Arla cradled her chin in her palm, glancing around the bar to gauge if anyone else was overhearing the conversation that she was. A couple leaned into each other, limbs tangled and voices a touch above a whisperâ I love you snugglekins. Youâre my wubby bearâ prompting her brows to shoot skyward. Physically turning, Arla found the features of a kindred spirit, mouthing her reaction. âWhat the fuck?â
My little bunny nose. Sheer disgust blooms to Aspen's features-- a drink is nearly spat, tidy brows knead, and a nose pinches upwards. Honeyed irises come in contact with another's, prompting Aspen's palm to outstretch and tap on the adjacent stool, beckoning the girl to join. "If I am ever like that, I hope to god someone shoves me off the Rockefeller Center."