Waking up to the sloppy kisses of a siamese kitten was to some endearing but to him? Just another sign that he was as lonely as his mother made him seem. Though his hands stroked the feline's head away from his cupid's bow, a scar there lingering from one of their earlier scuffles still, Arnold felt some way. Draping his fingers around the soft body, the fur pushing from between his fingers — he wanted to do nothing more but to nuzzle into his pet's side. Duties and responsibilities he decided could wait another day. If not, his father had everyone on his payroll. His absence would go unnoticed.
Hauntingly depressing.

Even the portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte on the maroon painted walls opposite his cherrywood frame seemed to be laughing at his far too tall frame. The six foot one inch man's leg dropping off of the ends. That had been one thing the school could not change—the accommodation. Rosiness on the Italian— or French man's cheeks — his heritage debatable as they had discussed in far too many classes, was taunting. The lips crooked and the hand on the hilt of his sword seemed to be mocking his cowardice.
The fear of unknown.
Threatening to devour.

Fuchsia sheets made of a high thread count grazed his bare skin and reminded him of why he preferred Egyptian cotton over all else. The curls in his ebony hair rested upon the fluffed up pillow, streaks of sleep maimed the side of his face and the depth of his thick beard gripped the fabric. Bunching it up as he moved restlessly. Laying flat with his palms spread underneath his square jaw, Arnold felt sweat trace down the centre of his hands. The muscles — developed after years of meticulous care were taut and the light skin duvet hid the rest of his broad torso from the imminent sun rays.

Outside the window, life was breathing already with a rampant fire. In the outskirts of the English meadows on a fifteen hectare property the school was home to some of the richest children from across the world. Wealth ensured place — which in turn ensured diversity was not limited to the flossy blonde heads and pale blue eyes. Polished cars whizzed through the entrance, the iron wrought gates with the emblem painted in gold. A single woodpecker. Grey cobblestones melted into the carpeted roads, a pale marble staircase with thick bronze railings lead up to the carved doors with the faces of dragons and swords.

The quarters located at the south end of the cricket ground, were tall buildings with sharp edges. Sculptured creatures with wings — faceless with meshed fingers and talons watched on to the rest of the property. Triangular trims with jagged detailings left little to the imagination. Dark marble covered the space entirely, wooden bars held the secluded windows in place. Abandoned for years. In the centre of the building — a lodging for the teachers was the year the school first starter operating in, carved in sleek cursive.

In his narrow room he barely missed the edge of the desk that protruded underneath is curving window. The latticed metal barrier kept the shards of crystal glass away from touch, and the white chiffon curtains swayed with gentle motions as the wind blew in from underneath his door. Stubbing his toe — Arnold was forced to curse in an accent that held his tongue down with it's weight. Already in the distance, the glaring sun's rays only helping him observe, he could find the students in their uniforms strolling around the gardens. Taking a deep breath, straightening out his starchy white dress shirt. Arnold tucked it into his tailored fit black trousers and his feet slid into the diligently polished shoes. The top two buttons left undone. A thin swirl of the largely covered tattoo peaked through.

His fingers, lengthy and decorated with heavy rings — taken from the generous family heirlooms that belonged to him, ran through his hair. The wax on his fingers brushed on to the deep obsidian strands and he curled them over his forehead. Rubbing his bourbon and cigar smoke scented cologne against his skin, Arnold felt ready to face the world, and ofcourse his students on their first day in the winter term. Tucking the worn out leather bag, imprinted with his family name Dexter, under his arm, he opened the wooden door. The copper knob slid underneath his sodden palms, and the tip of his shoe slid his kitten Samuel into place. It's mewls melted his heart, yet as he fixed his knee length winter coat and the muffler around his neck, he blew it a kiss. Locking the door in place.

Perfumed scent of the gardenias, left to sit in the vase in the hallway he shared with the English professor, kept the place alive. The sweet aroma of it crisped the foggy air that had somehow lingered, despite the rare sunlight outside. Grey blushed around the beige walls, the carpets with their deep maroon stains matched the trims of the dark wooden trims. The door opposite to his own bedroom was locked though the soft sounds of a sonnet playing kept him company as he walked down the hallway. His soft steps drowned on to the thick carpet, the tips of his fingers grazed the sides of the walls as he took two steps at a time. From the curving staircase, Arnold walked into the corridor that joined the staff's wing with the dinning halls. His stomach rumbling already.

Humongous the hall had capacity to seat it's full student body and teaching staff that amounted to just a number below five hundred. The long tables arranged in rows with neat benches lined with leather cushions, lead up to the esteemed citadel. A circular table there, for the principal and his office to sit underneath the chandelier made by an artiste who had learnt from the great Michelangelo himself. Branched motifs with deep chocolate brown paint, contrasted the light skin of beige over the century old walls. The lengthy tables wrapped in linen tablecloths and candelabra's were already filled with an array of lavish breakfast. On the heads of each of the five tables were ten seats reserved for the teachers, of which most had already been occupied. The clock striking eight minutes past eight.

Rushing through the room, his broad shoulders hit a few students that lingered in his path. Apologizing with a breathless air he kept his pace intact. His coat flailing behind him. Nodding in the direction of his colleagues he took seat, dropping his bag beside his feet, his hands dabbing away at the wet towels placed in a gold ringlet next to each of the plates. Arnold's dense green eyes focused on the gold trims of the clay plates, a canary painted into the sides — in the centre a woodpecker.

"Professor Dexter."

The honeyed voice of the English lecturer invited him to turn his head. Cocking his face to the side he nodded with a small smile, motioning for her to take seat.

"Professor Noel."

He nodded cryptically, his acting failing miserably before the sharpness of her hawk gaze. Her face contorted, her lips painted red set into a deep line as she coughed the laughter at the back of her throat into the crux of her elbow. As if you hadn't been in my room last night — she tsked internally. Placing her legs, one on top of the other below the heavy weight table, her pointed heels accidentally grazed Arnold's leg. Apologizing softly, she turned to face the rest of the students — their faces calm. Delilah wiped her hands. Noticing the skin peel beneath her left index finger's cuticle she bit her tongue — visit to the saloon was necessary. Just another thing added to her list of duties she marveled.

"I don't see your best friend around."

Arnold nudged his chin arrogantly, beneath the ice in his eyes were ribbons of longing that only Delilah could gauge. The resident heartthrob crush of their students had finally set his eyes on someone — oh the heartbeat, she thought.

"Ms.Bennet's father is in the hospital so she'll be coming in later."

"I thought you said she doesn't like him."

"She's offering the man humanity," Delilah chuckled, sipping her chamomile tea, "God knows I wouldn't have gone."

"Seraphina and her kindness."

The leaves of her blonde her that curled beneath her heart shaped face moved with the wintery breeze that managed to make it's way through the open doors. Her eyes were hooked on to the canaries that hung in the bronze cages would be released soon enough to mark the start of a new year. Dipping her butter knife into the pure honey she smeared it across the toasted slice of sourdough bread. Licking the remnants off she sighed in pleasure. Honey and bread — it had been her companion for far long. Longer than any relationship had survived. Biting into it, the saltiness from the cheese tempering with the honey bunched up on her tongue and created a siphoned vision. Filling her eyes with colors and sparkles of all sorts.

The principal drawled off in his extravagant vocabulary. His robes tightened around the roundness of his stomach, and there were murmurs that it had grown exponentially in size over the two week break. Round spectacles covered his beady eyes as he read from a thick paper, licking his fingers to change it every now and then. His deep voice filled with a mute sense of humor crept up the spines, lulling into a slumber that had to be battled off. A yawn or two escaped the lips of the ravenous students who chose to linger there palates over the smoked sausages and not the instructions they knew were bound to be broken.

Crowds full of vibrant life exited the room as the clock struck nine. Dismissed at last — the hour for their classes beginning. Teachers in their coats escorted them, their hands wrapped around tumblers and files, a student or two already sliding next to them. Being a favorite helped pass the exams of the hierarchical school. Lengthy corridors lined with dull copper lockers on each side, muddled with the yellow grainy lights. Everything save for the living was a muted background. The soft boards dense and their beige matched the walls, a thick streak of maroon ran on the mostly covered wooden trims. Timber doors lined with paneled glass kept the classrooms safe from the pride of the school.

Arnold marched up the stairs, his green eyes focused on room number seven — the classroom at the top most floor of the school. The door was thrown open and over the benches a few students sat already, mumbling amongst themselves as he stepped in. The room was airy — tall windows with gentle arches and bronze grills safeguarded them. They offered views to the entirety of the school's property. Built in an oblong structure the architecture was nothing short of marvelous. Tall walls and the skylights offered natural light, to the laterally arranged desks. A black board behind him, waiting to be marred with the stains of his chalk.

Walls lined with marble — beige and red veining had been like his orders covered in charts and paintings of notable historical figures. Each one of them framed with a bronze frame, the rosy cheeks and uniformed persons sat with an arrogance so delicate that it perfumed the room on it's own. Leaving no need for the jasmine scented freshener. Arranging his paperwork and files over the cherry wood desk, he took seat on the deep coffee colored chair, the deep emerald upholstered chairs holding his weight. His pen worked smoothly over the grainless white pages, marking the assignments he had handed out to be done during the vacations.

The simultaneous buzzing of his phone and the school bell broke his reverie. The screen of his phone alighted — a text from a certain Noel, it was peculiar, that she would make contact first, asking him to meet her after his class was over. Sighing deeply he rubbed his eyes, the rings on his fingers struck the side of the chalk, scribbling his course outline in block letters over the board, everyday meant business to him. Arnold turned to face the room of groaning students. In sixth form — they had still not learnt the true meaning of being hardworking and he planned on changing that. Skimming over the handout in his fingers he passed it over, waiting until the roaring had settled down before he could speak.

"As you can tell this class means business. If you don't want that — if you think you can be cut some slack during this course," his voice broke the air of silence, demanding attention as he neared the door, holding the knob between his fingers, "leave now."

Taking a round, his legs stiff as he walked through the room, Arnold's fingers moved over the desks of his students. Barely any dust coated his fingers, the edges of his coat brushed the sides of the students legs. Narrowing his eyes, he motioned for one to fix his tie and for another to stop chewing loudly. The rules drained into the brains of his class, the electricity inside his voice offered no chance for discussion. It was a very known fact — Arnold Viv. Dexter had a handsome face but his soul was strict. Part of it was associated to his family's association with the armed forces for more than half a century. The Dexter family took pride in it — and their son's had been trained to match the aura of a powerful general.

Perhaps that attitude had been why the family had not birthed a single daughter in sixty five years. They could only eagerly wait to end this curse. That is if it was one.

"Your first assignment will be to visit a museum and collect as much information about the artifacts as you can."

"Sir the internet exists." A student chuckled.

"Mr.Vanderbilt it would do you good to listen to the rest" he murmured, "now as I was saying, only first hand findings shall be accepted so that I can teach you how to choose valid sources because some of you still believe wikipedia to be a reliable source."

Arnold rubbed the skin around his wrists, the dial of his wristwatch dug into the tanned dermis, leaving behind a deep mark where it sat. Mindlessly he stroked the worn out leather, the edges of it turning a pale crème whilst the centre was still it's natural brown. It was decaying. Like all matter did. It changed and turned into something. The conversation that had taken place between him and Delilah still rolled around in the apex of his brain as he thought of what she had told him about Seraphina.
She enjoys talking about rebirth — it was something Seraphina found awfully resembled her own life she had explained to him.

Sliding his thick coat off of his shoulders — finally freed off of it's weight Arnold walked around the class one last time, his eyes focused on the arms of the clock even as his deft fingers rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up. The muscles of his arms protruded from underneath, the dim sunlight that was once again held hostage by a thicket of depressing grey clouds, gave the top of his skin a gold hue. As if it had been airbrushed with the finest of golds — left to dry in the bareness. To show off. The bell rung, and his students packed up their belongings, that was the only time their were punctual he chuckled. Wrapping his own papers in the thick folder, Arnold lost track of time. Only feeling alarmed as he felt the familiar perfume brush his nerves.

"Professor Noel." He gulped, the woman's seething glare scaring him — though he would never admit.

"We need to talk Arnold." She pressed on to his name.

"Of course, have a seat."

"No! I do not have the time for that but you," she slammed her hand over his table, an envelope gripped tightly between her fingers, "need to explain what this is."

Breathless, Arnold nodded his head, prying the paper from between her fingers with softness uncharacteristic to him. The starchy paper with it's printed words and the school's emblem was an entirely unknown sight to him. Creasing, the lines of his forehead rose into bumps as he read on, his sweaty thumbs leaving behind a train of marks as he reached the end of it. The thuds of his heart could match the gallops of a racing horse. His eyes stared at her face — her eyes narrowed into slits stared at him, the corner of her lips pushed into a grim line. Running a hand through his hair he groaned into the foggy air, licking his lips as he searched for words to offer her consolation.

"Listen—"

"No! I told you I'd help you woo Seraphina, however I declined the offer to get a pay rise as a result of it."

"I did not do it! I swear!" He replied.

"Then how the fuck do you explain this?"

"I don't know okay? Maybe the board saw how dedicated you were to your subject?" He defended.

"So they're going to pay me more than they're paying the head of the literature department?"

"Delilah I can not control what the school—"

"The school what?"

A curious voice broke their heated battle. Delilah jumped out of Arnold's space, jittery as she saw her best friend dressed in a sweat suit before her. Seraphina's brunette locks tied up into a bun, with a few strands grazing her pale cheeks as she walked into the room. Her blue eyes were full of life — glee covered her mouth and her fingers shook with a violent capriciousness as she stared between the two with passion. Little giggles escaped her mouth, her hand reaching out to hold Delilah's cold ones, the linger of curiosity remaining within the owl like eyes.

"The school's holding a dinner soon."

"Oh!" She smiled sheepishly at Arnold, "sounds fun."

"Yeah, hows — hows your father?" He enquired, noticing the nod of approval from the corner of her eyes.

"Better. But I hope we're still on for the night!"

"We are!" He replied.

"Okay! Pick me up from your neighbor's bedroom at seven."

"On the dot." Delilah added in a bored tone.

؀

The clock struck seven barely. Time had frozen itself into the deep freezer of a kitchen. It refused to move, even as the heart ached for it to change. To reimburse. Blue melted into the deep obsidian of the clouds, the stars were dim as they twinkled at a distance from the south facing window — it's loneliness deplorable. Shadows cast over the building and the trees melted into a larger mess, painting and smearing as they went one at a time. Smacking the glass window panes that were made of something far more refine. The panes were an excuse to keep the bad at bay, when the evil in truth lingered with itself in the burning candles. Their yellow and oranges contrasting against the greens of the bedroom.

The duvet hunched into a circle over the edge of the single twin bed, on either side neatly arranged wooden nightstands. Their legs made of inculcated bronze carvings. Door knobs with open mouthed dragons fished for the fingers that accidentally hit themselves in their teeth. Realistic gore — a dark academic fantasy that the owner enjoyed in particular. A miniature circle carpet before the bed made sure that the creaking chair did little to no damage to the expensive floorings. An oval mirror on a tiny vanity with deep gold hinges hung, just below the vine like lights.

The knock on the door rapped as the clock began to chime at seven. The gong of the grandfather clock struck the sides as the owner opened the door, smiling awkwardly at the charismatic man before her. Motioning for her friend to join them, Delilah bid the two goodbye, closing the door with half a heart. Sighing her heart still aching from the events that had taken place, she stroked her dimpled chin, staring at herself in the mirror. There were deep lines underneath her eyes, far more cheaper than the expensive bag Seraphina had forgotten at her table. Rubbing the ebbing grin off of her tired mouth — not as soft as her friend's, she found a seat on her bed. Pouring herself a glass of cheap wine. Wondering what the two would be doing.

Buzzing the two left the school's estate in his Aston Martin. The heavy vehicle struck low on to the road that curved out of the meadows and led to the city nearby. Mammoth roads met them, and bleak darkness that was a significant part of the wintery nights, fog just beginning to dwindle down the sides of the open moors. Tension in the air outside froze the engine, callous grazes of the icicles almost struck the windshield as the car drove on to the city. A home to retired men and women. A place where wealth was a mere toy to fulfill the sickest of their fantasies. The boulevard was lined with lights that left an azure and gold glow to the sky. There were shadows — plenty in the outskirts from beneath which lingered frames of unaccounted for sights.

At it's finest in the heart of the shopping street — surrounded on either side by places of opulence, the restaurant extended it's narrow frame towards the road. A valet in a buttoned down shirt stretched across his chest, the gloved hands extended in gentleness to accompany the man and his escort or vice versa. They had been taught to not question, to not see — simply do. Exchanging words and a stamped ticket, Arnold led Seraphina into the restaurant that was lined with glass on either side. Fishes swam in the clear blue waters that filled the spaces, carpeted the floors drowned out all noise uncrushed from their steps and wide mouthed chatter.

"Fishes." Seraphina added with disdain, grinning still as she felt her hair — the chignon still intact.

"Delilah would have loved to see these." He hummed, remembering how much she had enjoyed the aquarium he took her too.

His fingers brushed the small of her back, caressing her warm skin that was left bare — the deep back helping him. She shuddered under his touch, her lips dropping as he pulled back his hand almost instantly. Remembering his tutoring sessions with Delilah.
Don't touch her until she gives a hint.
Coughing to reduce the air of awkward infidelity, he rubbed the nape of his neck. Watching with great intensity as her tanned skin turned a shade darker, the tips of her ears an endearing pink. Arnold relaxed as she held his hand, wrapping her fingers around his in a deathly, intricate grip. Refusing to let go.

Stepping into the lavishly decorated hall with ceiling to floor length glass chandeliers — a symbol of senseless money and power. Red and gold ran across, printed flowers in their petulant pastels were scared out of their homes — accommodation that belonged to them to file for the expense of the boldness that otherwise bleed through. Champagne kept the room alive, merry conversations simmered like a soup on a stove in winter, the room saturated with people of all ages and sizes, munching though deftly. Flutters of wind struck the body as they entered and walked to their secluded table, his hands wrapping around the tall chair with a golden frame and red upholstery.

The table was covered in a plain tablecloth. Chinaware painted with water paints struck a ghostly resemblance to the ones seen at their family's home, untouched though. The knives and forks tucked underneath folded napkins made of the finest of linens won the competition. A gold ring around them to keep it all from slouching. Thin stemmed glasses for wine and deep crystal ones for water covered the rest of the span — a bouquet of roses placed in the centre to keep passion flowing. Regardless.

"Why French?"

Seraphina looked up from the thick menu. Her blue eyes were twinkling like the sapphires he had once seen in his mother's ears. There was something about the airbrushed strokes of blush and highlight on her face that struck as similar. The floor length dress with a slit matched her posture — elegant. The dimples in her elbows punched the air out of his gut, his eyes blinked as he tried to get the vision out of his mind. Patting down his chest he took a deep breath. At a lack of words.

"I thought you enjoyed French food?"

"Did you hang out with Delilah recently?" She grinned.

"Yes." He frowned.

"Why?"

"We made a deal."

Seraphina chuckled at his words, glee lit up the bottom of her eyes. Leaning over, with her hands crossed at her chest, she whispered into his face.

"What deal?"

"That is — private." Arnold explained.

"Come on! You're no fun." She whined.

A waiter stepped forth with the width of his palms wrapped around a deep green glass bottle, a gold foil wrapped over the still sealed bottle of champagne. Offering the two a small smile he dropped the drink into their glasses, filling it to the top — until two inches from the cusp of the glass remained full of air. The bubbles dissolved in the drinks crispness as he noted down the order, noticing the visible difference between their accents.

Leaves of a large succulent behind them shielded them from the views of the dinning hall that was at full capacity. The figures were just instead to them muddled voices that were just as good as their imagination could get. Pinched to the ceilings the plaster details with curved figures battling it out with their medallions and swords was unusual to say the least. This part of the country was known to love it's peace. It of course was a result of the heavily guarded school and the number of billionaires that lived around this part. The government was forced to employ only the best for their protection. Gaudy — the ceilings were made to match the rest of the cluttered grandeur of the space.

A live orchestra played in the background. On a raised circular dial, dressed in fine silk suiting they okayed. A vigorous intensity brushed past the attendants. Loosing semblance the air turned into a fiery provocation as everyone waited with bated breath for the piece to reach the pinnacle of perfection. It would only then be talent to marvel at. An uncountable number of sighs and groans slipped past the done up faces as they waited for their food — the attractions not doing enough even in the intentional historical setting.

"You're not eating."

Arnold questioned, moving the mussels in his dish around just as he scooped some up to his face, wiping his clean mouth with the edge of the napkin. His green eyes stared at her for a moment, the hunch of her shoulders was an unknown sight. The smile on her face that was in a forever bloom had suddenly found itself lost. Underneath all that lipstick he could tell that the flesh he had kissed once in an irreversible setting was filled with dictated fury. Though he could not understand as to why. Seraphina enjoyed this particular cuisine—Delilah had reminded him a countless number of times.

"I suddenly feel queasy." She shrugged, dropping the napkin on to the side of her plate.

"Do you want go get something else?"

"Can we have ice cream?" She spoke with sparkling eyes.

A glimmer of hope speckled down the side of her blinding eyeshadow, into the streams of her tear ducts that filled the rest of her eyes with a powerful glow. Shaking his head in approval he watched with great comfort as the smile bloomed on her soft lips — ones that a sinner would kiss to repent. Her hands slid over his, drumming over the skin at the back of his hands. A callous disassociation lingered amongst their breaths, as disappointment filled his throat noticing the absence of a deep dimple on the left of her cheek.

The walk down the street was short and full of their eyes stuck to the stars that shone with unforgettable power. They were hazy in their streaks and the clear cerulean skies — twinkled with life and an impossible power that was both theirs and not. Crisp air mixed around their figures hunched under thick coats, the sounds of their freshly polished shoes scared the stray kittens that lingered below the steaming hearths of the open kitchens.

Glossy neon signs. Symbols. The name of the ice cream parlor in a single stroke cursive kept the winter night from completely choking their mouths with a lasting fogginess. Her breath windy — swirling in front of her like ribbons of passionate power breathed life into his shorter curt sentences. A life bred between the inanimate chatter that was otherwise obligatory. The creamery was just about closing and a crisp note passed hands — the doors kept open as the two stepped in.

"How about you order for me Arnie." Seraphina spoke in a deaf tone — no room for discussion left behind.

"Okay."

Cringing as he did at the name, longing for the snubbed accent to call him Viv, he pressed his fingers — lightly into the air above the glass cover. Motioning towards the mint flavor. His brows bunched up in a frown, the crooked cut above his lip hid underneath his beard, that peaked through as he rubbed his skin in a wave of queasiness. The light in his eyes dropped a few levels too — watching her face flush as she took a bite out of the ice cream, asking him to follow her in silence to his car.

Seraphina hugged his arm with despondent energies. Crushing his hand between her body she placed her lips on top of his, slithering away as she felt him freeze underneath her.

"You love Delilah don't you Arnie?"

"What? No! I love you — why would I woo you if I didn't?" He groaned.

"Maybe because you think it's me you like?"

"Where do you get the idea from?"

؀

Delilah groaned in pain as the knocks on her bedroom door forced her to leave the lukewarm bubble bath she had run herself. Wiping down her body with the fluffy white towel, she wrapped it around her frame. Tugging over a silk robe that landed below her knees. Marching to her door she stared at her reflection — the pain and streaks of tears in them were vibrant. She could almost not believe that it was her she saw. The strong woman gone and instead left behind a woman drunk on the love of her best friend's life. Croaking out a reply, she pressed her fingers to her sodden cheeks. Turning the lights inside the bedroom on — the aura of a romantic evening lost all of a sudden as she unlocked the door.

Stunned.
Breathless.
Disbelieving she moved out of the way, waiting for his tall frame to enter and drop on top of her bed. His legs crossed over at the ankles and the length of them spread across the size of her miniature bedroom. Sucking her cheeks in she kissed her teeth, sinking her canines into the the flesh of her bottom lip. Her feet tapped against the floor in anticipation. The flesh of her chest turned red — an annoying maroon that brushed the side of her neck and raised her heartbeat as the man walked nearer, his thumb pressing to her lower lips.

"What — what are you doing Viv?"

Delilah breathed out. Her eyes burned with tears still unshed. Wrapping her fists around the front of his starchy dress shirt — feeling his unwavering heart beat. She was forced to still in action for a moment. Before she pushed him away — setting the man free from the hold he had on her. Frustrated groans escaped her lips as she watched him marvel at her — the buzz in his green eyes fussing with something much more eclectic. Punching his chest she moved out his arms, fighting the grip that had tightened around her a fraction of a moment ago.

"I realized something."

Whispering into the space between them he spoke almost scared. Losing his breath that had been trapped between the bronchioles of his lungs.

"Which is?"

"How much I love the crinkle in her copper eyes. The laughter of her throat and don't get me started on her 'I am the boss' attitude."

"Oh!"

Delilah swallowed the pain. Wallowing in the effervescent motions she could hallucinate before her. The sight of blue and green mixing with a force — passion swelling the size and wandering around her. Leaving her to fend for herself. Delilah hated the feeling.

"Yeah. I love that she enjoys listening to my historical facts. That she is fond of French food and agrees mint is the best ice-cream flavor to date."

"Sounds like you two have a lot in common." Delilah murmured, crossing her arms against her chest.

"I do. I love the idea of exploring the rest of the city with her, I relish the fact that she wanted me to be her tour guide in exchange of wooing her friend" he whispered, stepping closer into her space, "and I absolutely think a bubble bath with her is better than an expensive dinner."

"What are you on about?"

Deilah's breath hitched inside her throat. His fingers traced up her arms, the silk not much to keep the burn of his touch away as it crept up her shoulders. Placing the back of his fingers against her cheeks, his lips lightly grazed her skin. His body trapping her between the wall and himself. A yelp escaped her lips. The back of her throat dried as she felt his gaze wander between her eyes and her lips. Rising and falling — her heartbeat rivaled the exponentially rising pace of her heartbeat.

"I love you Delilah. It's always been you."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"It was you. You were the one I kissed in the farewell party. Not Seraphina." He stated matter-of factly.

"Who told you that?"

"Seraphina herself. She made me realize just how much I love you."

"Because of a kiss?" She chuckled.

"On the contrary I think it's got to do with the charm you possess my love."

"So what are you going to do now darling?" Delilah narrowed her gaze.

"Going to make that wrong kiss into the right one."

؀

A wrap babies.
I hope you guys enjoyed reading about Arnold, Delilah and Seraphina. I wish I had more time to write some more but I am in a rush!
*cries*
Worry not. I'll give you an epilogue soon to show you what goes on after Arnold or as he likes to be addressed — Viv woos Delilah.