1.1 | constellations of you and me ✓

19 | lupus

"WE HAVE TO WORK ON YOUR FLIRTING SKILLS, BABY."

Eloise offers her boyfriend an exasperated look from the corners of her eyes and keeps walking through the rows of leafy grapefruit trees, a warm sensation startling her as a hand pulls her backwards and into the smooth crook of his neck.

For the first week of December, the Los Angeles air temperature still lingers in the high sixties as university students poorly prepare for their fall semester final exams. With her array of materials scattered across her desk, Eloise didn't expect his phone call while she tried to convince herself to do something productive on this lazy Saturday morning—and she certainly didn't expect his cryptic message about meeting him outside in ten minutes before he hung up. When she finished wrestling with a rough hole on her leggings and ripped the bonnet off of her natural hair, the sight in the mirror made her pause dramatically.

She looked like a fucking train wreck.

While Eloise loved the volume that her hair provided her with (on the good days, at least), it looked like she'd just gotten off of a wild roller coaster: her edges weren't laid, the thick curls were tangled, and half of the strands were sticking up all on their own. Spotting Jonah's headband casually resting on her bedside dresser, she'd grabbed it in a rush and slipped it over her forehead to tame the disaster.

His silver car was waiting for her parked outside of the apartment building, and her boyfriend looked like the lightest tint of temptation when she opened the door. He had this sleepy glaze decorating the honey in his irises and the deep curve of his lash line; she'd smiled as Jonah slowly reached over and lazily kissed her as a silent greeting, tongue delicately sweeping over her bottom lip to taste the dark espresso on her breath. He was quiet nights and city lights reincarnate—the sensation of glossy sunsets and spun sugar.

So now, as her head rests upon his chest, Eloise holds in a secret smile as she feels two fingers tap underneath her chin from behind. And she won't admit it, but the way he holds her—like he's her lighthouse in the chilling midst of the violent storm inside her mind—makes her frame relax and melt into his like heated velvet.

It's a struggle to keep an impassive face. "They were staring," she grumbles while attempting to tug away (with no luck). "And you look handsome today—so I told you to stop it. Pissed me off." Her mouth turns sour at the memory of the group of girls sneakily casting longing looks at him while she pretended not to notice.

Jonah spins her around (she doesn't really fight it) and places his palms on either side of her cheeks, tilting her head upwards so she can clearly see the complexity of his lines and angled sharp-edges. High cheekbones resemble glittering glass, and Eloise can make out a splatter of barely-there freckles across the bridge of his nose; the curve of a cupid bow begs her to run a soft fingertip over it, and she's spinning in the golden kaleidoscope of Jonah's shimmering etherealness.

"You look so goddamn cute in my headband," he murmurs, an easy grin lifting the corners of his mouth to compliment the sharp structure of his jawline. "Wanna push you up against a wall." His breath is hot against her neck as his head drops to rest on her shoulder, and Eloise blinks as the rhythm of her heartbeat skyrockets into blurred oblivion. "Wanna wreck you. Do things to you."

The reality of being in public navigates itself to her as an elderly couple walks past them with grapefruit baskets in their arms. "Holy shit," she gasps as she pushes him away. Her face feels like it's burning. "Jonah. What's wrong with you?"

He shrugs shamelessly, tall and lean frame terribly visible underneath the soft sunlight. "A lot of things." A wicked pause. "Except for my looks—according to the redhead we just passed, I'm hotter than her ex-boyfriend."