he.

"you're such a slut, and you know it", he hisses, balling his hands into fists and clutching the ends of his sleeves. i just shrug, then look down onto our feet standing side by side on the concrete, green with pink laces next to checkered grey, and i should probably say something now, but it's not like that would fix anything.

"yeah, like you're one to talk", i mumble, and as soon as the words leave my mouth i just want to eat them or smash them with a hammer and then pretend they were never spoken in the first place, because holy shit, that came out way more hateful than i had intended it to. for a few seconds there's silence, before he turns his head to look at me and whisper "shut up", and if i didn't know any better i'd guess that his eyes are filling with tears.

his fingers tighten around the fabric, and honestly, he looks so small and vulnerable as he's standing there that i get the urge to just wrap my arms around him and kiss him, kiss his tears away and hold him like they do in romantic movies, but instead i just settle for wrapping one arm around his shoulders and pulling him close, and that's when the first few droplets hit me, but i can't tell which are from him crying against my shoulder and which are from the rain.

the muscles in his upper arms convulse once, twice, before he pulls away and bites his lips. "i fucking hate you, you know that", he mumbles, but judged by the tone in his voice he doesn't mean it, and now i can see the make-up run down his cheeks. i tighten my grip around him once again, then wrap my other arm around him as well, and this time he just leans into me, and really, if it's possible for a moment to be absolutely perfect this is definitely it.

we just stand there in silence for a few seconds, before he finally speaks up. "i'm okay", he mumbles, and the spiteful tone in his voice has completely disappeared now, instead replaced by a tiny, raspy whisper. he moves his arms to wrap them around me, and that's when i just have to bend down to kiss him. his eyes pop open out of surprise when our mouths meet, but after a few split seconds his lips part under mine, and whoever claimed that kissing the one you love tastes like rainbows and sugar was wrong, because he tastes more like cheap salty fries and blood, but really, i couldn't care less.

"i'm not a slut", i mumble a few seconds after we break apart, and at that he just turns his head in disbelief. "yeah, right."