"Let's go for a ride."

Baffled, she shook her head, blue eyes peering out from behind Fortnight. "What?"

"You're ignoring my calls, texts, hell, even my tweets. It's time for a ride."

"Eli, if you think for one second that I'd go anywhere with you, you're insane." She spoke in a hushed whisper.

Impatient, he tapped his finger against the table, nearly pacing. "CLARE." He nearly shouted, pulling on her arm.

"We're in a library."

"Doesn't matter. Let's GO, CLARE."

She darted her eyes to the terse librarian in the corner, lips pursed and eyes widened, suspicious at the emotional teens. Clearly, they were about to be kicked out.

"Fine." She said, throwing her book in her bag. "You win."

That had been over an hour ago.

One hour and she hadn't said a word. They were now stopped, parked somewhere, though she couldn't tell where. Her arms were crossed and her lips were pursed, fighting back tears. Eli was lounging in the back, headphones in ears, paying close attention to the way she shifted frequently in her seat.

"What, Clare? Is Morty not fine enough for you?" His words were laced with a cold more bitter then outside.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. The first time speaking to Eli after the dance and they were still on bitter terms, it was killing her.

"I bet Fitz's was better, huh?" He taunted. "What did he have, a silver Volvo?"

Words were knives, she thought. God, Eli knew how to hurt someone.

"I should have known. Hearses were so last year." He mocked.

Clare let out a strangled sob and threw her hands up. "Stop it, Eli! Alright? Just stop it."

"Clare."

She bit her lip, tears falling.

"Clare." His tone was more demanding. "Look at me."

She turned slightly, and at the sight of her moist blue eyes he swallowed visibly, taking a shaky breath.

"Blue eyes." He said softly. "Come here."

She shook her head violently. "No, I-"

"Clare. This isn't up for debate. Come here."

She sighed and awkwardly crawled over the seat, maneuvering her body to land beside his. With a short click of his tongue, he gripped her waist, pulling her so she was sprawled over his body, his chest to her back, lips to her ear.

"I don't want to fight." He whispered, voice tender and low. "It's not how I want to spend our time together."

His lips found her pulse point and dragged across the skin, emitting a whimper from the curly-headed girl.

The tears were really winning their battle with her now; Clare choked back a sob and shook her head. "You were almost killed."

His arms tightened, and for a second, he felt her relax, then she stiffened. He breathed out, blowing a hot stream onto her neck. "I know. I... Never thought it would get that far. Or that you'd care. I kind of expected you to give up."

Shocked, Clare's head turned, curls brushing against his cheek. She blushed at the proximity, heart pounding, feeling dizzy; like she would pass out, but it didn't stop her from saying softly, "Eli. I could never give up."

It was too much. The window lit up from a passing car, making behind her head blur into a white background, and for a moment, Clare looked like she was glowing; a halo of angelic perfection.

Eli leaned in, ever so slightly, asking permission. When she didn't pull away, he took a breath and moved in the rest of the way, their lips touching. For a moment, they just stayed like that, feeling simple skin-on-skin, not bothering to do more. Then, her lips parted and his complied, working softly along with hers. It wasn't a battle, nor a passionate argument, but a thing of teamwork, cooperation, affection. Clare felt her tears dry simultaneously, and her heart nearly broke because that kiss was the tenderest piece of perfection she'd ever witnessed.

His tongue touched hers, and she felt fireworks. But it wasn't an explosion, more like a deep surge of right, like when pen touches paper and produces magic, or a song makes you remember why you live again.

Inside, she could feel the stitching on her heart reassemble itself.

Pulling away, he pulled her into his chest, holding her body in such a close proximity that he wondered if they really were one. Clare listened to his heartbeat, hearing the palpitations and skips, wondering if it was caused by her finger tracing designs at the back of his neck.

"You knew I would give in." She accused.

She could feel him smile against the top of her head, and he spoke, sending a rumble through her body. He counted snowflakes outside the window and marveled at the very real beauty in his arms.

"I needed you."

Simple as that.

I'm made of fluff. I am fluff. Fluff is me.