Desperate - Amrita

Amrita & number 10 from this list…

“Just play along,” Amrita turns to look at you, giving you a little pout, “Please, dearest?”

You cross your arms, “Don’t call me that.”

“I always call my significant others pet names,” She smirks slightly, her gaze darting up and down your body, “And you certainly are significant.”

“I hate to break this to you, but coffee after finding a dead body together isn’t a date.” You roll your eyes, “Why do you even care if they think we’re together?”

“It takes the heat off you,” She smirks, “If my parents see me out and about with you, the council won’t have any thoughts to spare about dead bodies and missing CCTV footage. Not with how big of a fuss they’ll make.”

“So you want to take the target off my back by painting a bigger one on yours.” Your brows furrow, “Why?”

“They do say love makes us do crazy things.” She says breezily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Amrita,” You warn her lowly.

You hear the click of someone taking a picture on their phone. People are already whispering. As much as it pains you, the story of a missing girl would be buried beneath you and the disowned Singh heir hard launching a relationship.

“See?” She whispers by your ear, her curls brushing against your neck as her wings flutter and rest around you, “It’s already working.”

The position feels oddly intimate. You suppose that is her goal.

“What a shocker, the journalist knows how to manipulate the media.” You say, entirely deadpan.

She pouts, “You could sound more impressed.”

“You’re currently meeting expectations,” You quip, “Try harder to exceed them.”

“God, you sound like my dad.” She huffs.

It catches you off guard for a moment, and any snappy comebacks or quick wit abandons you in an instant. The last fucking thing you want in this world is to sound like Amrita’s shitty father.

“I-“ You open your mouth, but freeze when you see a wide grin crack her serious expression.

“God, you should see your face.” She wheezes the words out through a laugh, “Oh, how I wish I had my camera.”

You slap her lightly on the arm, “That wasn’t funny, asshole.”

“It was hilarious,” She corrects you, “Though I’m pleased to know you care so much about my childhood trauma.”

“Not everything is a bit, you know.” You grumble.

“How mistaken you are, dearest. My entire life is a bit that I’m very committed to.” She says, “Ask my parents.”

Her arm snakes around your waist as more people turn and gawk while you make your way back to your lecture hall. You feel warm all over and have a sudden, visceral desire to show her up.

“How committed?” You whisper back, glancing at her through long lashes as you come to a stop outside your building.

She freezes, blinking rapidly, “Uh, what?”

“I said how committed?” You repeat yourself, shifting closer.

The tips of her ears burn as she watches you with wide eyes. You run a hand up her waist and she swallows visibly, her gaze not drifting from you for a second. Bringing your faces closer, you ghost your lips over hers, barely touching…

Then you pull away. Out of her embrace entirely.

“Wait-“ She says dumbly, reaching out as if to pull you back in.

“I don’t need some desperate bit to want you,” You smile slightly, “I’ll text you when my class is out.”

You walk through the door, leaving her behind on the sidewalk. You see a small flame flicker to life on one of her feathers through the reflection in the glass, and you smirk because she doesn’t even notice it. She’s too busy watching you walk away.