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There's a distinct scent of vanilla and lavender when he turns the corner before the staircase to the top floor, with sickeningly sweet undertones of cinnamon faintly curling in the air alongside it like an aftertaste.
Aaron hasn't smelled anything like that in a long time.
Thin, ebony locks stream down her back in waves and pool at her shoulders, loose strands dangling where her head is hung towards the bottom of the vending machine. Her light sleeves just barely dip below her wrists, and her shirt— purple, purple, purple, always purple— is cut at the waist, her bare, smooth skin peeking from below it.
Her tongue is stuck out in concentration— a habit that belongs only to her, at least in his mind— and she's staring down the machine like it owes her something (and it probably does.)
He only notices that her eyes are amber. They're a deep, rich orange you only ever see during sunsets you only ever catch while running on fumes, driving through a disturbingly empty highway.
(Or, ones you see in Shu's eyes once she begins to laugh at a dumb joke FC didn't think about before saying during the middle of werewolf class, her warmth invasive and fast, like flowers, still blooming in his lungs.)
(He'd never admit that to anyone aloud, though.)
He has to force himself to look away. Even through the blindfold, he could never miss the way she carried herself, or just how obvious her attitude is from a glance.
"I guess I have to try again," she mutters under her breath, refocusing on the keypad to the vending machine. She presses her knuckles to each number, her eyes squinting with her precision.
The voice that speaks is the same one that makes him curl into himself weakly, the same one that playfully exclaims after she misses her punches toward him for the fifth time that day, the same one that tells him she loves him, misses him, even though he can't be there for her— not yet.
(He desperately yearns to be, even if he can't. Somewhere deep down, he knows she deserves better than him, to smile with someone kind and put together, but it's not like he's known for being selfless. He still wants to try.)
It's the same one that belongs to the woman he's willing to die for. The one that, unknowingly, hides him from the world— protects him— every single day.
He chooses to ignore how his fingers twitch with resistance from habitually reaching up towards his eyes.
Oh,
oh fuck.
Aphmau's really here. She's just down the hall, and he's gawking at her.
Should he go up to her? Say something?
Would she even recognize him through the bandana?
"It's... just a scratch—"
"That's not a scratch!" She insisted, her shaking fingers gingerly tracing over the bleeding cut on his wrist. She thoughtfully hums for a moment, her thumb idly rubbing small circles on his hand, before reaching into her hair. Aph fumbles with her headband for a few moments before carefully wrapping it around his arm and trying to tie a knot.
Her tongue flicks out of her mouth after failing her first attempt, and if he hadn't fallen in love with her already, this— this would've been the moment he did. Her care for others expands to even the worst possible person to ever live, and his stupidly big heart can't help how weak it gets at just how loving she is.
"It's— it's not great, but, at least it'll stop the bleeding for now, right?" She readjusts the fabric a few times— probably to try and gauge a reaction, to measure how tight it needs to be— before stepping away with a doting smile.
No— no, he shouldn't.
She doesn't deserve any of the trouble, he should just leave or— or something,
but...
"It... might hurt a lot, but..."
"...why?"
"I'm— I'm probably not the best kisser."
She quietly laughs, fondly rolling her eyes. "I bet you've kissed a lot of girls already."
"N— no, this would be my first kiss."
"Your— your first?"
Aph seems genuinely taken aback by this, and she staggers back, her face flushing a deeper, prettier red.
And I wouldn't have it any other way. "Hah— yeah, this... would be my first."
"Then— then we can't! No way! You need to start out with— with someone special, and, I—"
Maybe,
something within her remembers.
"...so... do you want to stop talking? To me?"
"What? No— no! Even if... we're not," he desperately scrambles to find a word that isn't too blunt for the situation, "together," nice save, dude, "like that. I— I still want to be here, Aph."
Her voice is still so broken through her tears, so hurt. The breath she takes is shaking and slow. "...What do you want from me?"
To hold you close and never let you go. To lose myself in your eyes, your lips, your everything. To love you, day and night. "To see you happy. To see you smile."
Her breath hitches, and she sobs. Her microphone peaks. "Aar— Aaron... can— can you just... talk, tonight? For me?"
"As long as you want."
It couldn't hurt to—
"Hey, Aaron!"