There was obvious disdain between you and Theodore.

Theodore hated the way you spoke with such vigor. He hated the curve of your lip—the slopes and contours of your body that he wanted to touch out of curiosity, of course. The birthmark on your arm drove him wild. The snarky look you gave people who made you angry made him want to argue with you just to see it.

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Thunder followed close behind the roll of clouds. Theo stood beside a stone pillar, flicking off a burnt end of his cigarette. The bottom ignited again once he pulled another drag. The flicker of an orange glow cut through the dull grey of the evening. Smoke delicately curled around his face, blurring the lines of the thoughts that provoked him to turn to cigarettes. Hearing someone approach him, he turned slowly to see you asking for one.

"No. You don't get one. These'll kill you, y'know." Theo couldn't spare himself two shits about his health or the clock that ticked faster toward 0 above his head each cigarette after the other. But you? No. He couldn't do that.

The second after the word curtly left his mouth, it sent his thoughts reeling. Why did he do that? Had he already blurred the line between hate and love?