1.3 | the art of cupidity ✓ - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

"YOU PISS ME OFF," SORA TELLS HIM AS SHE STICKS HER MIDDLE FINGER IN HIS GENERAL DIRECTION. "You and your arrogant attitude."
Rylin smirks and toys with his earring. "Look who's talking," he counters, and then whispers, "Ice Queen."
"Shut up."
"I can always do it for you."
Her mouth opens to say something and then stops as if reconsidering his offer, but then curls downwards once she sees his knowing expression. Rylin Carter is just the right mixture of sharpness and attentive duality that causes Sora's head starts to spin from the pain of whiplash. In the light of his car, he looks like a piece of sunwashed heaven: hair messed up and an endearing cowlick obvious towards the back of his head, skin healthy and glowing, and body lean and long. Attraction is always necessary in a functioning relationship, and she wonders if he finds himself lost when looking at her too, and if he thinks about if she's missing him. With his occasional slim chain and diamond studs and casual street clothing, Sora would've never guessed he was her type. Not when she prefers chunky sneakers and clothing fit for a second-grade boy over his fashionable tastes, and certainly not when he gets under her skin the way he enjoys it. But there are other tender moments where the real Rylin Carter shines through and it's not just the cool facade he presents to the world.
She points to the road ahead of them. "Where are we going?"
And when he turns around and grins at her, the galaxies stop spinning. "Sue's Corner," he says. "Is there any other place?"
No, Sora thinks fondly. There isn't.
When the familiar sound of the bell jingles through her ears and they choose a well-loved booth to sit in, Sue walks up to them and takes their order. Sora requests her all-time favorite dish (chicken and waffles), and Rylin (a new customer), favors the blueberry pancakes. He has a sweet tooth, Sora muses, and keeps this in mind for future references.
"Hi, sweetheart," Jonah's aunt greets her, and Sora plants a kiss on her cheek before sitting back down in her seat. She notes the way Rylin toys with the salt and pepper shakers, rips up the edge of a napkin, and clinks the silverware together in odd amusement; he doesn't ever stop moving, it seems. It's awfully endearing.
Conversion seems to flow easily between them, and it's only when she begins to laugh does she realize that Rylin's warm. Warm enough to melt the ice around her, and warm enough to transform her eyes into half-crescent moons when she smiles.
"Tell me about your business," he prompts with an elbow settled on the table, and Sora grumbles in protest.
She shakes her head and purses her lips in refusal. "It's embarrassing."
"It's not embarrassing, Sora Lee," Rylin comforts with a huff and just a bit of sass. "In fact, I think it's really interesting."
And so she does. "People pay me to hook them up with someone they're attracted to," she mumbles, and he chokes on his water as he comprehends her blunt words. "And sometimes, I'll get a request to play a role if I get paid more."
A pause. "What kind of role?"
"Well tomorrow," Sora elaborates, eyes flashing, "Sydney Bells is paying me to pretend that I'm an innocent girl that unknowingly had an affair with his two-timing boyfriend—I think she wants to dump him dramatically on Valentine's Day." The holiday celebrating love ironically brings in quite a few breakup requests, but Sora is extra meticulous with those applications just in case she gets caught in a sticky situation with no way out.
"Isn't that kind of cruel, though?" Rylin asks, but there's no pity in his voice. Two heartless people sitting together at a late-night diner is nothing short of strange, but it's oddly comforting to Sora. Maybe even more comforting than the waffles on her plate.
She laughs and tilts her head back, noting the way his eyes follow the curve of her throat. "Perhaps," she drawls, "but I don't feel bad for cheaters. Especially when Sydney's boyfriend has hooked up with at least four other girls."
Which is true. When the redhead had come into the diner last week and cried her poor little heart out, Sora had felt a gush of pity and promised that yes, she would help her get revenge, and no, it wouldn't take long. All she required was the restaurant's address, the time of their reservation, and a payment beforehand.
"So you're not celebrating Valentine's Day with anyone?"
Sora groans and flicks his forehead. "That's what you got out of my explanation? That I'm single?"
"And I found out that you also might be into role play—does it apply in the bedroom too?"
Her mouth drops open. "Are you serious? You can't be."
He glares at her, and she glares back at him even harder. "I mean, yeah," Rylin snaps. "How in the hell could somebody put up with you? You're impossible."
"That's mean," Sora pouts, and then her eyes flicker up to his as she rests her chin in the palm of her hand. "You're mean, Ry. I really hate you." False.
Rylin's comeback is quick but light-hearted. "You're a brat, Sora Lee."
She smiles with an edge. "Hell yes," she says, voice like seductive, molten gold. "But I'm your brat."
"Don't think twice about it, baby."
Ice and fire form an intense combination as the colors blend and curl around each other, but perhaps it's just what both of them need to feel alive.
Sora doesn't mind getting burned in the process.
Rylin is crying again, and of course Sora takes another picture, because when her favorite target has puffy cheeks and glistening lips, it's impossible not to ignore it.
"Are you dying?" Sora asks, and presses a napkin on his face as she leans across the booth. "You should be an actor with those emotions, Carter. You'll give young Leo a run for his money."
The boy glares at her softly and breathes in sharply, chest rising and falling with fast breaths. And Sora really shouldn't joke in this situation, but that's just the type of person she is (making fun of people while panicking is her defense mechanism), and so she clicks her tongue once before letting her hand fall.
It all started when the food came out and Sora immediately dug into her waffles, not noticing Rylin's fond expression as she focused on the task at hand. Ten minutes passed and when the silence turned suspiciously eerie, she glanced upwards to see Rylin's lips turn an interesting shade of blue. Small red patches started to develop on his wrist, and afterwards, he croaked out, "Are there walnuts in this?"
Sora looked at the menu and read the warning label along with the nuts listed, and she yelled in his direction for a few minutes before the fast-paced wariness started to set in.
"I'll be fine," he started to wheeze out, slightly gasping. "Give me five minutes."
So that was how the situation led to her asking him if he was in mortal peril (he flipped her off in response), and Sora now scolds him on how he should do a better job of reading the ingredients.
"You could've died just then," she goes on, hands waving in the air, "and I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it. You can't die right now!" A pause. "Not when you've only kissed me once, and I've only kissed you ever." Another pause. "And to think that Rylin Carter was my first kiss—"
Rylin's head snaps up in surprise, and Sora rolls her eyes. "Yes, you goddamn genius," she tells him animatedly. "You were my first kiss, prince," she continues. "But you certainly won't be my last, so don't die on me."
He scoffs. "You're so fucking demanding—"
"Here," she says, sliding her water across the table. "Drink this." Her tone is softer now, less anxious, and the embarrassment of admitting that he was her first kiss is all too real. Rylin seems to notice her subtle quietness and instead drinks the water silently. "Be more careful, okay?" Sora pleads, and she watches his composure drop to take in her words.
But Rylin is back to normal within half an hour, and his response makes her want to scream.
"So you've imagined kissing me again?"
"Shut the hell up."
Rylin cracks a smirk. "Then come over here."
The car ride back to her place is easygoing and filled with teasing pockets of embarrassment and odd inside jokes. Rylin looks over at her and sees the aftermath of moonlight and dark sonatas paired with vintage classical music and flickering sparklers. She's the most carefree thing he's ever seen, that he's ever held, and he remembers how perfect they'd fit together—like he was made for her.
And he still can't believe that he's already cried twice (even though she was to blame for the first occasion), because that's utterly mortifying. Rylin's convinced that Sora Lee is a shark walking on land, and if someone starts to bleed, she'll slowly rip them to shreds.
It's the biggest turn-on he's ever felt in his life, and the spice fills him up and raises his interest like a lazy cat with a twitching tail.
Sora Lee, he muses. What are you, exactly?
He's glad he didn't die back in the diner, because Rylin really, really wants to kiss his Ice Queen again. Wants to feel her hands under his shirt and fingertips travel up his spine. Wants to make her breathless and frustrated and needing more all at the same time. Wants to unravel her and push her to the edge just to do it all over again like the sadist he is.
Spending time with her opens up bits and pieces of himself that he never knew he had. Apparently he has three versions of himself, and Sora's perceptiveness shocks him whenever it decides to show up (not often, it seems); most of the time, Rylin wants the girl to either shut up or throw herself on his bed just to see what she'll like with her hair messed up in the morning.
It's an infuriating balance.
Growing up, he knew he wasn't wanted. He lived in the basement of a crackhouse until the authorities came for him; Rylin was emaciated, malnourished, and so, so tiny. But he didn't understand why people looked at him and then cried, like he was hurting them somehow. And he certainly didn't understand why he couldn't have had a normal mother who made him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to take to school.
When he was adopted, Rylin thought that everything terrible in his life was gone, but instead, his classmates had teased him about his parents. "Your parents are Black, and you're Chinese," they used to tease. So what? Rylin had wanted to scream. So fucking what?
And Rylin was, in fact, not Chinese. He was Korean—but the other kids didn't care. So his rebellious phase lasted well into high school, and he got accepted into UCLA because despite his cold exterior, he really was quite gifted in academics and had achieved a high ACT score to secure his spot in the state university.
Rylin has friends, of course. His idiot neighbors and a few of the other student employees that work at the campus library alongside him keep him company, but his romantic life had never existed. Not until Chase Kennedy screwed up (or so he'd thought), kissed him in front of Adrian fucking Chalmetón, and led to Sora Lee acting as a blocker for Rylin's supposed moves towards the Spanish girl.
His original plan was to curse Adrian out right then and there, but when he saw Sora's sharp eyes and glossy white skates in one hand at the ice rink, he decided that he wanted to have a little bit of fun before everything fell to pieces.
He wants to be better for her—wants to be someone she can be proud of. Because this girl keeps human beings as trophies as a matchmaker, and he figures she must be exhausted of playing Cupid all the time.
The car slows to a stop outside the building, and he hears Sora sigh before he gets out of the car and meets her on the other side. Rylin won't admit it, but this is the first time he's grateful for his height; looking down at her and having to bend down in the slightest manner is surprisingly cute.
Sora glares at him (he feels like she's always glaring at him one way or another) and reaches out a finger to brush across his swollen bottom lip. He hates walnuts, and they make his throat itch uncontrollably and hives appear on his wrist, but the symptoms disappear within an hour, so no, Rylin won't die.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Sora whispers, trying to be tough. And he fucking melts against her skin.
Rylin grabs her hand and casually entwines their fingers together before resting it at his waist. "I won't die today," he promises. "Not when I haven't kissed you again, Ice Queen."
She bristles at the nickname, and he can't help but remember when she begged him to call her by another name when she was drunk. "C'mon," Rylin murmurs before tilting her head upwards to look at him. "Look at me, baby."
Sora sucks in a sharp breath, and oh yes, Rylin's favorite color isn't grey anymore but rather the pearl-like flush of her cheeks.
She shoves her hands against his chest, but they both know that she doesn't want to push him away. "I hate you," Sora grumbles, and something like a whine escapes her before Rylin pulls her against him and tangles his hands in her hair.
"Yeah," he breathes, brushing his lips against her once, twice, and then three times. Her hands make small fists against his shirt, and everything turns into white noise as he looks at the sugar-glazed expression in her eyes. "Yeah, I like you too."
And then Rylin Carter grabs onto pure fire and kisses her with everything he has within him: all of the pent-up frustration and irritation and sweet, sweet nervousness that coats his bones and sings in his blood. He kisses her like she's his past, his present, and his future, and everything rotates around the heat of her darkened halo. Sora Lee tastes like toasted caramel and lovesick tragedies, and Rylin slips a thumb under her shirt and smoothes his hand over her skin, and everything is perfect and panicked all at once: she cups his face within her hands and moves her mouth against his, occasionally pulling away to gasp, and continues to bewitch him as the pads of her fingers travel down his neck, past his collarbones, and lower until it hits his belt loops.
Sora hooks her fingers inside and pulls him roughly against her, and now she's leaning against his car and he's laughing against her lips, but it doesn't matter—nothing matters right now, except how she feels and how his tongue darts out and teases the delicate curve of her throat. And damn it all to hell, but he's falling for his Ice Queen—he's falling hard, and somehow, the adrenaline makes him feel like he's unstoppable.
The girl in his arms aligns her body with his, and holy shit, Rylin thinks, she's the prettiest thing I've ever seen. When they pull away, her eyes are still closed, but he drops a kiss to her forehead and she finally cracks open an eye, lips slick and swollen. He lowers his head towards hers as she presses a thumb to the beauty mark near his temple, and Rylin Carter wraps himself in her devilish silk and icy chills.
They don't speak for a bit and instead revel in the heated physical contact between the two. Midnight temptress, Rylin realizes with a start.
"Come with me tomorrow," Sora says and pecks his cheek. And there's no hesitation when it comes to his returning answer:
Rylin smirks. "I'll go anywhere with you, pretty girl."
When Sora Lee returns back to her dorm, she ignores the questioning look from Adeena and opts for launching into her sheets instead. And she's happy—she's so, so happy that everything has a golden glow around it. Even cranky Adeena.
Rylin likes her. He really likes her.
When she goes to bed that night, she gets the best sleep she's had in ages.
Rylin likes me, Sora repeats, and she loves the way it sounds.