my new band is called "Cavemen Win"

He came down the stairs in a hurry and almost fell from stopping so suddenly. Of course, he didn't expect her to be sitting on his couch. He didn't expect anyone to be in his house, but certainly not her. Not here. Not now.
She looked like shame would look, if it could fit into a light cotton dress. The coy look and the sudden shock of her being there again, in his house, combined to make him wish various things: first that he had better eye sight with which to study all of the perfection that was she, also that he wasn't in a hurry so that he had remembered to lock the door, and finally that he hadn't left his pistol hanging in the closet. For the few moments when he just stared at her, wondering how something so beautiful could be so deadly, there was almost a complete lack of sound. Even the usual noises of traffic or birdsong just held their breath for the slice of time it takes to realize your fate. She let the moment dangle, teetering just on the edge of whatever cliff he was about to join them over.
It was torturous to know that he would die without ever kissing someone as beautiful as her, and was beginning to wonder if it was worth the extra pain she would surely inflict if he fought her, if only to get closer. Close enough to kiss her. That would be his final act of defiance. She would kill him, she was better. But before he died, he would make a point of kissing her, and he would leave her messy. His blood on her dress. The perfect end for someone like him. Desperation, passion, an empty gesture, and ruining someone else's day. Once he understood the situation, he could think of no better way to die than trying to put his lips on her's.