andthenisay:

you & me of the 10,000 wars | 10k words, pg-13, 1/4

Mary stands in front of the window and squints into the glaring sunlight as it slips down toward the horizon. She reaches out to touch the glass, splays her hand out wide enough to cover a dozen city blocks. It’s there, between her first and second fingers, across the skyline and a taxi ride away. The ledges are crumbling and the windows full of sunset, but she still imagines she can see straight into her father’s office. When the realtor first brought her in she went straight for the windows, found Downton Tower by force of habit and nodded, just once. She paid for it with her father’s money and signed the lease with a cold smile.

The fading light turns the tower’s windows orange. Mary’s fingers are sticky with champagne and they catch as she slides her hand along enough to press her palm over Downton, covering the whole building street to sky. She stands there until the glass warms beneath her skin and by the time she turns away, the sun’s slipped down beneath the skyline.

[at livejournal/ao3]

andthenisay:

She’s here. Of course she’s here. It’s why he came in the first place, why he drank his first drink too quickly and hasn’t been able to keep his hands still since he sat down. It takes no time at all for her to spot him. One glance around the room and her eyes are locked on his. He’s never been very good at hiding. Maybe he wanted to be found.

 
Mary makes no motion of invitation, no word or wave or smile. He stands anyway, takes one, two steps forward. His heart’s beating a riot in his chest. He blames it on the music.

There are a thousand things he’d say to her, if she’d listen. You kissed me last week. You kissed me last week against the door of your father’s office. You kissed me last week and I haven’t been able to think about anything else since. He can’t think about anything else now, not when she’s all smooth shoulders and hooded eyes, not when she’s looking at him like that.

He takes another step forward and something gives, something in her face closing off entirely. She looks away, finds someone nearby to latch on to. Matthew downs the rest of his drink in one and stands to leave, pushing past her on his way out the door. She reaches out and grabs her new friend’s beer, drains it in one fluid movement, and leans forward on her elbows, equal parts coy smile and vicious bite. “Tell me,” she says, eyes flicking up to Matthew’s for the smallest second, “what do you know about Greek mythology?”

Matthew’s hands clench into fists. He wonders what the pictures in tomorrow’s paper will look like.