Demon Turned Lover [BxB]

Clothes & foes

     "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?"