Juliette

six

ᴛᴡᴇʟғᴛʜ ᴏғ ᴀᴘʀɪʟ | ɴɪɴᴇ ᴏ' ғɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴍ

William was still slightly sober when Juliette had told him he was broken; so apart from being high, he was also—undoubtedly—confused. He had no idea why anyone would ever think he was broken, seeing as that kind of presumption usually happens after a century or so and usually by a friend.

Juliette had only met him roughly two hours ago, and she was most definitely not his friend.

"Why'd you say that?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.

"What?" Juliette asked, holding her head up from where it was propped in the nestle of her arms. She had long ago abandoned her coffee and had even pushed aside William's litter, to make some space for her to rest her head.

"That I'm broken," William said. "Why'd you say I was broken?"

Juliette looked at him for a moment before sighing. "Beautiful people have a tendency to sell their souls to Satan just so they could be what they are. I'm thinking you're quite the same way."

William didn't know whether to be flattered that she'd called him beautiful or appalled because she'd thought he even had the gal to make Satan's acquaintance. Then again, how does someone even react to that?

Pretty girls with pretty mouths shouldn't be speaking in tragic tongues, he thought, sadly.

"You're staring," Juliette remarked, burrowing her head further between her arms.

"I am?"

"You are."

"Oh," William replied, stupidly, but did not look away.

"You're still staring."

In his defence, he was trying to look away. It was just infinitely hard when you're staring at a pretty girl with a pretty mouth speaking in a tragic tongue.