It started with a smile.

Her smile, to be exact. It radiated a kind of warmth that made your skin crawl; Miss Goodie Two Shoes could fool anyone with it and for every sucker that fell for it, you rolled your eyes. They were starting to hurt if you had to be honest.

You liked it when she frowned. When she stared daggers at you. She showed her true self through bare teeth and furrowed burrows, and those pink eyes ignited a flame inside your chest. The feeling pumped adrenaline into your bloodstream and you were sure she felt the same too.

Fuck that smile.

Only fools fell for it. And your teeth were starting to hurt from so much grinding. There was a boy in particular that made that smile bigger; it repulsed you to no end. You'd see them throughout the day as they hung out, his dumbass face contorting to a sickening red as she smiled.

The hot tendrils tickled your heart a bit.

She doesn't scowl as much as before; instead, she took on a new approach with you: a truce. You raised your eyebrows when she offered her hand, and when you took it, you swore she left a burn mark behind as the tingles didn't die down until the end of the week.

Fuck that smile.

It's high school now and she's starting to smile at you. The flames are a lot more dangerous now, threatening to cinch your heart into a crisp every time she's around you. It's getting harder to breathe to the point where you have to remind yourself to take a breath.

You're starting to bond with her through literature classics like The Glass Castle and 1984. You find out about her favorite ice cream ("Strawberry!"), her favorite color ("Pink, of course."), and favorite pastime ("Dancing, but I swear if you tell anyone…"). You assured her you'd be making posters for her ballerina recital.

That fucking smile.

It's now accompanied by a laugh. Laughs that reminds you of silver bells, specifically the ones that chimed around summer weddings. Weddings? Where the fuck did that thought come from? You hear your name and turn to her, her face etched in wonder – oh god, those stupid pink eyes, looking at you innocently. It's giving you twists and knots in your stomach and you know it's not hatred.

You tell her it's nothing and wave it off by going back to her AMA.

That fucking smile.

Did not deserve to be aimed at him. It was another boy, but this time, he was bold enough to put his grubby, little hands on her. And the fact that she didn't mind sent an unbearable shot of hot agony in your chest. It took all your strength not to break your locker door as you slammed it close, earning eyes towards you. Everyone but hers.

There's whispers, rumors going about – he was going to ask her out. It was like a record stuck on repeat in your head and it wasn't until you were walking her home that you popped the question. You cursed yourself out, mentally, as a tint of pink layered itself across her face. She looks at you with a small smile.

"He did."

You gripped your fists quietly as you silently planned this fucker's funeral.

"But I told him no."

Or not.

You ask her why, genuinely curious as the two of you reached your destination: her house.

"Because my eyes are on someone else."

Now her face has really gone red – she looks at her feet, avoiding your gaze, and you're jealous of whoever this fucker was. Yeah, you admit it, you're suffering from green eyes. It's not everyday you get to, well…

Let's not.

You ask her who it is, trying to control the green demon in you.

"You boys are so dumb."

What!? You furrowed your brows and ask her what the fuck did she mean. She laughs at you as she keys in her door and opens it.

"Shush. Just come pick me up at seven."

You blink, face dropping to something indescribable. That makes her laugh even more – God, that laugh – and she leaves you alone outside.

Of course, not without that fucking smile.