Three Sentence Ficathon

“Was it not good enough for you, Su?” he asks - demands, really, and he knows he’s going too far, feels the shame of it even as he backs her against the door of her bedroom, and she lets him, even though his teenage frame is too slight to be a true obstacle to her, not here and now. “Was I not good enough?”

He’s close enough to breathe her in as he says it, as it spills out before he can bite it back; close enough to watch the shadow of her lashes sweep down, to note the tiny line between her brows, the way the white of her teeth catch the crimson of her lip the way he aches to do, before she says, “Don’t you dare ask me that, Edmund, not ever again.”

have I told you lately that I hate you