Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
She swings from the cold crack of deeply rooted fear to a warm flare of a fresh idea so abruptly that he doesn't trust the cover, but he doesn't dare peek under it either. She slipped it over for a reason, and sometimes it's best to trust in that rather than constantly peel it all away. Plus, the wild plan she's given life to with her breath, which would sound like a completed ad lib coming from anyone else, does make his laugh bubble up light and indulgent. Coming from her, he actually thinks she just might do it, and there's an eager shine to his gaze for it. "You'll definitely attract some attention with that." The amusement dies into just a hum of a smile, thoughts still rich with all the possibilities. "I mean, swimwear is basically a must for Torchline officials, so that seems like a necessary qualifier honestly."
If he hadn't already staunchly considered stepping up as the last hail mary in the event no one does answer her call, because he'd never let her stand alone like that, he certainly is considering entering the fray now that it could be a little more exciting of a journey. He doesn't speak to either thought though, for the same reasons that have come every time to him with the idea. That it wouldn't be good optics, climbing ranks so soon when he's fresh to Torchline, and her bed. That if both of them are the ones in power, how the fuck will they actually manage to leave for vacations? That he's not sure he has half the care she does for this place, and that maybe someone who feels more for this city and doesn't make a face every time sand gets in their shoes should be the one to actually govern it's future, else he might be tempted to pass some decree to remove all the sand from the beaches in a fit of despair one day.
"Cats," he answers her swiftly and utterly deadpan, in reference to who doesn't enjoy kissing in the rain. "Although they don't really make out, so..." There's certainly some girls out there who think they're part cat, what with the way they run from the slightest drizzle like it's acid instead of water.
As some energy rises up in her voice, the idea really starting to solidify into something she paints out for the both of them, his smile spreads slow and rich. His head tilts, cheek brushing the towel beside her as he rests it fully down, weighted with devotion. He's listening, but mostly he's watching, because she comes alive when she dreams like this. All the breathless possibility colors her into something so rare he can't help but behold it, quiet in his admiration so as not to distract her from the full breadth of her brilliant hue. Crayola would have a nice name for it, like Darling Dream or Flora in Bloom, and it wouldn't be one color, but a whole host of them that change and spread with each stroke.
"I see what you're up to," he drawls out, sideways and sly with his understanding. "You're just trying to come up with a better reason for being late," and though he clicks his tongue as if to chastise her, the chuckle that comes in soon thereafter says he absolutely won't. "You can always just blame me and my errant little curl," he offers her instead, always willing to be the out she needs. Of course, he knows that isn't why, but he can't resist teasing her thusly. The ridiculous scheme only runs away further when she decrees a different room with a weather and body party designation, and he tilts his head against hers to steady the shake of the amusement that rolls through him, climbing higher and louder with each silly little addition until just making eye contact with her is enough to send him all over again.
Eventually it wanes into just a tremble behind his lips, sides aching with the force of the joy that's the risk of her company. He stills at her words, eyes drifting her back into sharper focus when he'd let it all drift into soft edges. His blink is slow, falling in time with the low, happy sigh that eases free, the reckless mirth from before replaced with something that goes deeper. He flops a hand up between their faces, a finger extending and booping the tip of her nose before curling up near her cheek. "Oh good," he mumbles, unable or maybe just unwilling to keep the playful edge from his voice as a wayward smile returns. "I've been upgraded." He let the tender moment breath between them for a moment, but he simply can't let the opportunity to tease her pass him by so easily. "Started off being loved, then dropped all the way down to being hated. Now I'm back on middle ground—liked." He offers the explanation with no true heart to any of it, aware of the adoration threaded through every term, especially this most recent one.
"I like like you," he extends in return, the amber of his gaze absolutely melted, honest and raw with the core of his feelings for her. It feels so damn evident on his face whenever he looks at her, especially now, but he says it out loud too just to make sure, and he'll never stop doing so, especially not when he'd wasted so much time failing to say it before now.
If he hadn't already staunchly considered stepping up as the last hail mary in the event no one does answer her call, because he'd never let her stand alone like that, he certainly is considering entering the fray now that it could be a little more exciting of a journey. He doesn't speak to either thought though, for the same reasons that have come every time to him with the idea. That it wouldn't be good optics, climbing ranks so soon when he's fresh to Torchline, and her bed. That if both of them are the ones in power, how the fuck will they actually manage to leave for vacations? That he's not sure he has half the care she does for this place, and that maybe someone who feels more for this city and doesn't make a face every time sand gets in their shoes should be the one to actually govern it's future, else he might be tempted to pass some decree to remove all the sand from the beaches in a fit of despair one day.
"Cats," he answers her swiftly and utterly deadpan, in reference to who doesn't enjoy kissing in the rain. "Although they don't really make out, so..." There's certainly some girls out there who think they're part cat, what with the way they run from the slightest drizzle like it's acid instead of water.
As some energy rises up in her voice, the idea really starting to solidify into something she paints out for the both of them, his smile spreads slow and rich. His head tilts, cheek brushing the towel beside her as he rests it fully down, weighted with devotion. He's listening, but mostly he's watching, because she comes alive when she dreams like this. All the breathless possibility colors her into something so rare he can't help but behold it, quiet in his admiration so as not to distract her from the full breadth of her brilliant hue. Crayola would have a nice name for it, like Darling Dream or Flora in Bloom, and it wouldn't be one color, but a whole host of them that change and spread with each stroke.
"I see what you're up to," he drawls out, sideways and sly with his understanding. "You're just trying to come up with a better reason for being late," and though he clicks his tongue as if to chastise her, the chuckle that comes in soon thereafter says he absolutely won't. "You can always just blame me and my errant little curl," he offers her instead, always willing to be the out she needs. Of course, he knows that isn't why, but he can't resist teasing her thusly. The ridiculous scheme only runs away further when she decrees a different room with a weather and body party designation, and he tilts his head against hers to steady the shake of the amusement that rolls through him, climbing higher and louder with each silly little addition until just making eye contact with her is enough to send him all over again.
Eventually it wanes into just a tremble behind his lips, sides aching with the force of the joy that's the risk of her company. He stills at her words, eyes drifting her back into sharper focus when he'd let it all drift into soft edges. His blink is slow, falling in time with the low, happy sigh that eases free, the reckless mirth from before replaced with something that goes deeper. He flops a hand up between their faces, a finger extending and booping the tip of her nose before curling up near her cheek. "Oh good," he mumbles, unable or maybe just unwilling to keep the playful edge from his voice as a wayward smile returns. "I've been upgraded." He let the tender moment breath between them for a moment, but he simply can't let the opportunity to tease her pass him by so easily. "Started off being loved, then dropped all the way down to being hated. Now I'm back on middle ground—liked." He offers the explanation with no true heart to any of it, aware of the adoration threaded through every term, especially this most recent one.
"I like like you," he extends in return, the amber of his gaze absolutely melted, honest and raw with the core of his feelings for her. It feels so damn evident on his face whenever he looks at her, especially now, but he says it out loud too just to make sure, and he'll never stop doing so, especially not when he'd wasted so much time failing to say it before now.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
