjusting his tie as his lips fell into their signature smile, a hand on her cheek. “This is Versace, babe. Looking this good takes time.” Kat only rolled her eyes at him, fixing his tie for him before pecking his lips. 

"Mhm, well, you better get looking good faster if you want to make it as our best-friends’s wedding guests." She teased, feet sliding as she walked towards the kitchen. 

A loud noise erupted from down the hallway, a laugh coming to both of their faces as he walked in, champagne class in hand and already plad in tuxedo. “Who’s ready to party bitches?!”

"Well, if it isn’t the next Bill Gates." Cole asked as the two exchanged a hug before he made his way over to Katherine and she kissed his cheek before stealing his bottle. 

Gabriel grinned, checking his watch and shaking his head at Cole and Kat who weren’t dresses yet. “What were you two, fucking or something? Sof is going to kill us.”

The three laughed, just as a phone call rang throughout the house, from none other than Riley. “Where the fuck are you all? Sofi is going all Martha Stewart on me. Kat, you’re the celebrity event planner here, remember?” He spoke, Sofi’s yells directed towards them being heard in the distance. 

It hit her like ton of bricks, leaving her gasping for breath and her legs slightly wobbly. Sofia’s hazel gaze flicked up to the clock in the corner of the classroom. 2:57 pm. That was when the mysterious, foreboding sense of dread hit her with gusto, spreading from her chest to her limbs, quickly numbing her whole body. She wasn’t usually superstitious, but something felt wrong. Perhaps she sensed in the air or the weather, but somehow she knew. Something horrible had happened.

The moment the clock struck 3, Sofi was up and out of the door already, books in hand. Her mind raced along with her feet, formulating her next move. She’d head to her dorm, depositing her books and calling her father first. Yes, she needed to make sure he was okay. But as her feet turned the corner to the next corridor, all her thoughts suddenly came to a sharp halt, the plans concerning her father dissipating into thin air. For in the center of the hallway stood a small crowd of students and teachers, all surrounding something — or someone — on the ground. Their faces were grim as one teacher spoke urgently into a phone. Sofi’s eyes widened at the scene, pulse spiking. No, her mind echoed fearfully as her feet brought her forward.

Then she saw it — the distinguishing feature. The blonde quiff, just visible between the onlookers’ feet. “NO!" And this time she screamed it out loud, breaking into a run. The crowd parted for her as if she were Moses and they were the Red Sea, giving her a perfect, tragic view of Cole Bradshaw sprawled awkwardly on the ground, a yellow prescription bottle just falling off his fingertips. Her books fell to the ground with a large crash, although Sofi was deaf to it. It seemed as if they were the only two people in the world, trapped in a private bubble, although one was quickly dying. "No,” she said again, although it came out a whisper as she sank to the ground next to him. “Please… Cole…”

Tears blurred her vision as her hands grappled weakly at his chest, trying to locate his erratic heart beat. His breath was shallow and stank of liquor. For a moment, she was angry. Just who did he think he was getting wasted on a Friday afternoon during class time? “So stupid,” she choked out, eyes still shining brilliantly as she lifted his head up, desperate for his fluttering eyelids to open up. “I told you you’d end up killing yourself.” One hand reared back, slapping his hollow cheek. “Please! — wake up!” She slapped him again. “Why are you—” Her sentence dissolved into sobs as she cried into his chest, hands grabbing fistfuls of his silk Prada shirt. Her salty tears left dark stains on the fabric, something he’d certainly complain about if he were alive…

No. He was still alive, although she was aware that his life was slipping away. No one had to tell her; the morose looks on her peers’ faces were enough. “Don’t leave me.” Slim shoulders shook with grief as she slumped over him. Guttural noises that resembled a wounded animal forced their way from her throat. She looked like a wreck, but Sofi didn’t care. All she cared about was holding on tight; maybe, just maybe, if she held him tight enough, she could sway him from the edge back to the land of the living.

The soft whisper barely made it to her ears, for her crying was too loud, but when a trembling hand touched her shoulder, hazel eyes snapped open and she lifted her head hesitantly. “Cole!” His hand wavered in the air, seemingly ready to fall again, but Sofi hurriedly grabbed it before it could, clutching it tightly between both of her own. His eyelids fluttered halfway open, revealing those stunning blue irises, although now they were glazed over. Already Cole seemed to be in a different world, a world separate from their own. She cried out his name again, choking on her tears. In the distance, she could hear the muted but distinctive sirens of an ambulance on its way. “Please, just hold on. You can do it… Just a little longer.” Her cheeks were ruddied and wet as she stared lovingly, mournfully at his face, attempting to memorize every last detail before it was too late.

"Sofia." At the sound of her name, whispered in a hoarse, weak voice, she clutched his hand tighter, willing him to fight the impeding death. If he could just stave it off until the ambulance came, then perhaps he had a chance. "What is it, Cole?" she asked, vision overflowing with tears. She curled in her lips, blinking rapidly and leaning closer to him. "What is it?"

His dry lips parted slightly, and then — “I - I’m sorry.”

Sofi’s heart sank at his words and the last, long, shuddering breath that followed. Simultaneously, his eyelids fell shut and his hand relaxed within her own. But she wouldn’t let go. Letting go would mean facing the truth… That he was truly, irrevocably gone. “No! No Cole… no… please don’t…. I - I.” She was blubbering like a baby, desperately trying to revive him, but it was all in vain. When they tried to take him from her, speaking about “treatment” and “pumping his stomach,” she would not let go. She already knew that anything they tried would be useless, for her heart, which had once been a storehouse for love and hate, courage and fear, excitement and uneasiness, felt empty, hollow, its store of emotions gone with the boy that had caused them.

A debate. Obviously. Both halves of the uncompromisingly stubborn duo were slaves to debate, and what was a debate without a desire to win? This desire had, so eloquently, translated itself into what they found themselves tangled amidst in this moment. A kiss practically ripping at the seams with passion -- not for each other, as such (but, then again, in moments like this, can you really tell?) -- with maybe even some rogue fury mixed in. God, it felt good. It felt like all of the statistics and logical refusals that usually came pouring out of Gabriel's mouth were emptying themselves into him, filling his chest with geometric patterns he couldn't redraw if he had a ream of tracing paper and an infinite amount of pencil lead. There, in the (now) empty classroom, leaning a hand against the desk behind him, Riley was just a little bit confused. Kissing Gabe wasn't like kissing Cole at all -- Cole was... soft, snarky but submissive. Gabriel, however, was entirely different. It seemed like the need to control had wrapped the two up and pushed them together. Stalemates were a bore, and, obviously, this was the only way to settle an argument that, otherwise, would've hung in the stagnant air of the classroom like an acrid taste in the back of both of their throats. 

It was hot. That was undeniable. Riley let his mouth spill over him like an ocean filled with salty rocks and soft waves -- he wanted Gabriel to drown in this, in them. If you'd have asked him about heaven right then there would have been a substantial chance that he'd have said Gabriel's name -- lust was a terrible thing. Terrible, terrible and truly terrifying. As the other boy's hands made love to his shoulder blades under the thin canopy of his shirt his own fingers trailed down the gentle bend of his spine, lips moving down to the soft skin of his neck.

Bites and hickies and caught breaths and words that never escaped the larynges of the two were all that remained as they both pulled away. Breathing was heavy and fuck what was going on? Riley's rapid descent back to reality felt strange -- had that just really happened, or was it just some strange fantasy that'd gotten a little too vivid? Either way, it'd been an enjoyable experience. Looking down into Gabe's hazel-y brown eyes he smirked, running his fingers through the other's hair for what he guessed would be the last time. He smirked. That smirk. The one he always, always wore when he felt smug as fuck. Which was, admittedly, quite a lot of the time.  

Cold day. It was a cold day -- misty, with soft grey clouds floating lightly over the buildings below, hovering precariously above them. Maybe even teasingly. It'd rain later, he just knew it. Gentle choruses of shivers raced their way up and down his spine as he adjusted his collar, taking in a deep breath to steady the racing beat of his heart to something less arrhythmic. He was having heart palpitations -- well, that was a fucking first. Nerves weren't something he often got the chance to feel, and as much as he could try and convince himself it was an interesting sensation that he should enjoy, if not only for the sake of being new and interesting, he eventually decided -- or rather, conceded -- that it was the concept of nerves that he liked much more than the actual thing. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone but himself, of course. He'd barely been able to let go of his ego enough to say it to himself. He was scared. No, not scared -- fucking terrified. And no, it wasn't thrilling, nor romantic, or heart-wrenchingly, soul-crushingly fulfilling a feeling. It was just plain fucking terrifying, and he didn't like it at all. It made him feel more goddamn vulnerable than he'd ever been in his life, which would only make what he was about to do later all the more meaningful. Not that anyone'd know it. 

It'd been years since they'd met. And it'd have been wrong to call it anything but a fucking rollercoaster. He could only hope that this was the bit before they went further up, and not the peak before they came crashing down to near-oblivion. Near. He reminded himself that that word was part of the equation. Inadvertently, he felt his hand slide into his pocket and toy with the velvety box that lay in it, hoping it'd act as less of an anchor, and more of one of those floaty orange things they tossed to kids who'd wandered too far into the ocean. Fitting analogy, kid. 

Eyes wandering across the crowded street, he tried not to let the hustle and bustle distract him from his motive -- Riley'd told Kat to meet him at the pier at 12:30. Checking the bright blue screen of his phone, it read 12:28. She wasn't late. Yet. Walking over to the ice-cream shop nearest to him, he stopped outside, allowing the cool ocean breeze to circle him momentarily before letting his mind drift away, carried by the gentle fingers of memory. This was where they'd shared an ice cream. That ice cream -- the first one after they'd had make-up sex on a Sunday morning when the weather was hot and they'd both wished they were a little bit less sober. Since then, this had been a place avoided. Not consciously, but it just felt wrong to infringe on the memory tied to that place with another, especially when the first was so fragile -- to Riley, at least. But it was all so fragile, wasn't it? Besides, the memory they were about to create would be worth so much more than half-melted bubblegum sorbet that tasted like someone had pumped it chock-full of additives. Or he hoped as much, anyway. 

He didn't sit. He couldn't. Instead, Riley stood next to the giant ice-cream cone that'd been erected outside the shop and waited. Waited, waited, waited. Waited till he was fucking tired of waiting and considered going home. Checking the time once more, a shallow breath escaped his lungs and his fingers itched to reach for a cigarette. 12:31. It'd only been three minutes, but they felt like three of the longest years of his life. 

But, soon the unmistakeable clicking of high heels across the wooden pier saved him from drowning in his own angst-filled anxiety, and a hint of a smile perked at his lips. She was here. His heart swelled. Maybe he should have thought about what he was going to say before the moment had arrived, and a small part of him hoped that she'd know what he was going to say before he even mentioned the words and she'd cry a jubilant 'Yes!' and he'd wake up and it'd all be a comforting dream in a nap after Sunday morning sex. But it wasn't, and she didn't. Instead, her face spoke confusion tinged with a little worry as her fiery blue eyes met his and he tried not to collapse there and then. It was a strange feeling for Riley -- to have given himself up so hopelessly and completely to someone he knew would never had expected it of him. Hell, he'd never had expected it of himself. But, alas, he loved like a cynic, and so the realisation which had come to him a few days prior -- and only a few days prior, which seemed almost terrible now that he reflected on the fact that they'd been 'together' for much longer -- had gradually warmed until he was boiling with the lava of words longing to leave his mouth like he'd never experienced before. The realisation, of course, was that he loved her. The grooves on her palms and the way she flicked her hair out of her eyes when the wind blew it in the wrong direction -- oh god, she'd just done it then -- and everything else. He wanted it all for himself. As soon as the small light bulb in his head had gone off Riley'd been off hunting for engagement rings, which he'd found in a matter of no time, and now... It was really happening. Riley wondered why he'd let it come this far. Obviously, he'd never been one for greys. He loved hard and he hated even harder, and he only took his coffee black, all of which totalled up to a boy in his mid-twenties standing before the woman he loved with not a fucking clue as to what to say. 

Another deep breath went in and out of his lungs. "Riley? Are you okay? Your text was kind of..." She trailed off. The sentence didn't need finishing. Granted, his text had been a little... zealous, you could say. Maybe he'd made it seem like much more of an emergency than it was. 

"No, I'm fine. But listen." He looked her in the eye, brushing a soft blonde strand of hair out of her face, his expression deathly serious. 

"Listening," she said, an eyebrow quirked ever-so-slightly at him. He really was acting strange. 

"I love you." The words were spoken with confidence. A genuine kind, not the cocky indifference he normally radiated. His eyes still didn't leave hers as she smiled, and he hoped she recognised just how hard it'd been for him to say those three words and mean it. 

"Riley, I know, but--" He cut her off, putting a finger to her lips and making a small shushing noise before he caressed her cheek with a finger and took another deep breath. Riley'd been taking a lot of those lately, it seemed. 

Getting down on one knee, he watched as her expression went from mildly confused to more than surprised. A few heads turned inside the shop, and Riley managed to find it within himself to smile. Smile properly, which he didn't do very often -- it was usually smarmy smirks and teasing grins. Pulling the blue velvet box out of his pocket, he leaned an elbow on his knee, and took her hand in his, kissing it, all the while never breaking eye contact with the pair that looked down into his. Opening the box with one hand, he looked from the ring to her, smirking now.