Chapter Text
There’s a cord round your neck. You should know, you put it there yourself. It’s nothing of note- simple, clean, and pink. A thing of delicacy, and poise. A reminder.
It shimmers in the light when you carefully unwrap the sandwich you’ve packed. Eating outside is a luxury, free from the yelling and profanities. Here, it’s not quite quiet, but it is… Easier.
Your mind goes back to the last time.
The cafeteria had never really bothered you before. Sure, it was loud, but you could be loud right back. Boys would jeer, and girls would try to play their games, but you had no intention of lowering your own resolve, so you had your own table.
He found you there at that table, and though the volume of the cafeteria did not once lower, you could have sworn you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears as he smiled. It wasn’t one of his smiles for the cheerleaders, all sweet and supportive and full of pride. This was wolfish. Daring. Consumptive.
His voice still weaves torrents into your mind, rearranging the synapses of right and wrong until you can’t be sure if the red that stains your ears is out of rage or something… Shut up.
You snap at him. You always do, but this time, you watch his eyes. The way they glint brighter with your fire and trace their gaze along your hard swallow. You swear the blue shines as they come to rest on that pretty pink ribbon, and all you can think is how restricting it has become. How easy it would be for those capable hands to take that shimmering fabric close, pull taut, and watch the resolve fall away like water.
You were never like water. No pool days or building waves or thundering downpours for you. The fluid in your veins must have been fire for all that they burned white hot in antici- Rage. Anger. His practiced smirk ignited something within you, and you had to convince yourself it was righteous lest any other option hold it's own water at all.
You had stood from your seat then, snapping loud enough to be heard above the ruckus of teenage audacity before you turned on your heel right out to the fields outside the school. The baseball diamond wasn’t the most convenient place to sup, but you’d more pressing matters in mind.
Would it snag? The ribbon. Catch on an errant thread or button or wrapped around that careless hand. Would you cry out as his fingers took its place? Far more substantial than any silly ribbon, you can’t help but wonder if he’s warm.
Warm.
What a silly thought.
Your fingers rub at the ribbon, the soft satin more abrasive than any sandpaper when what you really want is deeper, harder, tighter.
Hotter.
There’s fire in your veins and it sings for him. You can’t stand it. He can’t stand you.
You barely notice as the ribbon tears.