But did he care? Of course not. When the heart wanted what it wanted-- when it wanted to beat along to the same rhythm of another, to have a partner to beat against like a drum... Rationale told Landry Gaspard that there was no such path where he came out the winner. He could pursue her, neglecting her every wish and forcing her to tolerate him, all for a chance that she might appreciate him-- or he could leave her alone. He could pretend she didn't exist when he saw her in the corridors, or that he didn't already know what shampoo she used and how much of it-- and he could even pretend that he didn't notice the way she smirked when she was proud of herself for doing more than she expected. Both paths worked, for vastly different reasons, and yet even still the lines to his own heart muddied in their consistency. What was good for her, was bad for him-- and what was good for him, would hurt her beyond repair, at least if she was to be believed.
And he did want to believe her. He wanted to believe that she was the chaos that she claimed to be, that she was the disaster in which the innocent lost their lives because that was what she wanted. She wanted him to be wary, to let her be on her own and to walk this path as the strong woman she was, and if he had been anyone else he probably would've even agreed, but not now. Not when he looked at her and saw perfection, bliss in the way she swirled her hips-- he might've been dumb, but he wasn't that dumb. When his heart skipped beats, falling out of rhythm and pattering too fast, that was enough to tell him he needed to stay. She would destroy him; she would take everything from him that she swore she would and still he would thank her for it. He always would.
Because in the moment? In the emotion? There was nothing better than feeling the rush of taking that risk, whether he lay lifeless afterword or swimming eternally in her eyes. It would hurt; she had said just as much, but he couldn't-- he wouldn't stop trying to prove her every doubt wrong. "Hey," his lips parting suddenly, he pushed the anxieties in his mind to their rightful back burner, closing the distance between himself and the supposed mistress of chaos so that they were mere inches from each other. Next, his hand wrapped around her shoulder, spinning her from her slouch and into his arms. "You're gonna kill me for this-- I know it from just looking at you, darling, but I don't give a damn." Pressing his lips to hers, he secured his hands at the back of her neck, grasping it firmly but gently enough that she wouldn't knee him straight in the berries (caution and whatnot). A second passed, then another, each ticking away slower than the last-- the kiss only ending when the background noise around them registered again in Landry's ears.
Letting her go, pulling his lips from hers, he stepped back and offered her his best smirk. "You know... There's a whole hell of a lot of people in these corridors. I wasn't expecting them all to stop, honest," shrugging his shoulders, he raised a hesitant-but-triumphant hand to those that were still standing in attendance. He could either make this better or worse-- and right now he really didn't know which would prevent his death. "Ladies and gentleman, I'm here to tell you all now, that this girl? This Amita Amirmoez?" He pointed to Amita, then back to his chest, eyes scanning the students all around them so as to make sure he still had their attention. "She's stolen my whole damn heart. I'm not even mad at her, but, well... That's why I kissed her! It's not a show, y'all. It's just me proclaiming my affection for this fine young woman."
"Ain't she a beaut?"