[This is it. The bus ride home to all their different universes. In a way, Cleo is relieved. She can just go back to her normal life, and not worry about murders and executions anymore. Maybe she won't be the same heartless bitch as before, but she thinks that's probably a good thing?
In another way, she's feeling a lot of trepidation. Most of it is down to the person sitting beside her, the person whose pretty, pale hand is resting just inches away from Cleo's own manicured brown one. Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo can make out a blur of curly copper hair that she keeps finding herself wondering after the scent of. Does it smell like hers, like shampoo and strawberries? Or something different, something earthy and sweet?
At this point, she should probably accept that she's not exactly straight.
Cleo lets out a loud, long-suffering sigh, banging her head against the shitty, dirty glass window of the bus.]
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In another way, she's feeling a lot of trepidation. Most of it is down to the person sitting beside her, the person whose pretty, pale hand is resting just inches away from Cleo's own manicured brown one. Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo can make out a blur of curly copper hair that she keeps finding herself wondering after the scent of. Does it smell like hers, like shampoo and strawberries? Or something different, something earthy and sweet?
At this point, she should probably accept that she's not exactly straight.
Cleo lets out a loud, long-suffering sigh, banging her head against the shitty, dirty glass window of the bus.]