// Start a tiny riot //
She probably can't see it real well, but he gives her a look when she suggests the sink and a total of three articles of clothing. He might be more minimalist than her (let's be honest, everyone is when compared to her), but he definitely needs at least five pairs of underwear. "A bag," he chuckles faintly, momentarily entertaining the idea, perfectly visualizing himself rifling through it just like his mother does her purse each and every time she's paying for something. It holds up the whole line and often she just starts to dismantle her entire bag onto the counter. Slap a wig on him and he'll likely be the same, just fishing out matching socks instead of change. Not exactly the look he wants, but he doesn't have it in him to outright decline the idea. Not when she's laughing and telling him any number of annoyances are worth putting up with if it just means he'd be here, and damn if that doesn't steal all his air. It's not often you have someone willing to gloss over all the ugly bits of you just for the hope of catching the way you shine in the right light.
Of course, it's easier to imagine in the dead of the night, when the world is extra quiet and calm and the lights are so low you can't really see something fully. With tomorrow so close, it's easy to pretend you can do anything for the rest of today. So he just lets it go unanswered. He isn't sure what he wants, doesn't think she does either. They could tarnish what they have, which is a lot more likely if they're squished into these tight quarters and keep bumping into all the sharper sides to them, adding scratches that build in layers to the parts that had once been smooth.
He can agree to the night though.
He squints against her kiss, one hand rising to hold the echo of it there for a little bit longer as she slips around the corner like a splash of champagne in a fresh glass. He rises steadily back upright, half-way scooted down the bench when Bassian lumbers out. Kaisel lifts his hand in a returned wave, gaze trailing after the sleep-weary man as he descends the stairs. That solves that question. At Flora's beckoning, Kaisel slides out the rest of the way and to his feet, hand slipping into hers like that's the only way it makes sense, and it is when her's is waiting.
Her room doesn't surprise him in the slightest by now—she might only manage that if he walks in and it's near empty. It is perfectly her, a touch chaotic and full of so many things they're impossible to name without missing a few, but there's comfort built into every space, and he has to smile at the way she has claimed this home away from home and turned it into the best thing she can manage. He leans against the doorframe, head tilting with a smile as he admires it for a moment. "So, if I move in I get half the wall right? So I can put up my posters of half-nude women over there?" He teases as he points towards the opposite wall.
He grabs for the pillow a bit late as it buffets his chest, but he hugs his arms around it, 'brows lifting faintly as her shorts slip away like a ghost—nothing visibly changed and yet, the knowledge of the lack of them is there like something waiting to haunt him. "Whatever huh?" he repeats, tossing the pillow back to her and leaving his hands lifted up as evidence he's got nothing on him. How does this keep happening to him? "Swim trunks it is," he scoffs, "because it's either these, nothing, or one pair of your shorts per leg." Frey's fashion selection could be another option again, but he doesn't even want to risk reminding her by warning her that's off the table this time. Thankfully his trunks are dry, if perhaps not his first choice for comfortable sleepwear, but the day's hangover of drama is enough to make it not matter.
He dives into the unoccupied space she leaves, grabbing for a pillow to swing across at her.
Of course, it's easier to imagine in the dead of the night, when the world is extra quiet and calm and the lights are so low you can't really see something fully. With tomorrow so close, it's easy to pretend you can do anything for the rest of today. So he just lets it go unanswered. He isn't sure what he wants, doesn't think she does either. They could tarnish what they have, which is a lot more likely if they're squished into these tight quarters and keep bumping into all the sharper sides to them, adding scratches that build in layers to the parts that had once been smooth.
He can agree to the night though.
He squints against her kiss, one hand rising to hold the echo of it there for a little bit longer as she slips around the corner like a splash of champagne in a fresh glass. He rises steadily back upright, half-way scooted down the bench when Bassian lumbers out. Kaisel lifts his hand in a returned wave, gaze trailing after the sleep-weary man as he descends the stairs. That solves that question. At Flora's beckoning, Kaisel slides out the rest of the way and to his feet, hand slipping into hers like that's the only way it makes sense, and it is when her's is waiting.
Her room doesn't surprise him in the slightest by now—she might only manage that if he walks in and it's near empty. It is perfectly her, a touch chaotic and full of so many things they're impossible to name without missing a few, but there's comfort built into every space, and he has to smile at the way she has claimed this home away from home and turned it into the best thing she can manage. He leans against the doorframe, head tilting with a smile as he admires it for a moment. "So, if I move in I get half the wall right? So I can put up my posters of half-nude women over there?" He teases as he points towards the opposite wall.
He grabs for the pillow a bit late as it buffets his chest, but he hugs his arms around it, 'brows lifting faintly as her shorts slip away like a ghost—nothing visibly changed and yet, the knowledge of the lack of them is there like something waiting to haunt him. "Whatever huh?" he repeats, tossing the pillow back to her and leaving his hands lifted up as evidence he's got nothing on him. How does this keep happening to him? "Swim trunks it is," he scoffs, "because it's either these, nothing, or one pair of your shorts per leg." Frey's fashion selection could be another option again, but he doesn't even want to risk reminding her by warning her that's off the table this time. Thankfully his trunks are dry, if perhaps not his first choice for comfortable sleepwear, but the day's hangover of drama is enough to make it not matter.
He dives into the unoccupied space she leaves, grabbing for a pillow to swing across at her.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
