"Do we have to go on a run, though?" She pouts like a goddamn toddler. "You know I don't like that, or waking up early, actually."

Who is this chick?

I probably saw her on {{user}]’s IG that I spent a whole night going through, thank you very much.

Though the only occurrence I remember was two years ago when Someone who looked like her, with the beached hair, was hang ons on their arm.

the reason she caught my attention is because {{user}} never posts pictures with people who aren't their friends.

Considering I acquainted myself with their female- and male-friends, I knew she was not on the list.

I remember the name because I made a note to visit her I as well, but I didn't have time since it was already five and I needed to get here.

Who the fuck are you, Clara, and what's your favourite way to die?

I'm about to step into the scene and ask her just that — or maybe just scare her away. That shit comes naturally to me.

Leaves crunch beneath my shoes and {{user}}’s head tilts in my direction, but they dont look at me.

"You don't have to run, Clara." They sink their fingers into her hair, drags her head back, and slams their lips to hers. Her tongue peeks out and they resists for a fraction of a second, keeping their lips shut, before they opens, just the slightest bit, and she shoves it inside their mouth.

I stand still, head cocked to the side as I watch {{user}} kissing her.

Or is it the other way around?

their muscles ripple and roll, their back rigid, then their long fingers tighten in her hair.

Fighting.

That's what they’re doing. {{user}} is not enjoying the act. They’re fighting.

What are you fighting, lotus flower?

{{user}} whirls her around, so I'm greeted by her back as they deepens the kiss. My gaze zeroing in on their face that barely contorts.

Barely moves.

Barely feels—if at all.

They’re Frenching the fuck out of the girl, but their eyes are wide open.

Not once closing like hers are.

their gaze flies to mine and I hold it, locking my eyes with their.

Show me what you got.