eros :: [clifford]

δώδεκα; twelve

"You've got your arrows...Why've you got your arrows?"

"Hush, Pan."

__________

"Where've you been?"

"Um, what?" Mila looks up and around. It's 8:30 and campus is quiet because she's in the art room blowing off steam.

It's been weeks since her sisters came to visit.

It's been weeks since the kiss.

The festival has, since they left, completely consumed her life.

She hasn't even had time to think about Michael.

Not even a little.

Okay...Maybe a little.

Only a little.

"It's really not like you to ditch class," Michael says, pulling out the chair beside her and taking a seat. She's listening to Panic! At The Disco tonight, and he forgot to bring cookies. "Where the fuck've you been?"

"How'd you know I was in here?"

He rolls his eyes.

As if that's even a question.

"Where've you been? You haven't been in class."

Mila rubs her eyes tiredly. "Planning the festival," she yawns. "That's where."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's it?"

He laughs. "What'd you expect me to say?"

Honestly, he's just happy she's got a legitimate excuse as to why she's ditched. He's happy that she hasn't purposefully been ignoring him.

Y'know, since the kiss and all.

Mila shrugs. "Y'know, I don't know, really...I think I'm just so used to you being obnoxious at every opportunity, hearing you like this is kinda-"

"Hearing me like this?" Michael laughs. "What'm I like, Mila?"

"I dunno..." 

"Yeah, right."

"Sweet, then."

"Sweet?" 

"Yeah," she turns the charcoal between her fingers. "Like, you sound like you kinda care, or whatever," and she wrinkles her nose at the sight of his little grin. "But, shut up, because I wasn't just giving you a compliment."

"Really? 'Cause I totally just heard you compliment me."

"Shut up, I did not."

"You think I'm..." He sticks out his tongue, "sweet." 

Mila chokes on a fake gag. "Do not."

"You think I'm hot, too."

"Eew. You're so not hot."

"Did that hurt? 'Cause I heard lies were physically painful to tell."

And Mila bursts out laughing. 

"You're so weird," she grins.

Michael lifts his eyes to hers. "This is weird," he says, a smile playing upon his very red lips. "Isn't it?"

"What's weird?"

"This," he says. "Us. Talking."

Mila lifts a brow. "Talking?"

"Yeah. And like, not going at it."

"You want us to go at it?"

"I mean-"

"Because, I can go at it" she grins, "Fuckin' idiot."

"Hey," he laughs, "shut the hell up."

"Make me."

"Pshh," he says, "that's easy."

"Easy?" Her head snaps back. "What the hell's easy, Clifford?"

"When you're naturally good at everything," he turns his hat backwards, "everything's easy to me, Mila."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Idiot."

"Perfectionist."

"Dumbass."

"Mila."

She sticks out her tongue. "That's my name, don't wear it out."

He chuckles. "You're a child."

"You're a bad influence."

Michael leans towards her. "Obviously."

And without pause or hesitation, he closes the distance separating them, pressing a swift kiss upon her full lips. 

She scoots closer, eyes closing as she experiences, for a second time, the kiss that had kept her up for the past few nights with the boy who preoccupied her constant thought. 

He pulls away, not knowing how far she felt like taking things. 

She pecks his lips again, not wanting things to end just yet. 

"Michael?" 

He lifts a pierced brow. "Yeah?"

"You know..."

"I know...?"

"Ha. You're a pretty good kisser."

"You should find out how good."

___

"Nice shot. Are we done here?"

"Have patience. We aren't finished ... not yet."