Let's Play House

"50, 95, 100," I brush through my hair, watching it shine a strawberry blonde colour in the mirror and smirking at it; my hair, no doubt, is to die for. Tittering I pat it down and put my brush back down on the bench, puckering my lips in the mirror and posing. "I love my life."

"You know I like your hair better when you get out of bed, and it's all messy, sticking up everywhere." I jump as I hear a male voice coming from behind me, in my very own bathroom at that. I spin around and glare at the male. He just looks back at me, bored. "Seriously, do you have to spend so much time in the bathroom? I swear to God I've been standing here twenty minutes and you haven't even noticed."

"You." I spit, crossing my arms over my chest and straightening. "What are you even doing here? Do you know I don't need some homeless person, leeching off of me and interrupting me in the bathroom?"

He walks past me and picks up a toothbrush, rolling his eyes and searching the bench for the toothpaste. "I'm not homeless; I live here. Where's the tooth paste?" He checks under things and opens the cupboard underneath, still looking for it before spotting it underneath a pile of hand washers and pulling it out from under.

The hand washers go tumbling down and I grit my teeth. "Are you going to pick those up? You're as good as homeless; I don't even know how my aunt conned me into letting her little next door neighbour stay here."

"Eventually I will pick them up." Is all he says as he squirts the tooth paste onto the brush and runs the water over it, bringing it to his teeth and looking at my reflection in the mirror with raised eyebrows, like what? I roll my eyes at him and nod towards the brush; it isn't even his brush.

He brushes in silence a little more and spits into the sink, looking over his shoulder with a sarcastic look in his eyes. "You can't be serious it's not like he ever used it, he used you and then he was out of here; he didn't waste time brushing his teeth afterwards."

I feel a twinge of hurt and choose to ignore his comments, pretending to brush them off like water under the bridge. I tap my foot and look him over; his pressed, too-short, uneven buttoned shirt showing off his back and stomach, and his pants drooping on his hips.

Screwing my nose up at his clothing I feel the need to let him know his clothes aren't exactly à la mode. "God, did you make that shirt out of a pillow case? Seriously; you walk out of my house like that. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have you do this to me?"

"I don't know if girls like you – who pay five hundred a nail for a manicure – would know this but it's called 'saving money'. I do not want to spend a thousand bucks on a shirt, and get over it; it's a Saturday." He brings the brush back to his teeth and begins brushing them again.

"I do not pay five hundred bucks a nail. And God, still; do not go out of the house like that." I shake my head at him in disgust and walk out of the bathroom and down the pink carpeted hallway. No dress sense, not at all. Or common decency. I mean; Jarred didn't use me...he's just, so sophisticated.

He probably isn't used to feeling such strong feelings for a girl, being so reserved and all that. He got a little scared. There's no shame in that...

And he will be back. Count on it.

Just I'll have to get another toothbrush, I wrinkle my nose at the thought and turn into the kitchen, flicking on the lights and heading for the fridge. I open it and look inside, trying to see what That Male has taken and splurged on. Eyeing my tomato juice suspiciously and biting my lip I come to the conclusion there is, indeed, some missing from the bottle.

I shake my head and grab out the rest of the pancake mix from last night and set it down on the counter, closing the fridge gently behind me. He is such a nuisance. I look around for the frying pan and discover it sitting sparkling on the sink. That Male has actually cleaned something for once in his miserable little life.

Hearing footsteps in the passage way I look over my shoulder as he walks into the kitchen and repeating my previous actions, opens up the fridge. I pick up the frying pan and set it on top of the oven, on one of the little black circles. "Thanks for cleaning something for once. But try not to drink all my tomato juice, will you? God."

"That tomato juice is disgusting." He comments. "Tastes like cold soup. And what are you talking about? I clean all the time."

Clean all the time. Yeah right. Although...he has actually been cleaning stuff lately, since I've been dumped. He doesn't clean everything and still leaves his cups lying around the house most of the time but sometimes he cleans something random and leaves it on the sink...which doesn't really sound like much but for him it's quite an improvement.

I wonder why; perhaps he feels bad?

"How much would that dress you never wear sell for on eBay? It's so useless you should really sell it." He hints not very subtly at me and I glare over my shoulder at him.

No. He's still the same. I bet my aunt told his mum about his treatment of me and these past few days have been pathetic attempts at being a 'better' tenant.

He looks back at me unblinkingly and I roll my eyes, holding my hand out, "I'm not selling my dress. I'm saving it for something special. Can you please get the margarine out of the fridge?"

"Can you please get the stick out of your ass?" He says and doesn't move. Looking down at his fingers I discover grime shoved up underneath every tip of his nails. I make a face.

"No big loss." I comment with a shudder and go to get the margarine out of the fridge when it's shoved in my face. Blinking at it I take it from his hand, my fingers brushing his and making me flinch back quickly as tingles shoot up my arm. That Male gives me a look and raises his eyebrows, and in turn I look away and walk over to the drawers, averting his gaze.

"Thanks," I say grabbing out a knife and pushing the drawer back in, "want some pancakes?"

"Yes." He says almost automatically, closing the door of the fridge. "I love pancakes."

"That explains why some of the batter is gone and the frying pan is clean." I say looking in the bowl with an ahhh right sort of tone, shaking my head. Another reason why he cleaned it. Just so if I found out he had some of my mix I'd get less mad at him. "It all makes sense now, aunt's little next door neighbour."

"My name is Matt. Not aunt's little next door neighbour and definitely not That Male." He says with a little bit of irritation. I hear him pull out a chair and look over my shoulder again, eyebrows raised. He sinks down in the chair, looking at me still.

"How did you know about That Male?" I want to know. Because even though I think it a lot, and call him that to my friends – I've never actually called him it to him. He returns my curious look with a sarcastic one and an even bigger scowl, crossing his arms.

"I hear you muttering about me all the time around the house." He says snidely and picks up a cup full of orange juice from the night before he left on the table and downing it. Sucking in my breath I arch my eyebrows way up at him; can he be any more disgusting?

"God," I half jog over and whack the now half filled cup out of That Male's hands and onto the vinyl, where it comes gushing out of the cup and all over his mismatched socks. "You are unbelievable. Look at you. You drink my tomato juice, my orange juice, eat my pancakes, don't deodorise and you're just a total slob - the only thing good you do is recycle cans and that's because you get ten cents for each one!"

I grab his shirt and pull on it, a button popping off and spinning onto the table top when I do. Picking up the button with my other hand I shove it right in his face. "Your clothes are disgusting and this is just proof and you're hygiene is disgusting and your attitude is disgusting, you're just -you're disgusting!" I give his shirt another little tug before letting go to go grab a cloth for the orange juice.

"I'm giving you a makeover." I say with a nod, walking with determination towards the red and white chequered tea towel. I hear That Male snort behind me as I snatch it up. Ignoring it, I spin around, holding the tea towel up high and throwing it in his almost silently guffawing face. He shuts up. "Now clean the floor."

"Screw that."

I pull my fingers through his hair and am surprised at its softness; he sits cross legged in front of me, frowning bemusedly and complaining every couple of seconds. "What are you doing?" He asks in irritation, although still leaning into my every touch, moving with me.

I find it kind of strange. I test it out, moving my hands to the side and pulling at his loosely curled black locks that stretch down to his colour I feel his head move back to my fingertips once more.

"You like people playing with your hair." I note with a smirk; something he definitely has in common with me, something I never thought possible. He doesn't make a protest although he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers on them impatiently. That Male never wants to look like he's enjoying himself unless the cause of his enjoyment is my torture.

Furrowing my brows I can't seem to find anything I dislike about his hair; it looks, feels and even smells really nice. Despite the rest of him which is decidedly not nice at all. I pull my hands from his hair and lay them on my lap in annoyance. I can always think of things I don't like about something, I'm a fashion critic!

But his hair is, what can I say, pretty? It's almost as pretty as mine.

"Darn." I groan, crossing my arms myself and curling my lip. Matt looks over his shoulder, eyebrows rising curiously and I stare defiantly back at him, refusing to give out my opinion when my opinion is actually commending the guy. His eyebrows just grow a little higher and so, sucking in my breath; I admit defeat. "Your hair; I like it."

He looks a little surprised but covers it up quickly by giving me another eye roll. "Good. Now, if you don't mind; I am going to go walk our dog. It's going to get fat with all the junk you feed it. Seriously, dog lasagne?"

He gets up and grabs Muffy's leash from the hook, shaking his head and then giving yet another eye roll at the leash. I sigh, premeditating his comments. "And what is with this pink thing? God, I have to walk this dog. Pink leash, I don't know." He scoffs and shakes his head, walking out of the house before letting out yet another complaint. "Where are my shoes?"

Oh, his shoes. I forgot about that. I chucked them out because they had encrusted dog crap all over the bottoms for like two weeks and he didn't seem to care or notice. Really, I was doing him quite a favour, if you ask me. Every time I went to the door they smelt real bad.

Tugging on a piece of hair I look away from the door out into the hallway innocently. But it doesn't seem to work, my not answering him. He walks right in the room, eyebrows raised, shaking the leash at me. "Where have you put my shoes?"

Looking at him and shrugging I say, gently, "Why are these things always my fault?"

That Male stares at me like I've said something very stupid indeed. I blink back at him, still tugging at my hair. He grits his teeth and walks a couple of steps closer, looking down at me menacingly. "Shoes." Is all he says.

"Oh...well I uh...I think they are uh..." I tease him, putting on my blankest expression and staring out into space. "Oh! At the tip, yes. That's where."

I beam up at him, deciding to get to my feet when his expression turns murderous. His reading glasses are still on from where he was sitting in front of me, reading one of my magazines out loud and mocking them as I did his hair. But I can still see how his green eyes are burning beneath them.

"How did they get there?" he chides.

"That's a funny story, actually...you see yesterday I saw them hop up, leap out the doggy door and run after the bin, poor guys looked so upset the garbage collector felt sorry for them and put them in the truck. " I say seriously, eyes wide before cracking a smirk. He looks back at me like he wants to hurt me. I roll my eyes at him, "I bought you some new ones aunt's little next door neighbour, they're right next to my pink pair, I mean pairs, of wedges."

He looks at me for a long while before raising his eyes to the heavens. "Whatever, woman."

That Male doesn't even abuse me for 'his old shoes being better'. I raise my eyebrows at his retreating back, watching him in wonder and slightly following him as he makes his way to the back door, swinging the pink leash in his hand as he goes. I stop halfway and wait.

"Bye, Lara," he looks over his shoulder and gives a little wave.

I give a little wave back and when I see him no more, and the door closes – I sit down in my computer chair, cross my legs and bring a finger to my lips; what am I going to do while he's gone?

Standing back I stare at all the piles, eyeing them critically. Between the three sections – okay, not okay and just plain bad – I've colour coordinated all of his shirts, pants etc. When I'm done I'm going to chuck the 'plain bad' pile out, and discuss with him about the 'not okay's.

I'm thinking he needs more colours. Everything he owns is black and like, brown. Maybe I need to take him shopping or something. Or just go without him, it's not like I don't know his size from the labels...but then again; everything he owns is just really baggy. It doesn't do anything for his figure, if he has one that is.

"What the hell are you doing?" I jump out of my reverie and swivel my head to the door. That Male is standing there, staring at me like I'm insane (he does this often, but it's okay; I do it back). He drops the dog leash at the door and storms in, picking up one third of my clothes dividers. "Are you using my model cars to separate my clothes?"

What else are they even there for? They are absolutely useless. They don't even come with lip gloss in the boot like this one my brother got me for Christmas, and none of them are pretty colours. I look back blankly at him and take the time to really look at him and decide that, surprisingly; he does have a figure underneath all of that cotton mess of a shirt.

I can see half of his stomach because of his shirts lack of length, too.

"It's okay I'm only chucking out the clothes, not the cars...and only the ones to the left...and maybe some in the middle...although, what is that horrid one doing in the 'okay' pile? It's entirely too small –" I am cut off in the middle when he picks up his stuff and throws it back in his wardrobe, leaving the 'horrid one' lying on the bed and picking it up to shake it in my face.

"If I don't recall, you gave me this when we were ten." He storms back out with the shirt angrily and I open my mouth, about to say but I was 10 years old when I hear the front door open and slam closed in a matter of seconds. I cross my arms over my chest angrily, feeling like a kid and wanting to have a tantrum. What is his problem?

I am so mad I kick over one of his cheap, plastic chairs and storm out of my house too, after him.

Speeding down the streets, my eyes darting around for black hair, bad clothes and reading glasses; someone steps in front of me, nearly tripping me over. I look up angrily as they steady me and their eyes widen, mouth tilted up at the sides in amusement and I roll my eyes and shove them off. "Get off of me, you're not who I'm looking for."

I shrug their hands off of me and the person lets out a noise of my surprise, and calls out after my retreating back, "Laura, wait – I know I made you angry before."

Oh, it's Jarred. Perfect. Wait – did he just call me Laura? Can't have. Figure of my imagination.

I turn around and smile sweetly, "Sorry didn't really look at you there. How's it going?"

Jarred gives me a sorrowful look, smiling meekly, arms dangling at his sides uselessly. He lets out a huge sigh and opens up his arms, "I'm so stupid; come back for me. I love you."

Staring back at him, I'm surprised to say I am kind of repulsed. I put on a smile and think of what to say, and then That Male rounds the corner and stops, staring at us both and setting his jaw. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows sarcastically. I glare at him before smiling back sweetly at Jarred.

"I'd love to," I say, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. He beams at me and squeezes back, while I look over his shoulder, arching my eyebrows defiantly at That Male and giving him a sweet little smile; told him that Jarred would be back. He just stares, expressionless, back at me.

"Very much so." I say sweetly and Jarred beams even harder, but when I look back to That Male; I discover he is gone. I look around the streets, trying to see through his favourite ice cream store's tinted windows and failing too. Jarred gives me a tap on the shoulder and laughs, and I stare back at him a little annoyed.

"So, are we going back to your place?" His eyes flash and I stare back at him incredulously; is that all he wants from me?

Even more incredulously…

"Okay," I say not a little angrily, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the walk way.

I actually say yes.

We are standing in the door way of my house, and I'm getting more and more nervous; not because of what I'm about to do, more about how Matt is going to react to this. I can hear his steps thundering down the steps as Jarred takes off his scarf and sets it on the coffee table, along with all of Matt and I's stuff. He smirks. "Couldn't stay away from me could you? Come here."

I force a smile and lean up to kiss him when I find my CD player being thrown at his head; my CD player, and that thing is not a bit light in the slightest! That Male stands in the hallway, eyes boring angrily into Jarred's head as the CD player hits it – and he falls to the ground, unconscious.

I stare down at the ground and then look up, staring at Matt and opening my mouth; but all that comes to my mind is the question that I bet is on everyone's, "What the hell did you do that for?"

He just stares back at me, looking angry out of his mind, and kind of confused. "I don't know. I don't know why I did it, Lara, but I feel a hell of a lot better because of it." He storms up to me and punches me in the shoulder, and it's not mind boggling hard but it isn't a light punch either. "Why the hell did you agree to him coming over here?"

"I don't know but at least he doesn't punch me." I rub my shoulder with a hand and haul one punch back with the other, right in the middle of his stomach. His breath exhales and I glare angrily up at him.

"No, he'd be kinder to. At least he wouldn't be hurting you in here." He puts his hand to his heart, and stares at me, appealingly. "He doesn't feel like shit like I do when I hurt you; he doesn't care. I do."

"Oh, you feel like crap do you, when you hurt me?" I laugh in disbelief, holding a hand to my mouth. "Like absolute crap. I bet. I really do."

Honestly, he has to be pulling my leg with this. I force a smirk upon my lips and gaze defiantly back at his furious green eyes. Flashing again, he grabs me by the shoulders and backs me into the wall, as I struggle against him, kicking out with my legs; I manage to give him a good kick to the shins. But he still doesn't let go of me, just steps on my foot really hard.

"God, you're an ass." I growl and cork his thigh with a knee, making him stumble back a little. That Male stares at me, and then his gaze lowers to my lips. My heart skips a beat and I widen my eyes. Is he about to do what I think he's about to do? I struggle against him, trying to wriggle my shoulders out of his grasp and to no effect. Bored of trying, I find myself staring at his lips. "Matt, what are –"

I feel a groan from in the room, and look down to see Jarred coming to. Groggily he raises his arms to his head and groans again before peeking sideways, spotting our feet so close together, and looking up. Jarred rolls his eyes. "I knew it. I knew you were in love with this loser."

What? He thinks I'm in love with That Male? That Male? Oh this is too funny. Bringing my hands to my lips I let out a stream of giggles, laughing at his comment. It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and what does That Male think of this? I bet he's repulsed. I look up, expecting to find Matt looking at me in disgust, but instead he's silent and expressionless, not looking at me.

Feeling a little like everyone has missed the joke that only I seem to be getting from both of their completely blank faces, I arch my eyebrows and snort, "You can't be serious, can you? I mean look at his clothes, and he never does his laundry can you imagine? I even have to –" but none of them seem to be getting my point, and Matt's hands drop from my shoulders.

"God, you're an even bigger moron than him," Jarred laughs derisively, raising a hand in Matt's direction lazily, "at least he knows he's in love with you. You don't even realise your own feelings and you play wife and husband every day – you want to know why I broke up with you? Because you two were making me sick with all of that locked up sexual tension –"

"Shut the hell up." Matt spins around to face him, and his fists clench. But Jarred, despite being previously unconscious because of him, doesn't look in the least scared. He just smirks at Matt, who seems to be getting angrier, and angrier by the second. I just stare, a little numb, what is Jarred talking about? Why is he being so mean? He's making That Male upset. "Just shut up."

Wife and husband? I didn't play wife and husband with him did I? I don't even know what he means by that, and what feelings? Why does he think Matt is in love with me, when Matt is so clearly not; look at him, he's shaking he's so mad about what he's been wrongly accused of. It's making me want to shake and get all angry, too. I'm the only one who's allowed to upset him.

Jarred just lets out a laugh and covers his mouth, shaking his head. "Too funny. Hey but Laura," he looks at me, eyes twinkling, "we can still has some fun before I leave, okay? I won't tell Matt."

I'm about to point out that Matt's in the room, kind of irately, because of what I thought would be a coming together of a new, more mature relationship he is calling fun. Only I don't really want to do that anymore, now that he's shown his true colours. But I don't get to point anything out, because That Male gets violent on him again, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

"Her name is Lara, and you are not touching her." Matt says a-matter-of-factly.

Sick of being picked on, and having other people stick up for me especially when I can stick up for myself I say bitterly, "I can stick up for myself, you know, Matt…" and after a moments silence, he lets go of Jarred's collar and walks away, into the hallway and into his room, slamming his door behind him. I flinch at the noise of it.

"So how about it, Laura?" Jarred wants to know, winking at me.

"Get out." I say, and point to the door and he pouts at me, looking like a kid who's lost his lollypop, only I can see the humour in his eyes; he thinks Matt being mad is something really funny. "Now."

"Your loss…have fun, playing wife." he says, and without another word, exits the house. As he closes the door gently behind him I sink to the floor, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. Playing wife? Since when have I ever…except for I do his laundry, I cook him food I…buy him new shoes, and I whine at him for stupid little things that don't even matter. Except that they do, to me. But apparently not to him although even if he complains about my complaining it's not like he ever stops me from complaining…

Just like we're – just like we're already married. But no. No, this isn't what it's like…I mean, I have plenty of stuff to do while he's gone, it's not like I wait for him or anything. I completely organized his whole wardrobe until he chucked it back in there, messier than it was to begin with. I do lots of things while he's gone and I'm not at work –

I go out with my friends and I…complain about him to them…and then I, I walk the dog some mornings when I'm off work and he has idiotically forgotten his lunch that I made him…and, Oh my God. What is wrong with me? What is wrong with us?

Everyone's been saying it. How can I not have picked it up by now, the psychotic way we've been going about, acting around each other and even without each other there? People are always saying 'you two bicker like an old married couple' or 'so, how long have you two been together' or 'you two make such a cute couple'. When we're not. We're not together, we're not a couple.

But we act like we are, and like it's been that way for ages. It has to stop. I bring my fingers to my mouth, and for years and years after beating that habit; I start to chew on them, nervously. And then, saving my nails from this terrible plight, a shining beacon presents itself in their place.

I spot Jarred's scarf, lying innocently on the coffee table.

I stir the pumpkin soup in the saucepan and stick my finger in it, tasting it and wrinkling my nose. It needs just a hint of…pepper, or something. That Male likes it when I put pepper in the soup, otherwise he complains all the way while shaking it in himself, and then some after. I grab the pepper off the spice rack and start shaking a little into the saucepan before I realise…

"Where's Jarred?" Matt wants to know.

…I'm doing it again. I feel my cheeks going pale, and I turn my head in That Male's direction, really looking at him this time. His hair is a little disheveled and a scowl is upon his lips, he's changed into his pajamas already. He's walking around half-naked in my house, in boxers. Feeling my cheeks turn red I turn back to the stove and mix the soup around a little to distract myself.

"I told him to go away, stupid." I say, as if it were obvious. Everything is a little awkward between us, and I know we're both remembering what Jarred said about us, that we're in love with each other. Because no way else would he be being quiet, we'd be arguing if we weren't so awkward. "Pumpkin soup okay?"

"It's okay," he concedes, and I can feel his gaze on me, and the fact that he's just a little way behind me. I take the wooden spoon out of the saucepan and stare at it, as if it can give me answers, answers to questions that I don't even know why are coming to me; if nothing going on between us, and if neither of us feels anything, then why are we both being so quiet? "Did you screw up the paper shredder?"

"What? No." I lie and then up it comes again in my head; bickering like a married couple? I bite my lip and shrug. "I mean yes; I put Jarred's scarf through it and…I'm sorry, I'll buy you a new one."

Be nice. Don't argue. Avoid sounding like a married couple.

"Better. Did you put pepper in it this time because last time you didn't and –"

"I put pepper in." I say quietly, trying my hardest not to get irritated. I mean it was that one time, apart from all of the other times I forgot. I mean.

I don't know what I mean, actually. I usually put it in and that's all that matters. He should be grateful that I'm even making the soup. Pumpkin soup, too, which is his favourite soup. Not my favourite. Mine is tomato and you get that from a can so it's so much easier but with this I make it proper because he doesn't like canned pumpkin soup.

"Did you put enough of it in because sometimes you don't put enough in." He reminds me and I press my lips together, not being able to talk, save I blow up at him for his complaints. Nodding in silent answer I put the spoon down and dip my finger in again, trying it once more. Tastes good enough to me. "That's disgusting; do I really want your germs in my soup?"

…

It's like he's trying to aggravate me on purpose. Turning off the stove I pick up the saucepan and look for somewhere to set it, "I suppose not, I'll keep that in mind," I say, cool as you please, walking briskly past him, trying to avoid looking at him as to keep from wanting to rip off a limb. I put the pot on wooden board I don't remember setting on the table, yet it's there. "Sorry."

"I got that there for you while you were stirring, does it take that long to stir out all the lumps you get in your soup, or something?" he wants to know and I, breathing deeply, lift my hands from the saucepan and go to get a ladle, barely refraining from even rolling my eyes. "What's wrong? Are you still upset about that jerk?"

Ignoring him, I pull out the drawer and grab the ladle, about to walk past him when he lets out another. Freaking. Complaint. "Do you have to have pink everything? What is up with the ladle, it has little hearts all over it. What if I invite some mates over one day and they catch a look at all of this? They're never going to –"

Bringing my arm back, I smash the ladle on top of his head where it snaps in half and the front of it falls to the ground. It's inevitable. We act like an old married couple, and there's no denying it. I can't even change it for the life of me because I'd never be able to put up with all his stupid comments without saying something back. I can't help it.

"Oh my God, way to go now how are we supposed to get the soup –"

And I can't help liking him even though he's stupid, annoying, lazy and rude, "Matt? Shut up." I grab his t-shirt and pull his head down to my level before, going up on tiptoes; I place a chaste kiss upon his lips and feel my heart let out one massive BA-DUMP. Matt melts, though, as soon as my lips touch his.

I feel his arms encircle me, and his lips press back against mine. My eyes flutter closed, and I start to see stars, and rainbows and all kinds of sparkling, pretty things. Birds tweet, and choirs sing, things that I've never felt before until I placed my lips upon That Male's, I am feeling. I don't know why I haven't kissed him before; it sure shuts him up that's for sure.

But all too soon, he leans away, looking at me. "I love you."

My face goes red, along with my feeling of intense pleasure, pleasure that I'm sure I wouldn't have felt until this day, had I found out that Matt's in love with me. I feel like running away a little bit, but a lot more I want to stay right where I am, with his arms wrapped around my waist and his lips just centimetres still from mine.

"I love you too…"

xoxoxoxox

Sorry I don't update as much as usual. Like I said; busy. I'll try and get the next chap up of cupid soon, and the new prologue too. Bai!