afterglow
ncjennie:
“that's—” smooth. the word barely tips over the edge of her tongue, swallowed instantly by the short chuckle she muffles into the back of her free hand. fingers continue their curious waltz along his skin, drawing tiny spirals as they near the bend of his wrist. she looks at him, only playfully suspicious. “i bet you have a list of recipes from all the girls you’ve picked up at this gym.” she reaches up to tighten her ponytail, small smile nestled into the corner of her mouth. “although there really is no need for that,” she’s chin in palm again, mirrored posture. “i thought i’d make it for you instead and see for myself.”
her fingers slip away from their wanderings, bright eyes flickering down from a held gaze as she taps her number into his phone. save contact, then slides the device across the counter. “either way, i’ll be expecting that text.”
it’s hard to keep a straight face. amusement tears through a poorly-kept facade as she all but caves in, keeps her eyes on his until laughter tips her head back, ponytail swinging low between her hips. “but think about it— front page spread just for you. not too shabby for a late break into stardom.” she straightens up then, zipping up her jacket as she nods. “i am—” pauses, grabbing her bag as she circles her way around the counter. “and since you’re officially at my service now,” she grins wide as she steps up close, fingers a tentative curl around his wrist, “you’re coming with me. my coworker can close up.”
little ol’ him? never. bogum’s as upright as they come. he feigns incredulity. “not a chance!” he laughs, and pokes her hand gingerly, playfully. the mirroring doesn’t go unnoticed; bogum moves to tilt his head to the same approximate angle that the girl across from him has assumed. “half the time—no, most of the time—i don’t know what to cook. it’s always the same stuff over and over again.” he pouts now. “just thought you might be the perfect person to get me out of this dietary monotony.”
his fingers curl back around the phone and he slides it into his pocket with a nod. he’ll text her in a few days, maybe. could definitely use a weekend retreat away from headquarters and pressing responsibilities.
“no kidding?” he’s reminded of all the times his mother’s hinted for him to pursue a career in show business (all in jest, perhaps unfortunately) and bogum grins, suggestion of warmth tucked underneath all the layers. “faking a death seems like the ultimate test of an actor’s worth... but nobody’d care unless i was a celebrity to begin with. no luck.” he frowns and tightens the bag straps on his shoulders, sensing a dull ache that begins to settle in his muscles and joints. no sooner and bogum’s caught, unsuspecting, by the small hand on his wrist, pulling him towards the exit.
a harsh exhale of breath escapes and he echoes, “at your service,” stumbling a little ways after her. perhaps this brand of harmless spontaneity is just what he needs after a week’s scheduled hits.
