Guns and Cigarettes [Levi/Rivaille x OC]

Chapter 9: Promenade Bullshit

I was expecting fits of laughter from the bottom of the stairs as I descended the steps. They came at me, one after another, like a bunch of hooligans in the middle of the night at a deserted lane, and I climbed over.

The light stamped at my face, wisping its fingers across my cheekbones and jaw, flattering me with attention. Rebelliously, a tendril of my dark mane swept at my eye, brushing at the apple of my cheek, refusing to be bound by cheap hair spray. I was secretly in collusion with it, prying it out of my tight braided up-do to upset symmetry, to offend order.

My dress was bundled up in my fists, spilling out before me. Its cloth and layers threw itself at my feet, trailing behind me, flowing down the rungs like water escaping from my grasp. Actually, the wine colour makes it look like a river of blood. I was a walking massacre. I wanted to cut the damn thing off.

"Well, what do we have here?" Robert grinned at the end of the staircase, his eyes gleaming, a coat folded across his arm, "If it isn't the young miss' first high school prom."

"Let's hope no one pours a bucket of blood over me." I huffed tiredly, shaking out my heels over the riddle of stairs. That'd make me a literal walking massacre.

"Don't pout, Hazel. The world needs to see how gorgeous this princess is."

"The world ain't seeing shit besides my double chins and how fast I run for fried chicken at the buffet."

"God, you look so much like your mother." He remained oblivious to my comment, and I sighed in relief that he didn't charge a donation to the Swear Jar for my French.

I watched the reveal of milky white as I couldn't help but smile. My red lips outlined the bone of my teeth like the silver road under moonlight, curving into an uneven beam. The glistening gold of elevator doors mimicked my sheepishness and my awkward frame shifting painfully on two fucking pathetic excuse of shoes.

The marble across the foyer yelped to every harsh prod of my needles of heels. They were like prickles that jabbed at the ground to my every step. The bitches at school would take great care not to mess with me if they didn't want stilettos shoved down their tight throats tonight. Or kick them where the sun doesn't shine. I hope I don't lose a shoe from the latter.

As if he had read my thoughts, Robert reminded me, "I know how nasty kids can be. But promise me, no unnecessary trouble, alright?"

I offered my pinky to his, and we were bound by an unspoken oath.

In the distance, I heard a foreign, high-pitched giggle riddle down the corridor upstairs. A strand of hair brushed off my shoulders as I shifted, cautious eyes lingering after a paid pair of naked legs in heels strolling into papa's room before the door promptly shut behind them. Revulsion bubbled at the back of my throat, and with a practiced movement, I blinked away.

Light absconded Robert's eyes as he spotted the proud lines of my shoulder blades as I rotated, catching a glimpse of ink that flashed brazenly. Just when his mouth parted to express the first hint of disapproval, the doorbell sang, rudely intercepting him.

Saved by the bell.

"Well, who is the lucky guy?" Robert nodded at the needlessly gigantic double doors, scratching the faint scar near his brow as he approached to put the heavy trench coat over my shoulders, "A handsome jock? Captain of the football team? The Student Council President?"

The door grazed open to reveal short stack in all his 5'3 glory.

I tilted my head, my childish grin dissipating when I caught sight of the raven-haired male over Robert's shoulder. His usual tousled locks that shielded the world from his strident gaze were swept back neatly. Levi's angular frame was apparent when I traced the jacket draped over his shoulders effortlessly. I made a mental comparison from the grumpy boy I had to put up with at school who liked to scrub floorboards as a past time to the not-too-bad-looking man before me, sheathed in a freshly-pressed suit waiting by my door. My tranced vision washed up on the creamy cravat that dripped from his collar, before stifling a laugh to mask my astonishment.