Inferno

twenty two | the wounded equation

Beyond fluttering eyelashes, I take in the familiarity of him. We're locked in an embrace of sorts, with my hands lingering on his abdomen and his on my waist, toying with the sequins on my top and snaking his way into my mind's irrationalities, stimulated by his sight and set on fire with a mere touch of his icy fingers. I'd like to think Chase is pleasantly unaware of such facts, but those twitching eyes and the crooked smile are enough of a tell tale of how calculative he's being of every move, of every feet of distance he's covering, only to gloat at the standstill of the tight rope we're on, where a step closer or apart will set the entire tone of us. If there's any to begin with.

"What are you doing here?" Bold, after having asked and answered it so many times I can't even keep account of. I'm least bothered of the explanation of it, yet it only seems fair to give him a chance before it comes down to the damned destiny.

"It's a diner, so take a guess," he shuffles on to the other side of the line, the only thing remaining with me being the feel of his hold on me, but capable enough of leaving me a jittery mess. "It might surprise you that everyone and everything doesn't revolve around you, Leia Callahan. Maybe try and take a look around to get a hunch."

I scoff, as though that'd shirk my actual reaction to his stabs and protect the damage of it, already visible in the stingy corners of my eyes. "You know, I don't want to deal with this right now. I don't have to," biting on my lip to avoid the tremble, I instead take on to whisk myself away with rickety feet, swiping at the one tear that fell unshed.

"Oh, colour me surprised, you're running away from confrontation. Of course, if I didn't know... nah, if the fool I was back then didn't know any better, I would think it's me, something I've done." Don't go there, Chase. "Gladly, that clown's gone and I can affirm that all of your shit's on you and save myself five pegs of scotch and soda to get there. That's right, that growth is all because of you, and you're the only one I've got to thank."

Scotch and soda. I've never had any, yet I can mimic the experience of it with the burn in my throat whilst I try swallowing all that he's got to get out. Stuck at a spot, my back faces him while I dare to glance over my shoulder, only to find his figure replaced by another in a similar shirt, loose jeans, dirty sneakers, and a replicated accusatory smile.

"Where were you? I've been looking all over, ghost," Harvey comes walking, a keg of mineral water pressed to his chest and his eyes curtained by a chunk of hair blown to his forehead by the wind. "You seem weird, everything okay?"

"Yeah," I mutter too soon, but luckily he's not one of the people who can look through my abated breaths and false smiles. I guess I haven't yet shared that chest constricting pain with Harvey for him to be one of them. "Took you long enough to get me water," I grab one off his hands, taking a long swig to shoo away the raspiness of my voice, and the small lump in my throat refuting to leave, still.

"Well, the bartender was Korean, and he misunderstood me and took me to the staff storeroom to try and sell me hash... let's leave it at, it got very weird," chuckling, he looks at me and then beyond. "Naina looks like she's trying to drunk dial our boss. I better go see before the rest join in, they'll cost me my upgraded air filter cabin," he steps forward, slings an arm round my shoulders and for a minute we can play pretend to be standing by the sidelines, watching the Falcons' cheerleader fights and take our pick at who's the bitchiest of them all. Despite of the nostalgia of it, I can't help feeling taken aback, looking at him with my mind running unleashed. He notices, stops and observes me. "Harvey, what just..."

"You've got a stray eyelash on your nose," he says, and before I can gauge a reaction to it, he swipes it off, his fingers lightly brushing across my cheeks. "Wait, you didn't want a wish, did you?"