the strapping blonde insults her, and lennon conducts one of her signature little bounces, a childish groan escaping thin, rosy lips. she glares at him. “compliments only, or i’m gonna leave,” she threatens, knowing she is in no position to leave the one person who may know just how to save her life. lennon inhales inhales slightly, thrown when merritt takes hold of her arms, triaging the damage. there’s a tenderness that takes hold of her breath for some sweetened moments. she studies him intently, as he studies her, a few swings at teasing him, at jokes, gracing her frantic mind, but she surprises herself by burying them. her sparkling voice stays silent, and yet she still doesn’t anticipate his next motion. her heart somersaults, and she joins him easily on the suspended bed, one sneaker leaving the ground, then the other. she straightens bitten leg on the fabric of the hammock, and then settles easily against him, leaning her back against his chest once he’s secured the bottle from his bag. “what the fuck is that?” she explodes, spooked, at his acquisition, disturbing the serenity she had helped to temporarily craft. merritt pokes at her again, and lennon frowns, loosening a hand clung to his shoulder to slap the back of his head. she retreats just brief enough to strategize her next move, lifting glittering greens to merritt’s gaze, smirk all consuming. a shrug. “it’s not my fault i taste so good.”
“you called yourself a monster first, princess, don’t be picky,” the blonde grins, meeting her glare with a soft laugh. he’s almost positive not a single person in the world is as dramatic and theatrical as lennon is. a wild girl that somehow nestled herself directly into the proper role as playwright extraordinaire. it’s the silence, though, her refrain that shows him he should be worried. see, merritt is used to the platinum blonde throwing him a joke, telling him a million deprecating things and moving along with pride. but this time? she’s settled in his sights with no words – and it’s almost more terrifying than anything else. however, he keeps himself in check, waving it off as early morning weirdness or perhaps she’s genuinely afraid of the bumps all over her skin. “it’s your one way ticket to stop itching, so shut the fuck up and let me do my thing,” teasing, he opens the bottle, squirting the bright pink into his hands before slowly swiping it onto her legs. the smack to his head releases a chuckle from his belly. there she is, he wants to say. but it’s too much, half of the time he feels like he’s too much with her. too much of everything all of the time. it’s something he rarely feels around anyone else, but he’s sure she knows the feeling well, too. as he continues covering the bites, he looks to her – matching smirk slapped onto his own lips. “who told you that?” a beat. “i think they just know your true colors, lem. sweet as pie,” he winks, looking down to legs that look like lennon was dipped into pepto bismol. “and pink.”