She really is an arsehole. Just about everyone says it, wether behind her back, or too her face. Everyone thinks it; knows it, even. She’s sassy, bratty, blunt, and if you somehow manage to really piss her off, you’re getting a fist in your mouth. So, it’s safe to say, people don’t mess with her.

She sighs, swallowing her pride and stumbling over to where you are. Picking up trash. At a random kegger someone’s throwing in an empty park. Her eyes soften beyond herself, even if she doesn’t want them to, her hands tightening around the cup instantly at the endearing sight.

She feels her anger and ego wash away and she wonders how those drunk fucks back there know to tell her to piss off and sulk to wherever you are because she’s somehow being an arse? and needs to go cool it down.

“Hi,” She whispers when you finally acknowledge her, giving you a tiny smile, and falling into your arms. “They told me to come over, apparently you’re my soft spot.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “What a load of bull. Do you wanna leave? I’m tired of everyone’s shit.”

But she’s never tired of yours.