[SE] Sew me what you know

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

He expected no other answer, and his smirk only deepens in its nefarious cut, each of them lost of the madness of competition that has landed them in trouble more than a time or two over the years. "Your funeral," he continues to taunt, just before he takes action, but as ever, she is quicker. As nimble as candleflame in a breeze, she darts without growing extinguished, flickering around him as if his movements were a well practiced dance. And as habits go, perhaps they were after so many similar attempts, just none as recently as this.

Her own pillow serves as a robust block, keeping his tackle unsuccessfully and instead sending him sprawled onto the floor, face first. Her own assault rains in from above, not painful, but disorienting and unstoppable in this position. He grouses through it with a myriad of grunts and groans, one hand trying to raise up over his head and grab at her pillow, but each time it falls through his grasp before he can manage a secure hold, brought back down with renewed fervor. In the distance, Goose is barking, the way school children might gather round a playground fight and chant for the violence on display.

What Iskra does have nearby thought, is her feet, and he reaches out to grab and twine around her legs, yanking towards him while he pivots his lower half, trying to push off with his feet against the couch to give him more force to pull her down with.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //