it's not poisoned [semi-closed]

He might as well have had a halo then, and with the ceiling light framed behind his head as he approached, he might as well have been an angel. A too-bright aural glow, a cheesy ass droning intonation that almost made her snort soda out her nose, and two tall glasses in his hands. "Dude..." she coughed, wiping her nose, a buzzing numbness spreading across her mouth and cheeks, like pinpricks. "Dude! You're the fucking best, you know that?" Her voice felt hoarse, strained coming out of her throat, and every hiccup of a laugh sent aches and pangs shooting through her windpipe and across her ribs. "Shit, what did I do to deserve the butler treatment?"

Taking the glass out of his hand, cool and sweet and perfect and frosty cold, she felt so happy she could've cried. Literally. Her eyes were red and stinging. She was laughing way too fucking much. Kayla dabbed some suspicious wetness from the corner of her eye with her knuckle before bringing the glass to her lips, chugging it down like a dying woman. She only pulled back when she felt it trickle down the corner of her mouth to her chin, covering her face with her hands, laughing into her hands. The chocolate milk was half gone. Half her plate was gone.

God, she was really delusional right now.

Preston snorted, leaning back and straightening out once her glass was gone and out of her hands. Jeez. She didn't need to have acted so surprised. "Of course I am," He scoffed. A better question was when wasn't he the absolute best, or made her think he was bowing down and playing Butler? His smirk softened and he leaned in closer to her as she chugged back the chocolate elixir. "A thanks would do, Pikachu." Even as he said it, he hasn't entirely meant it. It was the season of giving and all that shit. Seeing her scarf down his hard work was thanks enough.

He hadn't even bothered to cross to his own side of the table after that, taking another long drink of his milk and eying her as she hid away into her hands. Fucking shit. How many brownies did she eat again? Two? Three? Two? How ever the fuck many? Hw tried then to lean casually against the table, near falling oh-so smoothly into a small stack of food.

It took all his strength possible to say without cracking...

"The fuck you laughing about now?"

He snickered.

Thanks? That wasn't good enough? You didn't thank your butler; that was just their job. Really, this should've been a normal thing... Why couldn't he surprise her with chocolate milk more often? He'd annoy her a lot fucking less if he did... A grin cracked across her face. What the fuck was she laughing at? Her head was a haze, thoughts segmented, swimming and full of smoke. The glass was a pleasant cool against her palms. She pressed it against her face, nuzzling it against her cheek. Oh yeah. That felt fucking good. "None of your effin' business, Alfred," she faux-scoffed, slamming the glass down after another deep draft. Kayla bumbled over her words, almost slurring, fighting the little hiccups of laughter here and there. "Y'know, I'm really—..." Did he just fucking almost fall into his foot? She blinked, rubbing her eyes, still fighting back laughter, elbow sinking toward the table to mirror him and... Gravity, lurching, tipping, oh shiiiiiiiiiiii

It felt like she was front flipping off a precipice, but must've looked like a slow motion slump toward the floor. Anticlimactic. Kayla hit the carpet with a muffled thud, all her bearings gone, her center of balance, the energy from her limbs sapped. She might as well have been a rock. More laughter bubbled up from the floor.

He could have died the and there, all the air gone and left out of his system, losing the strength in his limbs as he doubled over in desperation. Preston wanted to wipe the tears out of his eyes, but his side had hurt far too much as clung onto them. Holy fucking shit. He couldn't stop his God damned laughing. She was so fucking stupid and hilarious. Jesus. "Fuck, Pikachu." He skunked down onto his knees beside her. "K-Kayla." The Autumn barely managed to choke back his snickers, leaning over her and patting her across her head. She didn't hurt herself, did she? Fuck. He laughed again.

"Wait," He hiccuped. "Kayla..." One hand wrapped around the back of her neck, the other pulling up at her aim and sitting her up towards him. "You idiot.Guess what?" His grin turned crooked.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" she tried to ask, but it came out as, "Whaderfuffareyoulaffinaff?" her mouth and nose crushed against the musty carpet. Her face was half buried in her arm, half pressed against the floor, no will or way to peel herself off the ground. A slow pat. Weak sparks arced out to lap up at his fingers, but she just curled up closer to the ground, a few muffled giggles tearing up her throat. Shit. It was like razor blades in her stomach, her sides aching like she'd taken a sledgehammer to the ribs. His hand snaked under her head, propping her up, and her laugh rang clearer, looking up to him with cheeks wet with tears. She hadn't laughed this hard in...

"What?" she finally managed.

She was dead weight in his arms. Preston found himself leaning forward on his knees as he tried to drag her up, hovering over his roommate and shaking his head, his own face warm and flushed and fucking shit. She was such a god damned goofball. He couldn't afford to be deterred then, shit, she was already making a beautiful fool of herself, but damn, no longer, he said. "Hold fucking still," The young man narrowed his eyes, hands curbing up to the sides of her face, resting against her cheeks. He frowned, pulling himself in even further.

His thumbs brushed against her skin, wiping away at the soft, warm tears. Normally he'd hated to see her cry, but shit, it was a miracle he'd hadn't started himself with that bitch ass splinter cracking away at his side. "I..." Pres seemed to have forgotten his own words tilting his head and letting his fingers fall, grazing away just at the edge of her lips.

"I got it!" An awkward piece of salad or spinach, or fucking something stuck to his thumb. He was quick to wipe it of on his pants. Or the carpet. Or whatever. "Save your ass. You owe me again." The young man beamed, tugging away at her arm and pulling her up against him.

He took up her whole cone of vision, filling the room, for the moment her everything. She laughed through the tears, laughed until it hurt, laughed like a fucking idiot as he squeezed and pressed up against her cheeks, and fuck, god damn, she didn't know what she looked like then, but from the way he laughed it must've looked stupid. But they'd both been laughing this whole time. H̷̵̀e͡ always knew how to make her laugh. Shit, what, what?

"Wha...? Wha...?" Breathless, flushed and breathless, sprawled out on the floor, cradled like she was dying. She couldn't think straight through the haze, but maybe she was dying, her heartbeat picked up, cardiac arrest, thumpthumpthump, his fingers brushing over the corner of her lips, she closed her eyes, screwed up her face... What? What? Kayla only caught a glimpse of the speck of green against his thumb before he wiped it away on his pants, or the carpet, or whatever.

She thumped him across the chest with a limp hand, a feeble sort of punch or slap or something, and kept her hand pressed over his heart, skittish sparks jumping and dancing across her skin. "Dork... You're a fucking dork..."

Owe him again, huh? She guessed she could live with that.

Another laugh escaped him as he shrugged her up closer to him with a firm grasp on her shoulder, what little slouching distance between them was forced from her. Preston glanced down at her hand pushing dully against his chest. Could she feel how heavy it was beating, he wondered. "I'll take my day of maid service soon enough," He joked under his breath. While he tried to keep her propped up, he was lost on what to do with his free hand, moving to hold her some more, but then that might have been too weird... grab at the tablecloth, and send dishes spilling? No, thanks. Shit. He settled for wiping the sweat off awkwardly on his jeans.

Dork? Him? That didn't seem right at all. She was the dork between them. "What'd you call me?" He muttered oh-so threateningly, leaning, almost falling forward, the tips of their noses brushing for a shocking moment. Preston was quick to catch himself, shaking his head. (But it was feeling so heavy at that point.) Maybe he should have taken her out and fought her, shown what was what, like the serious man he was. Instead, his forehead pressed with little grace against hers, striking with a small (and "dangerous") bonk. He didn't find himself moving away that time.

Sparks popped between them, but she could barely hear them. His breath was hot and heavy against her mouth, sharing the same air, their foreheads pressed together. She could've rolled, shoved him off, taken him now like she could've taken him any day, but her arms and legs felt like lead, and his weight on top of her kept her pinned to the floor, and she didn't move, she didn't think, she wasn't even sure she was breathing.

Maybe she'd died. He'd poisoned her. Her heart felt stalled out in her chest, a stabbing pain in her core. She couldn't do anything but stare up into his eyes, blue, green, the color of the sea. Fuck, he had such girly lashes. I'm so jealous... What a fucking waste on a guy.

Her head felt empty. Her laughs had died away, for the most part, her crooked grin coasting out into just a light hint of a smile...

"You heard me..." she breathed back after a short pause, barely above a whisper.

His eyes fell all half-lidded, smirking as he nudged ever-so-closer to her. It would have been so easy to close that last bit of distance between them, he thought, holding his breath and glancing down to just the peak of her lips. So simple a movement. "Bitch," He allowed himself a chuckle, dragging his hand up and brushing under her cheek, thumb rested just under her chin.

It was too much, he told himself, too far. A good way to end up sleeping on the couch, or more appropriately, his own damn bed that night instead of their pillow fort or some shit. And yet, he continued on, leaning in closer, letting his eyes fall close...

Her lips were so sweet.

Preston sighed, pulling away from her. Or, so he imagined they were anyways. What a stupid thought. "Come on, Pikachu. Get your ass in the tent," He muttered with a laugh, "Don't want Santa skipping us over."