"Oh, I'm flattered, really," She let out a soft chuckle, "But I must say, I'm not cut out for it—"

"I heard Mr. Salvatore has launched a recruitment program."

..What?

"And it seems," There it was again. That glow in those chocolate brown eyes, and it wasn't the sun. That aura around the woman... as if she knew much more than she let on. "This year's starring would be Ms. Ivanova."

The world stopped spinning. 
Every minute ounce of air was vacuumed away. Bones crumbled into power and eyes reached for escape from their socket prisons.

"Arlene?" Daotha tilt her head, her overly large cap slanting an entire angle with it.

"You do know Miss Arlene Ivanova, right?"

Yes.

She did know her dead mother.

Better than anyone.

·······•✦•······

Daotha was gone.
Arlene was alone with that Hiroshima-worthy explosion of information.

Salvatore?
Ivanova?
Alive?

Now, it would be foolish to just take a persons word and act on it. But, even the slimmest of slimmest chances were chances, weren't they?

Arlene turned to her heels, walking with a mind filled with thoughts, theories and plans on what was coming.

Thoughts, theories, and plans that also included walking straight into a wall, apparently.

"Ow—!"

When her vision blinked back and her body registered its senses again, she realized it wasn't a wall she had bumped into.

It was Grayson Hawthorne's chest.

It was much worse than a wall.

"Doll?" His perfectly combed hair had a little hair sticking out which annoyed Arlene.

"Uh, sorry," She ripped her eyes away from the blaring red imperfection, "didn't see ya, Pretty Boy."

"Where are you going?" He steadied her with his hands. Arlene noticed that if they compared the palms, their hands were almost the same size. Except hers were slimmer, colder, and rougher in texture while his were softer, warmer, and more muscular.

And had an oddly satisfying exhibition of veins on them.

"Uh... nowhere, just, back to my room." She tried to put some distance, she really did. But he held her close. Something changed. In the way his eyes shone, maybe. Or maybe, in the way, his touch got a bit insistent. In the way, his jaw held himself back from freeing words demanding on his tongue. Arlene didn't know what but something had changed.

"We ought to have a chat," That tug nearer to him was a figment of Arlene's imagination. Yup. Mental hallucination. "don't we?"

No. Because the last time I ever saw you, I was grave digging the body of your grandfather which wasn't even the body of your grandpa. And before that, you made out with me as a building was collapsing to hell.

Arlene held her head a little higher, we really ought NOT to have a chat, "Sure, what's on your mind, Grace?" Grace? When did I ever call him Grace? Oh god, that's so weird, it sounds like a girl—

"Quite a lot, actually." Grayson turned his back to Arlene, yet his hands never left contact with her, "Walk with me."

It was a statement, but to Arlene's mind, it sounded awful like a requesting invitation. An invitation her brilliant mind soulfully wanted to decline, but as usual, her limbs and lips were their own bosses. "Lead the way," she answered softly.

Arlene had this childish habit that was utterly annoying to get rid of; she used to try and synchronize the footfalls of her own with the person she was strolling with. And in doing so, she would be looking down, round cheeks, like an idiotically adorable toddler.

Cute, but embarrassing.

Just her luck that the epitome of perfection incarnated as human beside her had to point it out with the most entertained—and dare say—endearing curve on his lips, "Keep looking down like that, sweetheart, and you'll be hugging the garden trees more often than you'd expect."

The brunette rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide the creeping, snooping little heat crawling up her cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Hawthorne. Just get to the tea already."

"The tea?"

"You know what I mean!"

"Do I?" The Hawthorne boy tapped his lips with his index in faux consideration, "Maybe I do not."

She let some laughter slip between her words, "You're terrible at teasing." A few days (or weeks?) ago, Arlene Amira Grambs would physically turn ill at the thought of walking, laughing and bantering with Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. But now? It didn't seem all that bad.

He didn't seem all that bad.
Somethings may just change.

"It was just a kiss, Ms. Grambs. It did not change anything between us."

Freeze.

Now imagine stubbing your tiniest toe. Getting hit on the crotch. Getting ploughed down by Mike Tyson at his prime. Getting your ankle twisted in the worst angle known to humanity. Waxing your nostrils. A bee sting on an open wound.

Ouch.

That's how much the shock and reality check kicked Arlene. 

Right, Her face hardened. Her eyes glued ahead, what were you expecting? Him magically wanting to tolerate you and your demon spawn personality in a span of few days?

She hated herself for being so petty but she stopped on her tracks and turned around, "Good conversation, Hawthorne," She took one stride ahead.

Only one.
Because he simply tugged her back by her hand, gently wrapping his (well built-) arms around her waist, holding her captive. She could only wonder when he had gotten so touchy and developed bipolar disorder as a bonus.

"Unhand me, peasant—"

"See?" His voice beside her ears would make anyone grown woman shiver. So no, it was not strange that Arlene did that. Not at all. "I can be a proper tease when need be."

Oh this little—

"Upset, doll?" He smirked that devious, controlled, confident, Grayson Hawthorne smirk at her. 

"What the hell?" Arlene pursed her lips, attempting a glare yet knowing very well that in his eyes, she looked like a pouting little kid.

"I meant what I said, my dear," Arlene's lungs forgot how to function when Grayson slipped a hand into his pocket. His other took her right hand into grip—a surprisingly gentle, feather care grip. "A kiss between us changes nothing."

Grey pools tried to swallow Arlene whole. 

"It changes everything, doll." 

The ring was ethereal. 

The sleek gold band that based the meticulously crafted rose ornament. Each petal a delicate shade of metal folded like the most luxurious form of fabric. Swirling into a spiral at the center and adorned with leaves carrying little diamonds as coloring. Beautiful.

"Grayson..." Arlene found herself lost for all words aside from his name.

He her so their foreheads touched, "I realised, darling, that maybe you are not an interloper with dubious intentions, or a con artist." His fingers thread through her slimmer ones, holding her right middle above the others, "I've realised that you are kind, considerate—" was it always so hard for a heart to beat slowly? "—generous, vexatiously endearing, protective, nosy—"

"—nosy—?"

"—and most of all," his hold tightened, "dear." 

He let that sink in.

"Dear, Arlene. You are dear." To me. "To us all."

The ring slipped perfectly onto her.

 The air was the silence. The song of the birds was the silence. The bristle of leaves was the silence.
The rhythmic thuds against his chest and hers was the silence.

Arlene dared not think what he was going to say next.
Arlene dared not even consider what new world she would be thrown into if he said what was onto her mind.

Arlene dared not. But hoped nonetheless.

"Truth is, Ms. Grambs," Those perfect lips carved into a gentle crescent. Yet reluctance, hesitation and doubt lingered. "I think I'd like to be your—"

He's going to say it. Oh god, wait is this real—?

"—friend, Arlene."

Oh. 

Friend. Right, no, friend was what she had in mind. Friend was what made her heart run a marathon. Friend was the closest she'd want to be with a Hawthorne. FRIEND was what she wanted this Hawthorne to be for her.

Friend.

"Arlene?"

Just. A. Friend.

That little imperfect hair strand got to her. She reached out, her nibble fingers, stroking it back in place through the crown of golden locks he wore as a hair.

"Me too." Her lips twitched high, "Yes. I want to be your—" Don't hesitate for even a millisecond, "—friend too... Pretty Boy."

That's it.
He wrapped her up against his chest. He held her like the most precious of stones a friend could be. He held her like the most brightest of lights a friend could be. He looked at her as anyone would to the world a friend could be. 

"I want to be your dearest friend, my darling doll."

I do too, sweetheart. I do too.

·······•✦•······

[ GRAYSON ]

Grayson was a master at many things. Sword fighting? Check. Martial arts? Check. Photography? Check. Handling of mistakes made by employees or parental figures like a daily coffee break? Check again.

Lying was amongst the list, though that  particularly did not mean he had been lying just now.

Grayson did want to be Arlene's friend.

He wanted to be the friend she'd cry her heart out to. He wanted to be the friend to whom she would nag about her daily problems to. He wanted to be the friend she'd spend her time getting to know. He wanted to be the friend she'd let spend the time to getting to know her.
He wanted to be the friend who knew her better than anyone ever. He wanted to be the friend who had traced every scar on on her body, kiss stars around it and do it all over again. He wanted to be the friend she'd stay up at night, thinking about. He wanted to be the friend who would hold her so close no other would dare.

He wanted to be the friend who'd be the only one to place his lips on hers.

He wanted to be the friend who owned her heart, mind, body and soul, just as much as she owned his very existence.

Grayson did want to be Arlene's that friend.

But how could he?

"Rina!"

Given the way his equally as dear brother looked at her.

When Arlene ripped herself from his embrace, maybe she tore off a piece of his soul and heart along with her. Grayson showed not a thing on his face.

"Game Boy?" She blinked. She had an oddly adorable habit of blinking as she would process happenings around her. 

"Interview's done, wanna hang out for a bit, Riri?"
His emerald eyed brother said, the biggest grin plastered on his face with the strongest adhesive known. That was until his eyes caught the shine of gold on her right hand. That bright grin faltered a bit. Those emerald eyes swirled with emotion as they glanced at diamond ones.

Grayson has been a part of this game before.
He and his brother were pieces against one another.

And one prize, Sarina, and one player, Emily, were their undoing.

Grayson Hawthorne never made mistakes. They would always come right back to bite him.
And if he did, god forbid, make one?

He'd never make another again.

So he stepped back. 
Even if it tore his blood giving organ to shred to see the flicker of disappointment in those gold eyes he came to adore. 
Even if all his mortal existence wanted to do was give up. Stop being perfect. Stop being Hawthorne. Stop being Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. 
Fall to his knees for her.

He loved his blood named Jameson too much to hurt him. Again.

"I'll excuse myself," He turned his back and went ahead, not waiting for a response, reply, nothing. "Good day, Arlene, Jameson."

A shame, really. Arlene... Grayson... them. There was no them.

He doubt there ever could be.

·······•✦•······

Daotha took off her hat. A soft shade of amusement adorned her lips.

"Hm, so you may think, Mr. Hawthorne," she smiled, running a hand over the cover of a book. The piece of literature, adorned with gold embellishments and jewels of emerald, diamond and bronze. Little scatters of rubies and sapphires scattered here and there. A lock and a key. "So you may think."

She sat down in the velvet cushioned armchair. The room lay shrouded in shadow, the heavy curtains drawn like silent sentinels. Slivers of golden sunlight fought to breach the fabric's grasp, spilling through in thin, piercing beams that danced with drifting dust. The air was thick with stillness, each corner cloaked in mystery, where time seemed to linger, hushed and waiting. A trail of phantom smoke left her mouth as she held the cigar between the tips of her fingers.

"After all," She leaned back, her brown eyes gleaming so bright.

Until they were white.

"Fate is not written in stone, now is it?"

·······•✦•······

the ring of roses

a/n: so this is not only just 5000 words but the humor made me physically cringe... I guess the last part of Arson was cute but ugggggghhhh my finals are finally (pun intended) over and I think I lost my writing grip! So we're starting off slow again, 5k words and I'll try to build up to 10-11k.

This was supposed to be released four days earlier on Valentines but my lazy ass was writing exams so... better late than never? 

Anyways, seeing ya'll go radio silent breaks my heart (/jk) so spam me. 

See you (soon hopefully)

-coremakii

p͓̽.͓̽s͓̽.͓̽ ͓̽:͓̽ ͓̽D͓̽a͓̽o͓̽t͓̽h͓̽a͓̽ ͓̽=͓̽ ͓̽D͓̽a͓̽ ͓̽+͓̽ ͓̽O͓̽t͓̽h͓̽a͓̽ ͓̽=͓̽ ͓̽T͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽+͓̽ ͓̽A͓̽u͓̽t͓̽h͓̽a͓̽ ͓̽=͓̽ ͓̽T͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽A͓̽u͓̽t͓̽h͓̽o͓̽r͓̽