eros :: [clifford]

ένα; one

"Love isn't a game, Eros."

"You're just jealous because I always win."

______________

"It's ugly here."

"It's November."

"Doesn't make it any less ugly."

"It's New York City."

"Doesn't make it any less ugly."

I ignore this, repositioning myself on the bench, angling away from my cousin.

I'm twirling my umbrella, instead.

I'm watching.

I'm watching and waiting because this is what I do.

This is what I'm good at.

People.

"I'm bored."

"Hush."

"This was supposed to be fun."

"Why are you here, again?"

He burries his head deeper into his scarf, lifting the collar of his overcoat.

He shifts his green eyes and huffs out a puff of cold air that swirls around his sandy beard.

"Because you're never home anymore."

He side-eyes me, again.

"That's why."

"There's nothing for me at home, Pan. You know this--"

I rise from the bench.

"You're standing."

He peers up at me with wide eyes.

"You're standing and you're staring. Why? Why are you standing and why are you staring?"

I ignore this, too.

My eyes are trained on the girl hurrying down the street; rushing into the gates of the university.

"Great," mutters Pan. "It's snowing."

"Get up," I command. "Get up. C'mon, now. We're going."

"Sheesh, Aphrodite. Could you be any more direct?"

"Quiet, you--"

I grab his coat sleeve and tug.

"Behave yourself, Pan; I'm going to work."

~*~

short story idea because when I have these ideas I just have to write them down.

thoughts?

this one's for #millie

don't worry i have not given up on anything else i promise I promise i promise.