Iskra
"It's like you read my mind," he hums through the smile at her reasoning. "My favorite thing is not being run over." Suffice to say Goose has barrelled into him quite enough that this is a more true statement than joke.
Maybe they're not at risk of trampling, but the serenity that enveloped them upon first coming here doesn't linger. Perhaps he should never expect it to in her presence, and that's fine by him. "This is the present," he justifies, leaning from one side to the other in an increasingly poor attempt at seeing past her. There's no hope, especially not once she hunkers down with all the covert talent of a mother hen hiding away her eggs. "Having you all to myself for a while is gift enough." he's contemplating reaching out an arm and grabbing hold of her to physically wrestle her away from the bag, or hoisting himself up to a more proper stance and ruining the idea that neither of them would get run over here.
The start of her explanation proves so utterly baffling that it stops all other thoughts of how to drag her away. His features scrunch up, a corner of his mouth parting, and from there a "Wha—" starts to form. As the board shorts unfurl in all their glory though, the words fade out, focus sweeping with no less bewilderment over the garment, at first, before a laugh and a reach for them breaks through like sunshine parting a cloud.
"Are these Honeybee branded!?" Although his enthusiasm for collecting clothing and brands doesn't reach above the level of 'does this fit' and 'does this work well', he is more than thrilled to see her talents properly on display for the world to acknowledge, and is not above guiding people to take a look for themselves. Well, to some extent, look too long and that'll be its own problem.
And there's more! comes out like a late-night infomercial, blowing the minds of couch-side shoppers who had already been impressed before but now are unfurling their checkbook with urgency. Laughing, a sound of happiness rather than humor, he takes the sweatshirt in hand too. His current shirt is immediately yanked up and tossed to the side on the towel, bare skin gleaming in the lanternlight for a moment before he pulls the hoodie over and gets to his feet, board shorts still held in one hand for the time being. "How's it look?" he wonders, modeling the top for a moment before glancing down to see it for himself.
Maybe they're not at risk of trampling, but the serenity that enveloped them upon first coming here doesn't linger. Perhaps he should never expect it to in her presence, and that's fine by him. "This is the present," he justifies, leaning from one side to the other in an increasingly poor attempt at seeing past her. There's no hope, especially not once she hunkers down with all the covert talent of a mother hen hiding away her eggs. "Having you all to myself for a while is gift enough." he's contemplating reaching out an arm and grabbing hold of her to physically wrestle her away from the bag, or hoisting himself up to a more proper stance and ruining the idea that neither of them would get run over here.
The start of her explanation proves so utterly baffling that it stops all other thoughts of how to drag her away. His features scrunch up, a corner of his mouth parting, and from there a "Wha—" starts to form. As the board shorts unfurl in all their glory though, the words fade out, focus sweeping with no less bewilderment over the garment, at first, before a laugh and a reach for them breaks through like sunshine parting a cloud.
"Are these Honeybee branded!?" Although his enthusiasm for collecting clothing and brands doesn't reach above the level of 'does this fit' and 'does this work well', he is more than thrilled to see her talents properly on display for the world to acknowledge, and is not above guiding people to take a look for themselves. Well, to some extent, look too long and that'll be its own problem.
And there's more! comes out like a late-night infomercial, blowing the minds of couch-side shoppers who had already been impressed before but now are unfurling their checkbook with urgency. Laughing, a sound of happiness rather than humor, he takes the sweatshirt in hand too. His current shirt is immediately yanked up and tossed to the side on the towel, bare skin gleaming in the lanternlight for a moment before he pulls the hoodie over and gets to his feet, board shorts still held in one hand for the time being. "How's it look?" he wonders, modeling the top for a moment before glancing down to see it for himself.
I can see the sunshine for the first time in a while
It's like I've been baptized by the warmth of your smile
It's like I've been baptized by the warmth of your smile
