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is it not enough to love? to love and to be loved?

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“What can I get you, your highness?” 


Only because she walks in like she’s a goddamn prophet and the clowns who clear her way are her disciples. Luke pushes him forward and says: take it.  He stumbles begrudgingly around the counter and to the corner table, hands holding a pencil and notepad, face pulled into a thin line of patience.


“The fuck away from me, city trash.” She responds. Jess can’t stand her. He can't stand anyone in this town.


“She was lovely. A true delight to serve apple pie and soda water to,” He snarks, after Luke asks first impressions. “An absolute unit of a lady.” He sends him this stern, but genuine look of understanding. It doesn’t make sense. 


He finds it amusing that his mere presence ticks off a bomb behind her eyes. She annoys the fuck out of him, au contraire, makes his chest burn with unbridled anger when she sends a cheap glance his way and then back to whatever she’s saying or doing like it’s something he isn’t supposed to hear, or see.


Jess wants to ruin her life. He also kind of wants her to ruin his.


They’re at each others throats, spitting spiteful words just to pull each other’s strings, then shes pushing him up against the alley wall telling him to shut the fuck up and kiss her. (and he listens, because he’s not fucking stupid.)