// Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars //
He looks at her like a small, second head has sprouted next to her main one and he can't quite trust his eyes. "What do you mean there's times mismatched socks are a choice?" he scoffs. "Maybe when that's all you have left because every load of laundry causes another one to go missing, but that's not a choice, it's the lack of one."
Still shaking his head over her sock crime, he laughs a bit at her candle description. "First of all," he says with a growing smile that he has to fight to talk around. "You didn't even answer your own question properly Flo-zo. You said scent." The hand over her shoulder flicks limply at her cheek in admonishment. "Second of all, I feel like that candle would sell out. People love that look. I think I saw one like it in literally everyone's bathroom growing up." He remembers one that looked especially edible, and one that lost all charm the second you poked it, which, of course, he did.
At her next answer, the not breathing, checks out for someone in Torchline. The not blinking is such an image however, he bursts out laughing. "That would be nightmare fuel." An involuntary shiver runs through him then, as if imagining her unblinking face looming out of the dark, all horrific folklore come true. She'd be intent on snatching him up at midnight because he forgot to leave a shiny bauble to appease her at his doorstep.
He gives her shoulders a playful shake, still laughing, when she finally lands on oral health. "Here I thought you never have bad breath," he pitches his voice higher in mockery, mimicking her words from earlier. "Good choice though, won't scare anyone off again. I would definitely pick never sleeping again. I'd have so much more time for activities." He could train even harder, for one.
He glances over at her as she turns to him with that sunbeam smile, the kind he reflects back in turn, warmed by her. "Hmmmm," he considers, "I want to say a burger, because that’s what sounds good right now… but that feels too easy to waste something magical on." Not that wasting magic potential usually plays heavily in his decision-making.
"Maybe a sandwich with all the best toppings—the kind that takes forever to make because you’ve gotta dig everything out and put it all back. Something double-decker, held together with those little colorful toothpicks, and it’s got every color of food possible." He could walk beside her like this forever—hanging onto each other despite the heat, steps unhurried and synced, laughing about everything real or imagined. He draws her tighter into his side for a moment, pressing a kiss to her hair near her temple in a quiet swell of affection. "I wish we could do this every day," he says — the kind of wish that feels both small and impossibly big, like a dream you want to hold onto forever. But dreams always have a way of unraveling into nonsense as soon as you wake up and try to say them out loud.
Still shaking his head over her sock crime, he laughs a bit at her candle description. "First of all," he says with a growing smile that he has to fight to talk around. "You didn't even answer your own question properly Flo-zo. You said scent." The hand over her shoulder flicks limply at her cheek in admonishment. "Second of all, I feel like that candle would sell out. People love that look. I think I saw one like it in literally everyone's bathroom growing up." He remembers one that looked especially edible, and one that lost all charm the second you poked it, which, of course, he did.
At her next answer, the not breathing, checks out for someone in Torchline. The not blinking is such an image however, he bursts out laughing. "That would be nightmare fuel." An involuntary shiver runs through him then, as if imagining her unblinking face looming out of the dark, all horrific folklore come true. She'd be intent on snatching him up at midnight because he forgot to leave a shiny bauble to appease her at his doorstep.
He gives her shoulders a playful shake, still laughing, when she finally lands on oral health. "Here I thought you never have bad breath," he pitches his voice higher in mockery, mimicking her words from earlier. "Good choice though, won't scare anyone off again. I would definitely pick never sleeping again. I'd have so much more time for activities." He could train even harder, for one.
He glances over at her as she turns to him with that sunbeam smile, the kind he reflects back in turn, warmed by her. "Hmmmm," he considers, "I want to say a burger, because that’s what sounds good right now… but that feels too easy to waste something magical on." Not that wasting magic potential usually plays heavily in his decision-making.
"Maybe a sandwich with all the best toppings—the kind that takes forever to make because you’ve gotta dig everything out and put it all back. Something double-decker, held together with those little colorful toothpicks, and it’s got every color of food possible." He could walk beside her like this forever—hanging onto each other despite the heat, steps unhurried and synced, laughing about everything real or imagined. He draws her tighter into his side for a moment, pressing a kiss to her hair near her temple in a quiet swell of affection. "I wish we could do this every day," he says — the kind of wish that feels both small and impossibly big, like a dream you want to hold onto forever. But dreams always have a way of unraveling into nonsense as soon as you wake up and try to say them out loud.
Kaisel
// I could really use a wish right now //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
