What the cat dragged in

[Lalitha Vero]

Lalitha startled when the coat settled around her shoulders, breath hitching in a small, surprised laugh. She swayed a little. It was heavy with the weight of a universe, smelling strongly of smoke and metal, and warm as a forge-fire. She wasn’t sure if it was comforting or as if someone had just poured cement over her shoulders. She tugged it lightly, feeling it swallow her. It was almost absurdly large.

“I’ll bring it back,” she promised lightly, then added with a teasing grin. “Unless you want me to keep it for luck too.”

Amusement and curiosity painted her expression when she looked up at him. Not for the offering, but for the explanation. Drunk, he meant. Though she wasn’t quite that yet. Just loose enough for bad decisions. He was standing stiff as a statue, not with the uncertainty of a boy ready to flee, but clench-jawed and corded tense. She couldn’t see his eyes beneath the shadow of his hair. Nothing in Litha paused to interpret it, she only acted instead: pushing up on tiptoe to brush a cold kiss against his lips. It was a chaste gesture, not an invitation. Sweetly meant, freely given. His first, she assumed, which was perhaps why she did it.

“I’m far too old for you, Marek,” she said, when her heels returned to the ground.