Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
─────
ELEANOR AND TARON are on the roof, their legs folded to their chests and their arms draped over their knees. They are passing a cigarette back and forth, having decided that they should probably ration their stash — about a pack between the both of them.
"Wonder how your girl's doing," Eleanor declares before taking a drag. Taron looks at her, watching as she blows smoke out of her mouth.
"My girl?" he asks. His eyebrows raise in amusement as if she just told a terrible joke. "You mean Genevieve?" Eleanor nods, handing him the cigarette. "She's not my girl," he says with a shake of his head as he places the cigarette between his lips.
"She's not?" He shakes his head again. "What, not good in bed or something?"
"No, no. It's not that."
"Obviously. Even I'd be honored to take her home," Eleanor declares, taking back the cigarette. He chuckles, the smoke escaping from his lips.
"It's just... I don't know. Sure, she's hot and all, but she's not real, y'know? Maybe that's shitty of me to say since I just fucked her last night, but that's the thing. Can't even say 'make love' or whatever."
"You're pathetic," Eleanor says with a smile before putting the cigarette in her mouth.
"I'm serious! It's like she's a designated one night stand."
"Ouch."
"I mean, she hasn't even seen The Princess Bride. Who hasn't seen The Princess Bride?" Taron continues, scandalized.
"Oh, so you had an actual conversation with her?" Eleanor asks with raised eyebrows.
"Kind of. We played twenty questions when we slow danced."
"How romantic."
"Yeah, well, it was hard to talk about literally anything else. All she wanted to do was make out."
"So I see you've come down from your high of getting laid."
"Something about nearly getting blown to dust by war machines really grounds a guy."
Eleanor chuckles, looking up at the night sky as she brings the cigarette to her lips. Taron turns his head to her and smiles. If Eleanor were to lower her eyes to him in that moment, she would notice that despite his dimples and soft expression, a sad gleam lingers in his eyes. As he watches her gaze at the sky and at the smoke billowing into the brisk air in thick, swirling clouds, he wonders if he made a mistake by taking Genevieve to the dance and not continuing their tradition by taking her.
As she tucks her hair behind her ear and lowers her head to gaze at her combat boots, he comes to the conclusion that getting laid by the sexiest chick in their year is absolutely incomparable to spending the night with Eleanor.
