you get a new romantics pre-verse response to this
“What?” Anya jerks back so fast, she’s pretty sure Polly is going to have to fix the eyeliner she was just doing on her. “I don’t like him!” She thought this was very well known by now. The sky is blue, water is wet and Anya does not like Dmitry Sudayev. “We are just friends.” She shakes her head vehemently and Polly reaches over to still her by clasping her chain. “Not even friends, just neighbors.”
“You know what Shakespeare would say?” Polly asks her, the tip of the eyeliner pencil dangerously close to her pupil.
“Nothing,” Anya ignores what the actual answer is. “He would just make me run into a sword.”
“All I said—“ Polly begins, and Anya impatiently takes the pencil out of her hand to fix it herself.
“You didn’t say anything,” Anya huffs, “Your implication was clear.”
It’s not worth getting upset over, and she knows it’s not worth getting upset over. And the more upset she gets over it, the more her friends will tease her. It’s how Anya and Dmitry’s relationship- for lack of a better word, began. With a dare and a kiss, and years of animosity.
No, she definitely didn’t feel anything for him.
Polly laughs, and hands her a lipstick to put on. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
“I think you mean annoyed,” Anya calls back, but Polly’s already left the room.
Anya applies the lipstick to her lips and doesn’t think of standing on her tiptoes under a tree when she had no memories except the ones she had been creating at that very moment and brushed her lips against his.
