Desperate - Amrit

Amrit & number 10 from this list…

“Just play along,” Amrit 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,” He smirks slightly, his 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,” He 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.” He says breezily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Amrit,” You warn him 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?” He whispers by your ear, his curls brushing against your neck as his wings flutter and rest around you, “It’s already working.”

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

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

He pouts, “You could sound more impressed.”

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

“God, you sound like my dad.” He grunts.

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 Amrit’s shitty father.

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

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

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

“It was hilarious,” He 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.” He says, “Ask my parents.”

His 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 him up.

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

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

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

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

Then you pull away. Out of his embrace entirely.

“Wait,” He 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 him behind on the sidewalk. You see a small flame flicker to life on one of his feathers through the reflection in the glass, and you smirk because he doesn’t even notice it. He’s too busy watching you walk away.