Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

He watched her and the looseness that she carried herself around with from the corner he had wedged himself into. It was virtually impossible to envision her as the near-broken mess that had disintegrated in front of him the day before - but there were still tears on his shirt that hadn't managed to dry and apologies on his lips that he wasn't sure he should have been saying. But he had anyway - to console her, to show that he understood, to let her know that he was there for her. And she felt his gaze on her like heated fingertips, boiled with intention. She tensed at the visual contact, but maintained her facade even though he could see every insecurity throbbing beneath her skin in place of a pulse. As she looked at him, she realised that they both had mindfuls of meaning bound around their tongue and yet nothing they could say to each other. The silence between them stretched forward into the day, threatening to cramp it unless one had the courage to break the atmosphere between them.

Amaya filled her lungs with the tension, steadying herself against the counter as she faced Pete. "So what you wanna do today?" she asked, cancelling out the silence with a pointless question.

Pete blinked, hauling himself from his reverie as his eyes shifted into focus once again. He smiled weakly back at Amaya, shrugging as he did. "I don't care," he replied, "What do you want to do? This is your break away."

And, once again, the silence unwound between the two as they regarded each other, unsure of where their footing was supposed to be. Amaya tilted her head under the weight of the possibilities offered, attempting to hear the thoughts that Pete was creating as he waited for a response. She smiled tightly as a gradual grin developed across his face while he discovered the humour in their awkward situation and a laugh fell from her lips as the last of the tension dripped from her shoulders. Shaking her head to rid it of every unnecessary plan that she had been forming, she breathed in the chance of honesty that Pete was offering her.

"I want to forget," she told him, glancing down at her palms spread across the counter, "I just want to forget every damn thing."

Pete glanced around at the neon lights and tried to maintain his thoughts over the numbing jingles reverberating around him. "You know, when you said, 'Forget,' I didn't think you meant this way," he called out.

Amaya glanced back at Pete, grinning with sugar-grimed lips over her plume of candyfloss at the laugh that threatened to slip through his disbelieving smile. "How else am I meant to?" she asked him.

"I don't know..." Pete confessed, "But I didn't think this."

Chuckling Amaya rolled her eyes around the scene at the sideshows and rides that were set up, promising an equal dose of excitement and nausea. A contented smile settled over her face as she looked back at Pete. "It's a fairground," she told him, "It's the perfect place to forget. I can let out the three-year-old in me and forget the adult."

"When don't you?" Pete teased.

Threatening the bassist with her candyfloss, Amaya scrunched her expression into mock aggravation. "Watch it, Wentz," she warned, "Three-year-olds can be extremely vicious."

"What are you going to do?" Pete asked, a grin spreading across his lips. "Attack me with candyfloss?"

Amaya's threatening expression tumbled into thought as she switched her eyes between Pete and her supposed weapon. Letting her eyes linger over the former a little longer, she smiled methodically. "No actually," she replied as she slid another clutch of sugar into her mouth. "You're not worth wasting good candyfloss over." Grinning as Pete feigned hurt, Amaya stepped away with a subtle bounce in each step as her eyes surveyed the possible rides surrounding her. Shaking his head in amusement, Pete fell into step beside her, not bothering to speak and draw her from her thoughts. They had only been at the fairground for half an hour and, already, Amaya had become more settled and calmer. The lines that had been scratched across her face with concern had faded, leaving a smile fixed in her eyes. The relief that pulsed through her system gave him the same feeling as he watched her spin around giddily, her hand clamping onto his arm with an almost uncomfortable strength. "Let's go on the ghost train!" she suggested, her speech rushed with excitement.

Pete's smile changed into a grin as he glanced back at her. "You sure you aren't going to be too scared?"

Folding her arms awkwardly around her candyfloss, Amaya smirked. "Darling, I've seen you first thing in the morning. Nothing can scare me after that." Laughing at Pete's shocked expression, Amaya bound her free hand around his, hauling him to the ghost train. Sliding into the offered carriage, she waited for Pete to slip in beside her before twisting her lips into a threatening grin. "You ready for this?" she asked as the carriage lurched into the shadows.

Amaya edged herself down the exit to the ghost train with a laugh, glancing back at Pete who followed her with an equally amused expression. "Well..." she started, "That was interesting."

"Patrick is scarier than that," Pete replied, shaking his head with entertained disgust.

Stopping at the end of the ramp to glance back at Pete, Amaya grinned shamelessly. "That's why you jumped...twice," she retorted.

"Hey! That's because you decided that poking me was more entertaining than the ride," Pete explained, grinning back.

"And it was!" Amaya urged, laughing again. Stepping forward to slot her hand against Pete's cheek, she play-pouted. "Did you hurt your head when you hit the ceiling?"

Jerking back from her touch, Pete shook his head. "Not funny," he told her as he stepped past her, smiling in contradiction to his words.

Amaya watched the bassist wander ahead in his faux annoyance, waiting for him to predictably glance over his shoulder at her. As he did, Amaya laughed before running after him, sliding her arm through his as she caught up. Looking up at his gentle smile while he was glossed in the draining sunlight, Amaya stepped closer to him. "You know, you're so cute when you're mad," she informed him.

Pete regarded Amaya's mischief-dusted eyes with a resigned laugh. "I'm not sure I like the three-year-old version of you," he said.

"Really?" Amaya asked, "That's strange because she really likes you."

"That's it," Pete said, firmly through his grin. "I'm cutting your sugar allowance for the next week. You've had more than enough today."

Glancing at the ground that passed beneath her feet, Amaya bit her lip. "Sorry," she apologised softly. Her smile caught in the vanishing light as she slowed her step, pausing to raise her eyes to Pete. "So...what's the plan for my last day here tomorrow?" she asked the bassist, unravelling her arm from his as she stepped back to watch him think.

Smiling back the sigh that lifted in his throat, Pete shrugged. "Whatever you want to do," he answered.

Amaya meandered her eyes across the fairground, stepping back to sit on the steps of the carousel. "I wish I didn't have to go," she murmured to the mud beneath her feet.

Confused and alarmed by her sudden slump in mood, Pete swung into the space next to her. "Then stay," he offered, "Give it another few days. Stay the week."

"I can't," Amaya refused, shaking her downcast head, "I want to - but I can't. It's too much hassle."

"It's no problem at all, Amaya," Pete insisted, his voice strong and resolute. "Honest, I don't mind."

"No, it's not that," Amaya told the bassist, raising her head and silencing his speech with the ghosts filming her eyes. "It's too much hassle for me. How do I explain it?"

"To who?" Pete asked as his concern scrawled itself across his expression.

"He doesn't even know I'm out here," Amaya continued in her oblivious state, "I told him it was work. If he finds out..." Coming to consciousness, Amaya took in Pete's frown with dilated eyes.

"Amaya," Pete began, his hand coating hers. "What's going on?"

Forcing her eyes from Pete's gaze, Amaya glanced back to the carousel. Its optimistic lighting fell with delicate deliberation on the gold artwork of the horses bolted to it and she couldn't help but relate to their constant revolving, their endless climb and plummet, without them reaching anywhere new. As a sigh imposed itself on her lips, Amaya wished she hadn't looked away at all. "I can't say," she whispered, her voice almost carried off by the breeze before Pete could acknowledge her words. "I just...I can't tell you. I'm sorry." Riddled by agitation but knowing better than to argue, Pete tightened his hold on Amaya's hand, subtly letting her know that he understood. They sat like that long enough for the cold to seep across both their skin, making them shudder from their thoughts into consciousness. With the remnants of her strength, Amaya hauled her eyes to the sprinkling of stars that were beginning to show across the sky. "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," she murmured with a slight smile that was nearly lost by the shadows.

"Huh?" Pete asked, blinking rapidly to remove his screens of thoughts from his eyes.

"Oscar Wilde," Amaya explained, shifting herself into reality as her smile developed. Taking in Pete's confusion with a fully-pledged smile, she shrugged. "There's faith in those words. It may be faith of a possible fool, but it's there - and I'm going to take it."