17: fingertips Are terrible Liars

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17: fingertips Are terrible Liars

Mikhael stared at her without blinking and felt like a creep.

It was a compulsion he couldn't resist; his gaze resting easy on her, always knowing whereabouts she was in the room. Half the time he wasn't even aware he was doing it and the other half he didn't care.

-But even if we won't, admit to ourselves; we'll walk upon these streets and think of little else- said some random smart-arse song.

She sat at ease on the sandy, grimy floor of the beach shack, her hair hanging down her back like dark and heavy-curled silk. Surrounded by her friends, she talked and threw her head back to laugh, the querying Portuguese that slipped out made her voice higher. Mikhael stared at her hands as they moved to illustrate a point and abruptly wished to put a ring on one of her fingers.

Mad. He was mad.

And easily distracted.

Bruises? What bruises? What bruises and cuts and aching bones?

In the smoky orange lamplight she sprawled out like a cat. He ran his eyes down the bare lines of her legs. His skin heated. He bit down hard on his sore lip, and tasted blood. He half smiled, smugly, to himself when her whole body shivered under his look.

Foda-se. He wanted to- well, nevermore what he wanted, because all he wanted was Lissa.

He wanted her forever. He didn't ever want to lose her, even when she wasn't his to lose, so he never told her.

Instead he watched her and loved her even more as he did so-

-god, he wanted to be with every moment of all the days in all of time until he died, she was the only thing that kept him still, without her he'd go madder, and she didn't even know.

He opened his mouth, and groaned, ready to- what?

Then he was assaulted by his team of free-runners as they charged in through the doorway and windows, Jordan and Hamza, Dom and Liam, Sayan and Sammy, Jude and Riley, idiots the lot of them; whooping like tribesmen, scattering empty cups, shoving aside all the others with affection and making as much havoc as possible.

The others already there leapt up and away from the madness, the parkour girls quickly integrating with their school friends while the guys dive bombed for him.

"You effing twat," yelled Jordan fondly and punched his arm. "What've you done to yo'self now?"

Mikhael shrugged one shoulder and attempted to fend off the people crowding round. Dom yanked his head back by his hair, fondly, and kissed his teeth in mock-rage, winking all round.

"We got the show on tomorrow, douchebag-"

"Don't ever think, d'ya?"

Mikhael laughed soundlessly  through his teeth because his ribs hurt and waited for Lissa to come and rescue his sorry self.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't.

She turned her nose up and went back to laughing with Cat and all the others.

He watched in brooding silence as she tipped her face up to greet the upcoming Jude and Beth, laughing and accepting the bag of chilli chips they offered her. He stared at her as she shared a milkshake with Cat, and his throat tightened painfully, dry, thinking despicable thoughts about his beautiful Lissa-ness.

She's not mine- is she-

He scowled ferociously and the unusually perceptive Jordan followed his line of sight and chuckled. Mikhael ignored him. Jordan elbowed him again.

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