"You think you're funny or something?" the short woman exclaimed angrily, face pressed against the car headrest, and arms binding Victor's shoulders. The apple-scented car allied with the raven-haired it looked—since it was zigzagging amok on the road.
"Actually, I'm fuckin' hilarious. Your boyfriend thinks so too."
"Man, don't bring me into this," Victor intoned, playing with the car air conditioning.
Sol sagged back in her seat, the trammelled seatbelt attempting to lug her and her emotions up. "This's why you have no friends."
Mammon raised a dark brow at the rear view mirror, the BMW bowling along the roundabout. "I don' need friends, I have a perfectly healthy relationship, where we don' fight every two seconds."
"Shut up before I exorcise you!"
"Don't bring me into this either...," the brunet grumbled wearily. The two had been at each other's eyes the whole time, leaving no interval for their partners' minds to get snacks. He shut his eyes in annoyance. Angels ought to be patient creatures as the Lord created them, but their yapping was forging it hard.
"I'm more christian than your ass!"
"The profanity really does you justice!"
"Silentium!" Luka exclaimed, and the car went quiet—even the susurrating of the wind invading through the half-open windows and running of other cars hushed. Golden hues pleated over their mouths, and he felt a bit embarrassed. "And...there's a free parking over by the red honda."
Victor whipped his head to gape at him, "Why didn't you do that earlier!"
The brunet shrugged his shoulders, smiling sheepishly. His ears were yet pounding from their voices, and now he was going to lap up the peace whilst Mammon parked.
The gilded tape peeled off once the group stepped out of the car, sidling away from the strait space. Sol took in a deep breath, ample to keep her alive if it was her last, "Don't do that again, my magma chamber was gonna' erupt!"
Luka laughed an apology out as she linked their arms. "Luka's with me, you guys do your own thing."
"He's my boyfriend-"
"I didn't ask!"
They walked down the crossing between, young pine trees lining the broad paths. A glass wall, a revolving door, a red wall beside—with "Weißstein Centre" mounted in white—awaited them. Families were placed all around, navy prams and ice cream dripping from junior hands. Different coloured bags teased the experience inside. Sol skipped faster.
"Have you been here before?" Luka questioned, staring at the abstract wall overhead as they weaved around people.
"All the time, even though it's stuffy as hell." The woman fanned herself dramatically. "Let's go to the first floor, the clothes shops are there. And then, we get food?"
"Sounds great!"
The sun stalked their legs hopping upon the escalator steps through the windowed roof. Though it was barely noon, the friends acted like the centre was closing soon. And though Sol was ailing, she had managed to haul Luka inside stores with facility, wrenching hangers from side to side.
The short woman thrust indigo jeans to the throne. It had pockets at the knees, and white stitching purposeful at seams.
"These would look better in black, no?"
"I think that colour will look good on you. Why do you want black?"
"Black makes me look skinnier." She draped the pants over her forearm. "But if you think they look good, I'll buy 'em!"
"You're already skinny enough, Sol," Luka said, dawdling by the racks. He spotted a cropped ruched top with long sleeves, and pointed at it. "That would go well with the jeans, you should get it."
She pulled it off the metal rack, a faux frown on her face. "What other girl did you go shopping with?..."
The brunet grinned. Kallista would always bring him when she went shopping, and from there, he learnt a thing or twain. "In Heaven."
"God, I keep forgetting you're an angel." The woman picked out a black miniskirt and a small maroon halter top. "Is this too sinful?"
"Sort of?..."
"Which means Vick will like it..."
A shudder overcame the angel before the music changed. "Repent..."
"Hey! I'm just a daughter of Adam, trying to have an Abel and Cain."
"Cain was a murderer!..."
"Off to the makeup section!" she chirped, marching off and leaving Luka to stare at her hair-clad back in horror. After teaching her stories of the bible, this is how she repays him?
Sol uprooted a brown eyebrow pencil, then a cylindrical purple mascara, and then a clear gloss. The brunet hastened behind her before they stopped in front of the lipsticks, adverts of various women about. "What shade do you think'll suit me? I can never pick a right one."
Luka tilted his head as he scrutinised the numbered shades. The girl had pale olive skin, meaning a dusty red could work. "Try...one-three-three elegant red."
"What would I do without you?...," she muttered, towing it out into her already tenanted hand. "Now, let's go get you some clothes!"
His eyes went bigger than the silver highlighter palette. "Me? I already have clothes-"
"You can never have too many, Luka."
He with reluctance sauntered behind her across the beige floor. If Sol had chosen tops like that, what had she in store for Luka?
"You need to look more...badass," the woman blurted, but the hangers screeched loudly in protest. She was picking one amongst the black graphic shirts. "People need to know that they shouldn't mess with you...and your shapeshifting rings."
The brunet's blood boiled in his cheeks. "Not all thrones have shapeshifting wings..."
"Wow, subtle flex." Sol slung the shirts over his shoulder before drifting to the tiered racks of jeans. "Baggy jeans would look good on you, even cargos."
"They seem more of...Mammon's style."
She grinned at him, bright white of her teeth radiating the dim store. "Even better. You can be matching!"
"What size are you? Small, so maybe medium. Here!" Instead of suspending it from his shoulder like a pulley, the short woman handed it to him. "Go try it on. Let's go."
They darted obliquely to the narrow hall, curving around the denim-clad mannequins in the middle and within the mixed changing rooms they went. She ushered Luka in the grey curtained cubicle, then left. He twisted, facing the mirrored walls, fingertips stroking the thin material. He pulled off his black jeans, and slid on the newfound pair, fixing the papery sweater whose collar made a vertex on his chest. It didn't look bad at all. The brunet played with the pocket flaps near his knees, as Sol launched more shirts and sweater over the curtain.
"You can come in Sol!"
The grey fabric was tweaked open, "You look so good in them! See, I told you."
Luka smiled. "Thanks..."
"By the way, Vick's here. He wants us to get food now, so we'll be at front waiting for you."
The throne nodded, closing the curtain and pushing off the jeans. He was eager to see Mammon—it seemed childish, but they had burnt out every second jointly in Trier, and he didn't want this town to ruin it.
Clothes hung happy in neat folds from his forearm as he proceeded towards the couple. It was the first time the brunet had caught them this happy, tongues speaking love rather than in tiffs.
The halter top swung from Victor's hand as he waved. "Hey man!"
"Luka, did everything fit?"
"They did! Thank you for picking them out for me..." His gaze flitted through the aisles. His core sunk a little. The raven-haired wasn't anywhere to be noticed. "Where's...Mammon?"
"At the front I thin-"
The angel didn't let a drop of time to the floor, and strode, gleeful footsteps hot on his heels. The two behind him whistled at him, laughing at his eagerness. Luka assembled a smile, as the side of the clothes stand hailed him, but his eyes widened. His steps recoiled, and alarm did vaults on his skin. What were they doing together?
"Shit..."
"Who is that?"
Her voice dug him out, making him stare at her. "Sol...I need your help."
Thin black brows snapped together, connected by a crease. She seized the sunless clothes on his arm, and extended it to the demi. "Can you go pay for these?"
Though disinclined, Victor departed with a knowing nod, and Sol focused on him. "What?"
"That's his...ex, Andrea." He breathed heavily. "Can you...pretend to be his girlfriend? Please?"
"She doesn't know he's gay?"
"She thinks I'm his cousin..."
Sol sighed, brown gems reeling upon short neon dresses as if they would answer for her.
"Fine, only for you." She strutted away from him, chucking him a breath of relief to take. It had been months, why hadn't Andrea pulled herself together? The throne shook his head before stepping out behind her. He could only hope that she had changed.
In spite of Sol to the fore, the blonde remarked him first with a wave. Blue skies and anaemic shafts spilled on their bodies in the middle of the store alarms, and Luka almost felt like he was encroaching. "Luka! I'm glad to see you're okay. This must be your girlfriend!"
"Actually, I'm Dante's girlfriend," the woman corrected, a tight-lipped smile fashioning her face. Mammon's grey eyes hoarded flecks of jealousy, but then they split into disgust. "And, you are?"
"Andrea." Fury shed from her body and her jaw that quivered, whilst the raven-haired looked at his boyfriend for an answer. "An...old friend! Dante...didn't tell me he was seeing someone."
Sol giggled. "We met in Trier, it was love at first sight. How long has it been, Dante? Seven months?"
"Yeah..." He planted his palm on his nape.
Andrea clapped her hands together, making known the heart ring yet on her finger. "What...brings you back here?"
"He wanted me to visit his hometown! Isn't he just so romantic?"
The brunet was surprised—she was a tad bit too good at this.
"Anyway, we're gonna' get lunch together now!" she chirped, fingers grappling his wrist with pointed nails vetting his veins. "See you around, Andrea."
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩 𓂋 𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
Her hands bowed over her stomach as they lumbered out of the reddish-black restaurant. The union of spicy wings stowed in their stomach, and the adhering heat designed them drowsy—above all, the relaying of what happened. Sol mimicked her voice well, perhaps the drumstick in her fingers like a wand had a role in that.
"I feel pregnant..."
Eyes orbited a swaddled Victor in an instance. "I didn't do anything!"
"She likes 'em old, and he like 'em young."
"What the fuck man!"
"And, I need to pee," Sol added, unheedful. She was ardent to help the throne, but not her own boyfriend. "I'll be right back, my fucking bladder's about to erupt."
The short woman toddled off, and the four adjacent to the round artificial trees presently a three. "I'll wait for her here, we'll catch up with you later."
"Mh, sure."
A two, not that Mammon was bothered by that. He needed to deterge his body with his dazed lover; he was beset by too many women. However, his man had but looked at him. "So, it's just me and you now, angel."
"Look, a photo booth." Luka pointed at the black box next to the bronze cedar benches, his legs going impulsively. "Let's go take pictures!"
The raven-haired grinned, intercepting his hand with his own. Andrea was belike somewhere in the centre, but he could care less. Mammon wasn't ashamed of who he was, and he sure as hell wasn't ashamed of Luka. He yanked the red curtain open, allowing the brunet ahead. They sat down on the built-in bench, both staring at the black screen, hemmed by black and white pictures of other people.
"You think I look good?"
Smiling coyly, Luka faced him and then the screen. "Always. What about me?"
A blearing flash exploded on them, "Yeah, but you're missing somethin'."
"What?"
Mammon let his lips assail his, twitching the knitted cloth girdling his waist. The flashing seemed to be getting faster, as if affronted, and the heat from it journeyed to the throne's skin. He hid the screen with his hand, whereas the demon deepened the kiss. He just wanted innocent pictures! As soon as Mammon adjourned it for a puff of air, he rushed out and snatched the pictures from the printer.
"Eager to see how good we look kissin'?"
"Stop it!" His core drew nigh out of its hard shell at the sight of them. Four pictures, beginning with a modest expressions plunging to a kiss. "But...I guess we do look good."
"I love ya, angel."
"I love you more..."
Offended, the raven-haired frowned, "Impossibl-"
"Luka!" A voice rumbled, and they swiftly looked in the sourcing direction. It was Victor by the white push doors, paper bags on the tiles, with Sol in his hold. Their eyes went round. Blood was dribbling down her lips. Her hands griped her stomach, as her clenched teeth griped pain. Luka hurtled on the road to her, fear in his chest. Was this because of the blood bloom?
No, he thought, discontinuing when he saw Andrea to the right.
Mammon saw her too.
He prised the photos off of Luka, and strode angrily to slap them on her hand. Her glossy mouth fell wide, and the demon gave her another slap with the words, "He was never my cousin, and I never loved you. I'm gay."