Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
Soap must not be so bad if she's going to sigh like that back onto the bench, but maybe she was the kind to do the Tidepod challenge. The press of her lips flutters through him and rises light and gentle in his chest, stilling him a moment longer even as she settles, his gaze trailing down after her like ivy abandoning the arch of its designated trellis. Whether ice cream or fork, he'd like to have this daily—sans salt and clay. Such that when she heeds his request, flopping over like the catch of the day, he lurks near her head to steal an upside-down kiss before moving on.
While cutlery and ice cream flavors might have sent him spiraling, it's colors that seems to do it for her. Expecting something simple like aqua, the way a child might proudly announce their color, a choice made early on when battling peers for crayons during coloring activities, she doesn't keep it so easy. He pauses some of his salt smearing, glancing up at her as she paints the image with her explanation, her gaze clearly distant as she wanders the poem of the hue. A grin spreads steadily with every word, and he abandons his task for a moment to crouch down beside her, folding his arms on the side of the cushion and resting his chin over them.
"Okay," he decides soft and sure. "So you'll be painted like the day's first wave, some white heeeere, and then green here, and some blue along here." One of his arms slinks out, a finger skimming over her shoulder, then sweeping up and over to her opposite hip and flicking down in a point towards her legs. "And when you have to twist around on the sheet, you have to do your best imitation of the tide." Which, she's had plenty of practice with being in Torchline for so long, but he's giving her an even better upperhand now with all the seaweed.
"Then I'll be the last light of the woods, with orange and gold and brown." Less colors than he'd first suggested, but a blend of matching schemes to create this moment in time she's captured in an explanation. Not a swatch, but a variety of them, streaming together and mixing over one another to create a day blurred between the dawn and the dusk of a seaside forest.
While cutlery and ice cream flavors might have sent him spiraling, it's colors that seems to do it for her. Expecting something simple like aqua, the way a child might proudly announce their color, a choice made early on when battling peers for crayons during coloring activities, she doesn't keep it so easy. He pauses some of his salt smearing, glancing up at her as she paints the image with her explanation, her gaze clearly distant as she wanders the poem of the hue. A grin spreads steadily with every word, and he abandons his task for a moment to crouch down beside her, folding his arms on the side of the cushion and resting his chin over them.
"Okay," he decides soft and sure. "So you'll be painted like the day's first wave, some white heeeere, and then green here, and some blue along here." One of his arms slinks out, a finger skimming over her shoulder, then sweeping up and over to her opposite hip and flicking down in a point towards her legs. "And when you have to twist around on the sheet, you have to do your best imitation of the tide." Which, she's had plenty of practice with being in Torchline for so long, but he's giving her an even better upperhand now with all the seaweed.
"Then I'll be the last light of the woods, with orange and gold and brown." Less colors than he'd first suggested, but a blend of matching schemes to create this moment in time she's captured in an explanation. Not a swatch, but a variety of them, streaming together and mixing over one another to create a day blurred between the dawn and the dusk of a seaside forest.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
