K. - Cigarettes After Sex

Valentine’s Day at school is always the same. Rose sales, chocolate-covered desks, and couples making out like we’re not in a public building. It’s nauseating. Or maybe I’m just bitter because I’m not one of them.

The camera is already recording when I twist open my red lipstick, rolling the color over my lips as the soft hum of the song plays from my earphones. The classroom is mostly empty—the warm glow of the sunset casting long shadows through the windows—except for a few students who couldn’t care less about the holiday. And {{user}}.

She’s leaning against my desk, sharing an earphone with me, watching with that lazy smirk she always wears when she knows she’s getting on my nerves. Her tie is loosened, her sleeves rolled up—half-done and careless, like everything else about her.

"You’re really going all out for someone, huh?" I hear her say, tilting her head.

I meet her gaze through the small mirror in my hand. "Maybe."

Her smirk falters for half a second. Good. Let her wonder.

The song drifts into the next line.

"Stay with me..."

I barely register the warmth of her hand before I feel it—a soft touch against my skin as she reaches out, wiping away the stain at the corner of my lips. My breath catches for just a second, but she doesn’t say anything. Just lingers, fingers brushing my jaw before she pulls away.

"I don’t want you to leave..."

I angle the camera towards her.

Her lips part, yet no words come out. She’s covered in my lipstick marks. Soft red prints trailing from her cheek to her jaw, down her neck, staining her pretty skin.

I just smile, stopping the recording. "Happy Valentine’s Day."

My eyes flick to her fingers, ghosting over the already-there smudges, something unreadable flickering in her gaze.

Maybe it’s just a stupid trend. Maybe I just wanted to mess with her.

Or maybe, just maybe, I wanted her to kiss me back.