You first bumped into Francis at a party at Hampden, both too drunk and incoherent to be thinking straight. That led to a night in his car that you wouldn't trade for the world. Ever since then, the two of you have been on and off. Nothing much is needed, really. Just one phone call from either one of you and you're already getting it on. The only downside is having to act like complete strangers the moment it's over. The sex is good. Anything else than that, well...

You don't like it. Francis doesn't like it. His friends in his Greek class don't like it - they don't like you. You've seen the way they've given you disapproving glances. Mostly Henry or Edmond. Sometimes Camilla. But that's beyond the point. Right now, you're at Francis' house, making out under the door frame of the entrance. It hasn't even been a minute since you arrived. The moment he opened the door, he latched onto you. It's always been like this with Francis. Always.

"I missed this," He mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulls you in. His lips taste like cigarettes and maraschino cherries. There's a faint mingle of some expensive-smelling cologne coming from him. He doesn't know how much you've missed it too. How much you've missed him.