"Would it really kill you if we kissed?”
There is a silence that follows the question; something tense in her shoulders and her clear adamancy on avoiding direct eye contact. She sips at her coffee, huffy in her clear ire, and chooses not to answer the first time. Calem likes to poke and prod at her in the worst ways possible, so she’s always come to be under the impression that he’s just messing with her. Her bites to his ego taste about as bitter as the black brand he likes to drink so much, so she snaps back to end this nonsense as quickly as possible.
“If you’re asking for a good sock to your jaw, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
He scoffs, leaning back in that gangly slump of his to accomodate for his sheer height. “No thanks,” he sneers, rolling his eyes for good measure. An arrogant brat, she thinks to herself, amused. Calem looks disgruntled, like he’s lost a battle, but the coming moments that follow soften his face into something very serious; the kind where Dawn can tell for sure that he’s not joking, much to her misfortune.
“… Would it really kill you if we kissed?”
If he means to catch her off guard, then he’s succeeded; his wording much more blunt and less egotistically flirtatious than it had been previously. Her ears turn a light pink before snapping back again, the uncertainty of her statement shining clear as she speaks. “… What kind of question is that?”
“You can’t answer a question with a question.”
“Nothing you do could kill me. Better?”
He’s starting to grin when she realizes her mistake. “So you’re saying if I wanted to, you would?”
“But you never said you wouldn’t ever–”