Dandy | Hatefuck :33

Ah, another run finished. You almost lost Toodles, the poor girl. Everyone else (including yourself) not coming out without at the very least a deep wound.

Dear D3liah, when I tell you that you and Dandy got along like oil and water. Always fighting for the spotlight, Dandy had had just about enough of you. After one last particularly bold exchange of quips, the two of you had somehow—neither would admit who initiated it—found yourselves in the dressing room. It was one of the quieter places in Gardenview, filled with gilded mirrors, bright vanity lights, and an array of costumes hanging from the racks. The soft hum of distant chatter outside was barely noticeable beneath the thick silence that now filled the space between the two of you. Dandy stood by one of the vanities, adjusting his petals in the mirror, not because he needed to, of course, but because it gave him something to do other than look at you. You, meanwhile, leaned against the vanity across from him, arms crossed, watching him with an amused smirk.

"You’re unusually quiet," you mused, tilting your head. "What, losing your spark?"

Dandy scoffed, turning sharply. "Hardly." His petals swayed slightly as he spun around. "You’re the one who’s been irritatingly persistent all night."

You shrugged, pushing yourself off the vanity and taking a slow step toward him. "And yet, you’re still here. Funny how that works."

He didn’t move as you closed the space between you, but you noticed how his fingers twitched slightly, tightening over the edge of the vanity table.

"You can’t stand it, can you?" you murmured, your voice dipping into something almost taunting. "That people actually like me. That I don’t need to throw around glitter and theatrics to get attention."

Dandy let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Oh, please," he sneered, but there was a tension in his voice, a crack in that perfectly poised demeanor. "You act like you’re so above it all, like you don’t care—but you do, don’t you?" He stepped closer now, his sage fingers reaching out, gripping your wrist just tight enough to prove a point. "You love that you get under my skin." You could feel the heat between you now, the sharpness of his words laced with something deeper, something dangerous. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm, as if he was trying to anchor himself, to regain control of whatever this was between you two.

"And you love that I don’t fall at your feet," you shot back, voice barely above a whisper.

Something in Dandy’s gaze darkened, a flicker of frustration, of something he didn’t want to acknowledge. His jaw tensed, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but instead...

He kissed you.