Our embrace lasted for quite a while, but, when Liam pulled away, the sudden lack of warmth felt immediate, as if the sun had been shining... only for it to begin pouring. He smiled at me, the fury in his gaze dialed down to a look of worry. Of care. And when he leaned in to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, the touch felt intimate, almost too intimate.

We both blushed and turned away before we could stumble into dangerous territory, and I scurried to my feet, stammering out words that vaguely resembled 'I've gotta go'. Liam nodded in agreement, returning my earbud and even picking up my book from the ground. Liam Winters, a gentleman. Huh. Who knew?

I think I can pinpoint that as the moment we fell into a comfortable rhythm. Liam picks me up from home, we walk to set together, exchange a joke or two, and then walk home. We're becoming less and less like enemies... and dare I say more like friends?

We rearranged our schedules so we could edit scenes we had together, covered double the amount of film we normally would, and wooed even the director into silence.

After such a long week, it's finally Friday night, and I'm at home, minding my own business, when a familiar knock on the door frame springs me to my feet. There are very few people I would leave my room for, but that knock belongs to only one person. Liam. Normally I'd ignore him, tell him to get lost, and continue chilling, but there's a sort of urgency in the rhythmic drumming of his fists against the door that wills me to hurry.

"What do you want?" I ask him, throwing the door open.

He shows me those bright, white teeth of his, and I raise an eyebrow at the mischievous look on his face.

"Well, aren't you glad to see me," he drawls, his smile swerving closer to that signature smirk I'm so used to.

"I repeat, what do you want?"

"Ask me nicely," he taunts, flashing those dark eyes at me from under thick lashes. Seriously, how come guys get such nice eyelashes? I would kill to have mine half as long.

"Oh, sweet Liam, do pretty please tell me what it is you desire?" I deadpan, my voice dripping with sarcasm so thick I can almost touch it.

"Well, since you asked so nicely-"

I pinch his arm and he narrows his eyes at me.

"Ouch! As I was trying to tell you, I'm here to take you for ice cream, like I promised."

Oops.

Oh well, he deserved it.

I grab my bag, shoving a pair of keys and my phone in, before throwing it over my shoulder lazily as I push the door open farther and scramble outside.

"Man, Liam, you had to choose eight p.m?" I mumble when another gust of chilly night air sends a shiver through my petite frame. He chuckles, sliding his phone into his pocket and simultaneously pulling his hoodie off over his head. Thank god he's wearing a shirt underneath, because I may have called him many profane things, but ugly was never one of them.

"Here," he offers, wincing a little at the cold, "You're correct, I probably should've chosen a warmer day. You're still up for ice cream though, right? I'll give you my sweatshirt to make up for it?"

"I never reject ice cream, and for your information, it's a hoodie," I correct him, setting my bag down and pulling the soft cloth of the hoodie on, "Sweatshirts have zippers. And normally I would decline, but the chilliness has won over my ego. It's a once in a lifetime occasion, be excited."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm still gonna call it a sweatshirt," he shrugs, biting his lip to hold back laughter when he sees just how oversized it is on me. "A sweatshirt that is a couple sizes too big."

"A couple?" I groan, tucking my hair into the hood. "You seriously owe me ice cream for this, and..." I feel around in my purse once to make sure, "I forgot my wallet, so you're paying."

He raises his hands in surrender. "So demanding. But fine, I'll oblige you in this. However," he begins, "I get to pick your flavor."

"Absolutely not!"

"I'm paying, I'm picking."

"Liam."

"Elise."

"Oh, shut it," I grumble.

"Sorry, firefly," he ruffles my hair, "But no can do." It's like he's asking me to shove him, and who am I to object? Which is how he ends up tripping on air and falling flat on his ass.

I snicker. "Damn, Liam, you're weak. I barely nudged you."

He brushes the gravel off his pants and locks eyes with me, regaining his balance and stepping closer. I forget the cold air whooshing past my ears, focusing solely on his dark eyes, which look almost predatorial, and I hate to admit, there's a moment when my heart rushes to a stop.

"Oh, Elise," he mutters, "You're really asking for it now."

I stare, anticipatingly, as Liam leans towards my ear, his warm breath making my face tingle.

"I was going to be generous and lenient, you know. I planned on relenting, letting you pick your flavor. But now... no can do." He grins as he backs off, his eyes back to soft and mysterious, and I grumble, letting out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

"Come on, Liam," I whine as we finally reach where we've been walking to and he ushers me into the quaint little store, which is deserted except for us. "Just let me choose. I'm very picky."

"Nuh-uh," he chuckles, walking up to the counter, and I tap my foot against the floor anxiously. Anything but mint chocolate chip. Anything but mint chocolate chip. Anything but-

"Mint chocolate chip for the lady over there." Great. Just great.

"And mango for me." How dare he get my favorite flavor for himself? He's so dead. He better watch out while he sleeps tonight. I have some plans.

Liam grabs both cones and walks over with a grin.

"Milady." He offers the most-likely-disgusting ice cream to me, though I can't deny it's a pristine shade of green that I wouldn't mind wearing. I snatch it up annoyedly, and his amused expression is ridiculously infuriating. If he wasn't holding a perfectly good mango ice cream of his own, I would've pushed him over by now.

"I'm not going to eat it," I object as he guides me back out of the shop. "It doesn't look appetizing."

"Isn't mint green your favorite color?" he raises an eyebrow, licking his orange-hued concoction that I'm dying to snatch and devour for myself.

"I don't even like the idea of mint and chocolate toge- Liam?" I look around, with the soft, white, ethereal glow of the moon as my flashlight, but he's nowhere to be seen.

"Boo." He taps me on the shoulder and I fight the urge to jump a couple of feet in the air.

"Where'd you go?" I snap, my heart still racing.

"To get a spoon." He grabs my dessert out of my hand, sticking the spoon in and pulling out a heap scoop of my favorite color. Why can't color and flavor just matc-

Liam sticks the spoon in my mouth, and I internally prepare to spit it out and smack him...

But I can't bring myself to. The flavor is, in one word, immaculate. It's cold bliss on my hungry tongue, and so... refreshing. It's like dancing in the rain, the drizzle of cold water on my face. There's the perfect sprinkle of crunchy chocolate to add a touch of sweetness, and instead of the flavors becoming too overwhelming as I assumed they would, they're creamy and decadent and... my first thought?

"I've been missing out," my eyes widen, and Liam smirks in victory.

"See? I told you so," he laughs as I warily take another taste to be sure it wasn't some absurd fluke. It was, in fact, not. Each bite is better than the previous, and for the first time since Liam and I have interacted, we are content to just walk side by side in silence, me enjoying, enjoying my minty blend, and him consuming, there's no other word for it, his mango-flavored treat.

"Thank you," I mutter when we finally reach my temporary home.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"I said... thank you," I repeat, louder. My ego will suffer for it later, but I really did enjoy myself.

"I always keep my promises, firefly," he tells me with a lopsided smile, "And I'm happy to promise we do this again next week..." he mistakes the happiness on my face for hesitation and frowns before firing on ahead, "You know, to keep up appearances?"

Ouch. A pang of... something. Directly to my heart.

"The press will eat it right up."

A second blow. This one is more sharp, more direct. Not like a pin prick, sharp and then gone. More like a bee sting, all at once and then gradually fading into a throb. There I go again, confusing fake with real.

Fake? This side of Liam. The side that gave me his sweater to keep warm, that dragged me to get ice cream and pushed me out of my comfort zone. The side that is smiling at me right now. That I see as my friend.

Real? The sarcasm, the witty comments. The dry humor, the narrowed eyes. The brattiness, the haughtiness.

The scary part?

I want all of it.

Oh shit, Elise. What have you fallen into now?

"Ellie?" he asks, softly. "Elise."

"Wh-what?" I blink.

"You zoned out."

"Oh y-yeah. Sure, sure next week. We'll get the media to tag us." I force myself to say it with conviction; it's not that different from acting. "Oh, and your hoodie."

"Sweatshirt," he reminds me. As if I would agree. Moron.

"Hoodie." I shrug it off over my head, folding it neatly against my chest, like my mom taught me. "Here."

"Keep it." Liam pushes it back towards me. "It looks good on you."

"Liam Winters, is that a compliment?" I wiggle my eyebrows, making him blush and look away.

"Shut it, Ellie."

"Elise." But the old comment no longer has a bite to it. He mumbles something under his breath that I can't quite catch, and, in a very un-Elise-like move, I choose to ignore his retort and pull the hoodie back on. "Anyway, Liam. I had fun today," I tell him truthfully, "I'm glad we could work things out and quit beefing. Even if it's fake."

"Even if it's fake," he echoes hollowly. "I'm glad, too."

"Bye Liam," I stand on the tip of my toes, seriously, how is he so tall?, and kiss his cheek. Fake couples can kiss each other on the cheek, no? Platonically, of course.

This is the part where he's supposed to leave, walk away. To say 'bye Elise, good night', and fade into the dark. But he makes no move to go, and I don't ask him to, either.

"Elise?"

My name is a murmur, a prayer, a question. It's a request and a demand, wrapped in shiny paper and topped with a bow.

For a hot second, we just observe each other silently. There's a sort of contentment in the air, the kind before a sigh, and neither of us are ready to let it go, or even feed into it. We have a choice it seems, and sometimes our brains decide for us; I can sense Liam leaning in towards me like a flower towards the sun, noting mentally to use it against him later. Old habits die hard.

"Liam..." I begin, my breath coming out slightly ragged, "Why didn't you answer the question about why you hated me?"

The answer is written all over his face, the faint widening of his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw as he clenches it in embarrassment, his suddenly looking away. And I know. And for some, twisted reason it makes me happy. My pulse is fluttering unnaturally, my hair is sticking to my neck despite the cold, and I've stepped out of the door, closer to him without even realizing.

"Well, what do we have here?"

I startle away from Liam in shock, the crisp drawl of the speaker leaving my heart racing in shock, above other reasons. Liam spins around, a flicker of annoyance in his dark eyes, and I register recognition and a look of disgust twist Liam's impossibly flawless face into that of someone barely suppressing burning hatred.

"What do you want, Dad?" he spits out, the words flowing like lava through his rich voice. Hold up. Since when did I think Liam's voice was rich?

"I came to check on you since you assured me this was simply a publicity stunt with a girl you didn't like. A girl you hated. You promised you would be back home by..."

I barely process the rest of the director's cool-toned speech, my cheeks burning red with shame. How could I have read things so horribly wrong? All along, Liam didn't even like me, and I was here, the fool thinking he genuinely wanted to hangout, that we could ever be more than just civil.

"Oh, I assure you, sir," I interrupt Liam's dad, the sharp, cutting edge to my voice sounding wrong, unfamiliar, "Liam was just on his way. We were simply planning what we wanted to do next."

Maybe it's Liam's calm, unaffected face that drives me to push on, or maybe it's the director's arrogant sneer. Whatever it is, I can't bring myself to cut off my sentence before blurting out something I can't take back.

"In fact, we decided that we should break up. There's nothing the press enjoys more than drama and beefing actors."

"Which is precisely what I was explaining to her when you walked up," Liam butts in, and the hurt gnawing at my head starts to make me dizzy. God, I wish I could just blame everything on the fact that I despise him. Maybe that's why he makes it difficult for me to think straight, though I don't feel like that's quite it.

"Bye, firefly," Liam mumbles as the director drags him off and I force myself to remember that this is the same kid who made me believe he cared, provided me with soft carpeting to rely on, only so he could later pull out the rug from under my feet.

All I know, as I overthink until I'm so weary my only option is sleep, is that every single one of my thoughts are revolving around Liam. If only I could stop the tiny voice in my head warning that I may have just lost my best friend for good.