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@rosesonbreeze
Hey! How’s it going? I’m C, 30 years old with she/her pronouns currently in the EST timezone. I’m an avid roleplayer (been doing this way too long and don’t plan to stop anytime soon) and I’m looking for more writing partners for 1x1 roleplaying or even extending to a multi-muse universe
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open to anyone. muse: grace harper. bisexual. she/her. stay at home mom in a rather miserable marriage. plot: former lovers & grace left town a few years back. she’s now back and very different. used to be a total wildcard and now she’s playing house and happy families.
“oh… no.” her hand reaches out to cover the top of her wine glass before anything else can be poured into it. three glasses is more than enough to have grace warm and giggling about the past like it was only yesterday. “i really shouldn’t. i’m up early tomorrow. lots to do before i go home,” she explains, since this town wasn’t what she considered home anymore. “we should try and grab a coffee or something before then, though. it’s been really nice talking to you.”
"It's just wine, Grace. Don't tell me you've gone soft now." Carlton reminds her, somewhere between an instigating and confused. Back then, he and Grace would down double these amounts before painting the town red. And they most certainly wouldn't pass up a night of catching up for waking up early tomorrow. "It's been fantastic. Which is why," he scoots his seat close, conspiratorial and insistent. "You should stay." How often are both back in their small town for a high school reunion? "You can always go back to your life later, right?" And he's nothing if not a man who takes like by the horns, and insists on how it shall be.
continued for @rosesonbreeze from the source
"okay, that was a bit of a low blow," parker snickers, rolling his eyes and taking the rhetorical question (he assumes) like a champ. "that's the shit that they talk about in movies, right? cold feet but it's just some anxiety about committing to something so big and new? if you love the person, it'll all just wash over... — again, that's what they say." it isn't like parker can exactly comment on how she's wrong because she isn't. he isn't married and likely will never be. "vows don't have to be perfect, they just have to be from the heart. fun promises, how you feel about the guy, blah blah. you really can't think of anything?"
"It's the only way I roll." Parker knows that. The first and foremost recipient of anyone of Hana's mood and turmoils. This time, turned up several notches, as the looming ceremony clouds over her. Like many times before, he commits to reason, to sensible answers. Something that makes it even worse. "Don't judge." She nudges, catching the incredulous look in his eye. "I'm not creative like you. Definitely less sappy." Hana's all ambition and sense, no sentimentality. A beat, as she surveys him closely. "What would you say?" She asks, softer this time. "If you were getting married, promising forever... What would you say?"
plot idea : my muse dated your muse’s sister. messy breakup. now he keeps running into your muse instead. the tension is undeniable. drunken texts. confessions he shouldn’t make. “i chose the wrong sister.” slow-burn w/ lots of guilt, longing, and attraction.
in ravi’s mind, being single wasn’t the worst thing in the world. less responsibility, less expectations, more time to focus on his art. the hardest part had been the messy breakup. he was still trying to leave that behind him. which was part of the reason he found himself here tonight, standing in a bar so packed it felt like everyone was pressed shoulder to shoulder. he pushed his way through the crowd slowly, making his way back toward the bar for another drink. while he waited, his mind wandered. his eyes moved around the room, taking in the chaos of it all, the music, the conversations blending together. and that’s when he noticed her.
his ex-girlfriend’s sister.
she was standing right beside him at the bar, waiting for a drink. the pull was immediate and familiar. ravi had always been dangerously attracted to her. it was something he’d kept contained. they’d gotten along well, right up until everything had fallen apart with her sister. whenever ravi came around she made him feel welcome, never hesitating to make small talk or crack a few jokes. “wow,” ravi said, clearly amused, the surprise written across his face as he turned toward her. despite everything, he looked genuinely happy to see her. “god— what are you doing here?” he asked, letting out a small laugh. “i feel like i haven’t seen you in ages…” his eyes lingered on her a second longer than they probably should have. “you look—” he paused briefly, wondering if he was pushing it too far. “you look great,” ravi admitted.
She's always been out for number one. It can't be helped, especially in the Yamoto household where finances and attention were in short supply. Hana is competitive, a fighter by nature, and always out to be the center of attention. And certainly, she and Midori take 'sister rivalry' to new heights some days. Still, she loves her big sister. Enough to be nice to her boyfriend when they were dating, and not break 'sister code' by going out with him after the break-up.
However, she isn't morally virtuous or loyal enough not to fan the flames whenever Ravi is around. Stoking the flame, letting a lingering eye settle in his bones. As long as nothing happens, right?
"Me? What are you doing here?" Hana challenges back when he comes into view, with those dark eyes and darker locks that act as hooks for her naturally flirtatious nature. She's always liked him, and in the same vein, always wondered what he saw in her robotic big sister and her stuffy medical degree. "I've been in L.A. the last six months. Didn't you hear? I'm in an action movie." She boasts proudly, let's him see the entirety of her face as she does. Batting her eyelashes, she hums; "Mhm, thank you. You look good. You always look good." She eggs on, a nod to his drink.
"You buying me a drink, or what?"
THE ALTERNATIVE. HIS COMMENT hits her in the gut, but is perhaps the rude awakening she needs — not everyone wishes to be spoon - fed on a throne for the rest of their eternity, to be shackled to duty and responsibility far beyond what any man should bear. still, eden is only a woman: and to believe that someone would choose exile or execution over a life with her stings. she can be a good wife. she will be, for the mess she's made.
« our survival, » she points out sharply, because whilst it's hard to believe coming out of the princess's mouth she had thought of carlton when the hasty decision had been made. in fact, she had only thought of him. her old betrothed and her early grave be damned. « and you may resent me for it all you like, but you must know — » her voice dies out. that she bears him affection ? that parting with him now would only twist the knife ? none of this can be spoken out loud, especially when he cannot and will not say the same.
« what luck that you did not exaggerate, » she mutters sarcastically, slipping down on the bed with a heavy sigh. « they will be expecting an heir, carlton. what do you suppose we do with that ? » they keep spinning this web and there's no way out of it now. gratitude grapples with annoyance. « now what happens ? i am sick of the secrets. » and the lies.
"I know." He completes her sentence, meeting her staunch reaction with one of profound understanding. Carlton may not swim in the deep-end of emotional attentiveness. But he's not so lost that he doesn't know - how vital he has been to her survival, the sacrifices she's made to save him, and the way their lives are intertwined. Whether it's on the lam to escape her father, or posted up in a castle with golden chains.
"I have a few ideas." Carlton teases back, a tired smirk as he settles onto the edge of her bed. "Shall I go into excruciating detail?" Easy to tease and play, when the alternative is confronting the dreaded state of things. Yet her seriousness wipes away the smirk on his face, replaced with a look of impatience and exasperation.
"This was your decision. I should be the one asking you that." Despite their newfound closeness, the banter never seizes, only made worse by their present circumstance. "Do not be such a woman and over-complicate the matter. We commit to the pretense. We let your father bestow a title upon me, make me acceptable--" As if a bastard son is an acceptable spouse, but they are where they are. "I make a honest wife out of you. Get to work on an heir. And we..."
Christ, she looks miserable. Carlton stands up from his seat, approaching her with as much gentleness as his rough persona can muster. "There are no more secrets, Eden. As far as everyone is concerned, we are married. It is out there. And as for marriage itself, well... Am I really so bad?" Untitled and a cad, but certainly kinder than her other options.
MUSE : parker gates, board game store manager OPEN TO : f CONTEXT : ex-high school sweethearts / best friends vibe like in love, rosie
"you're being ridiculous. look at me." the last few months have finally culminated to this singular important day — her wedding — and to say that he's been dreading it is a strange understatement. parker is happy for her, of course he is, but there has to be a limit when it comes to giving pep talks as her 'bridesman'. fingers grip around her shoulders and he shakes her lightly. "this is what you want. this is what you've planned for. cold feet is normal but you've gotta face it like a champ."
She's not one for cold feet, or half-hearted decisions. Hana is all in, all the time; about her career, about her craft, about Parker. So much so, that marrying someone else is the only reasonable antidote to her investment in him. Still, she spins. The same way she has at every major event; the bachelorette party, the rehearsal, and now... Two hours before she's set to walk down the aisle. "How would you know? You've never been married." Hana mumbles, reaching for the pad of paper. Utterly blank. "How am I supposed to go down there when I don't even have any vows?" And how could she, when anything written is in the context of them - not the groom.
@pleadsfifth | Eetu and Andrea, The Four Seasons Resort in the Seychelles
It's risky business - traveling to a secluded island with your biggest legal adversary and closest friend. Even riskier knowing what Andrea knows; that they are, at best, platon-ish with too much on the line to really chance it. But Eetu's a better lawyer than she gives him credit for, because he doesn't let up. It's months later, and against all odds and cases, they have a week off to spend in a luxury resort in the Seychelles.
And to add insult to injury, Andrea's cynicism can't stifle the other part of her that's excited for it.
Chin tilted up at the sun, Andrea leans off the side of the golf cart. "God, I needed this." She bemoans, welcome drink in hand, soaking up the sunlight that's missing from the gloom of New York. "This might be one of the few good ideas you've had over the years." Andrea teases, glancing over at him from behind her Prada sunglasses. "Which client hooked this up, anyway?" She'd need to know, for purposes of disclosure. Andrea peers up at their villa, equipped with everything from an infinity pool to an easy path towards the beach.
Staging a comeback to my indie this weekend! Posting for mutual to start. Would love to get some things going. Like for a plot call/starter call
He hums in agreement. "You know that's why I hate the fucking media. You think any of the juries actually heed the judge's warning to not talk about it, to not read anything? If we were eligible for jury duty, do you think you would? Actually don't answer that, I already know. Law-abiding, upstanding citizen." He prattles off, not letting up a beat, even for a breath. He's prone to tangents, especially in the company of other lawyers. It's par for the course, lawyers don't actually have lives otherwise. At least, he doesn't — apart from the general maintenance of self. There's vibrant lives in the books he reads for fun though.
"Not you, your colleague. The one I hate." Which could be anyone, really, and he knows that — stated all droll with a wry quirk of his mouth. The prospect of a vacation warms quick when he thinks that it would be in her company. When he thinks about it deeply, he doesn't know a single person who has as close a friendship with the opposite sex, as him and Andrea. Unless they were gay. Which he's not, not exclusively anyways. Eetu's heard his fair share of comments about their relationship, kind jests from their mutual friends, scumbag remarks from his clients when she's prosecuting and he says he went to school with her.
He takes it as a challenge. "We should go. I'm serious. Let's go. And I'm not being impulsive since you won't probably won't even be able to get time off until like what, end of May? June? Really overworking you there." Eetu admonishes, and he actually does mean it sincerely, because it's a pain scheduling adjournments when every prosecutor is playing Tetris with their schedules.
His brows jump with amusement at the idea of Andrea the mindreader, though his expression settles just as quickly, when she says what she does. It makes his heart twist, fond and then some. A little uncomfortable, like he's not sure what to do with the information except let it linger. He leans back against the couch, his ramrod straight posture faltering. A cushion hugged against his chest as he considers. "Yeah. I mean, yeah. I think some of that trueness must come from the fact that we've never dated. I don't know. I just know if anything happened between us —-" He wouldn't be able to come back from it? "Well, I don't know." Is the honest answer.
But he thinks he wants to, be the person that gives her faith, because he has this severe need to give her everything she asks for, because he, like, probably — no, does, love her. "Let's go on vacation." He insists again. Just them. In the plane, on the beach, in the king-sized bed of the five-star hotel. "You won't have time to think about the dating pool in New York when you're five mimosas in." All they'll have to focus on is each other.
"What can I say? I like rules. It's what keeps us all from mob rule." A belief that extends beyond the courtroom, and into the very heart of her friendship with Eetu. They may gray the lines of friendship sometimes. But crossing it? An entirely different beast. Yet he poses a challenge that she doesn't see coming. Her first reaction? Somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, "You're funny tonight, aren't you?" Andrea quips back, a small shove against his arm for good measure. Lingering only when she realizes he's serious. So serious, in fact, that dates and times are quickly up in the air.
"You're not kidding." She deduces, squinting at Eetu as if he has two heads. Their friendship, however conflicted it may seem to the professional gaze, worked because they didn't mess with it. Not teetering the status quo, risking it all. Like many times before, Andrea's first instinct is to say no, to argue their work needs them above all else. But for whatever reason, it's the bated breath between them that causes her to stop. The very real reasons why they never found anyone else; because they never tried with each other. In the equation of risk and reward, this is the equivalent of Eetu bluffing in open court.
"You realize this could be a bad idea, right? That we'll either kill each other on that island, or come back to New York as strangers?" Because the other alternatives... Well, putting them to words leaves Andrea equally warm and frightened. Before long, she finds herself nodding; "But... Okay. Yes." She nods, absolved. If there's one thing Eetu can count on - she never says yes without meaning it. "Let's go on vacation."
His cheeks hurt from smiling, basking in the pretend-adoration, special because it's her doing it. Eetu thinks she's entirely fascinating, watching like he's a captive audience to her one-woman show. He'd only done a few high-profile cases in his career thus far, and while he thrives under pressure and the work had been engaging, the media coverage was bizarre, surreal, and out-of-body. He'd seen pictures of himself coming out of the courtroom that he had pored over, wondering how that could possibly be himself. And then of course, there were the people, strikingly accurate to the way Andrea performs it. "God, actually, don't remind me. Sexier in theory."
Home is here. Save for the language and his family, he has no real affinity to Finland. There's something addictive about America, and he has an appetite for the grisly, otherwise he wouldn't be in this profession. There's an excess of it, nothing too grand and gruesome for the land of the free. And in that, pockets of calm. "Nah. If we go anywhere we might as well go somewhere neither of us has been. A former client has an private island in Seychelles he's always offering up."
"The feely parts." He repeats, for no reason, just sounds cute when she says it. Eetu nods slowly. Despite his profession, he can sometimes find it incredibly difficult to understand people. He values Andrea deeply, so he makes an effort to understand. Still his eyes flick down to the fleeting graze of her finger on his lips, before his gaze returns to hers. "Don't what? I wasn't going to say anything." He protests, even though he definitely was. Not even about sex, but about true love. That it's an idea, sold and packaged and repurposed for various agendas. And he's still going to say it.
"What I think," He says, obnoxiously, "Is that true love doesn't exist, but all love is true." Eetu says it less like poetry and more like the way he'd order a coffee at his favourite cafe, direct and to the point.
Does it sound silly to him? Maybe, in the sense that he's never thought Andrea to — have these feelings? In spite of seeing her through break-ups and torturous cases, she's always felt unflappable to him. "Not silly. But I've never known you to not get what you want. If it's intimacy you want, that's not hard to find." They're doing it right now, probably. Intimate, and he's not talking just with sex either.
"A lot of things are sensationalized. Or in this case, sexualized." Andrea hums, understanding Eetu's perspective on a molecular level. All the things they were condition to revel and lust for, always flatter than their imagination perceives. Like winning high profile cases, the bright lights of flashing cameras, even the power-trip of holding people's fate in your hands. Then, of course, there's the adoration of people who see you as the moon and the stars. It's all meant to appeal, and yet Andrea's learning quickly that so few of it does. Is she just spoiled and bored, or something more than that?
They are too deep now, well beyond the cocktail hour that excuses philosophical thought as 'drunken ramblings.' She's half-wondering if she should just dig through his cupboards from expensive tequila when he brings up an island in the Seychelles. "Not someone I tried putting away, right?" Because that would be a conflict of interest. Tagging along one of Eetu's overpriced vacations, on the other hand...
"Don't tempt me with a beach and a good time." She's weak when it comes to sun and the beach. Her South American heritage always looking for a reprieve from New York's endless slush. Even if it invariably will end up with her and Eetu working quietly on their laptops at a pool bar, because work never truly stops.
"I know the next ten things you're going to say." It's a familiarity born through the years, fostered by their closeness. It's not that she can't handle Eetu's likely pragmatic take on love and loneliness. But him speaking it to life forces Andrea to cop to what scares her. "Sometimes I think you're the truest relationship I've ever had. And we're not even in a relationship." Andrea laments out loud, as close as she's come to broaching what's always lingered between them. Intimacy wrapped up in friendship, but also sometimes, something more.
"And as for searching it out, I don't know. I guess sometimes I lose faith, you know?" After all, is 'true love' and 'happily ever after' meant to be so hard?
He nods slow, taking her in. Eetu is completely sober, surprisingly, but sometimes he looks at her with the bright-eyed sparkle of two drinks in, the perfect amount of tipsiness to feel that everything is lighter. His expression is drenched in amusement watching her prance around, the quick retort about his fan club: more rife in the summer because he can only bear their incompetence when it's burning hot outside. "Can you? I don't know if you have the range." He challenges, though any implication folds into the nature of their relationship. It's not like he's trying to sleep with her, it's not like he's not not trying to either. Dunno. It works for them, though. Whatever this is.
He put on shows for his family when he was young, performances of Ibsen and readings of Proust when he was a little older. Naturally, he outgrew it, engaging with literature in what he considered a more meaningful way, theoretically, rather than embodiment. "And your Brazilian ass wouldn't make it through my hometown's winter." Eetu wonders what her childhood was like, and he's not sure why he doesn't ask.
His brows knit together instinctively. Easier. Well, he's not sure about that. Though he's not about to pop the bubble in the illusion she's crafted of him — in fact, he quite enjoys that she thinks about him in this way. "Well, yes. I am afforded the privileges of being a man." Knows that's not what she's talking about. His smile dims, slightly, at the thought that she might feels as though he's out of reach. Which is funny, because for him, there is no one closer than her.
"And do you find that a bad thing? Feeling everything too much?"
It must be the late hour, the hundreds of pages of depositions, and the sheer chill of Eetu's apartment. Something's in the air, because instead of mocking him (first instinct) or rolling her eyes (second instinct), her lips twitch into a crooked smile. "You are so brave." Andrea bemoans, recalling verbatim the words of Eetu's 'fan club' as she affectionately called it. Legal aids or true crime junkies who see a tall, handsome, Nordic defense lawyer in the papers or walking up and down fifth avenue. "The way you take the stand for innocent people? I've never seen anything like it." Except instead of exaggeration, Andrea commits to it, with all the gusto and wide-eyed belief those fans had. "And your ass looks fucking amazing in those suits." Alright, maybe she tossed the last bit in as a lark. Can he blame her?
"Then thank God we're not taking each other home." It's not like their hometowns have been that for awhile. Home is here - a city that never sleeps, crime that lines every corner, and a courtroom that acts as their arena. Where else could they go?
"Sometimes, yeah. The world celebrates cynics, after all. No room for the more feely parts of me--" The parts of her that aren't confined to passion and ruthlessness in law. Rather, "The part that stills believe in true love. The part that wants to be intimate - and not just with sex." As if bracing for Eetu to cringe or mock, she slides back beside him, her socks gliding with the hardwood floors. "Don't." She places a finger over his lips, catching the smart comment in his tracks.
"I know it sounds silly to you. But, you're the person closest to me. So sometimes," she lowers her finger, eyes unmoved from his. "Sometimes you have to just listen and not judge."
☆ Bruna Marquezine at the Oscar's 2026 ☆
He grins. "You know me so well. Almost like you're obsessed with me." Eetu comments innocently, brow raised expecting a quick retort. She's right, as per usual, he doesn't sleep. Would go as far as to say he despises that it is a necessity of the human body. He has no problem with mind over matter'ing an his body's deterioration over an all-nighter.
He considers lying and telling her it's an exes, just to see how she'd react, if she would. Not sure why he wants to provoke her that way and upon second consideration it feels childish to do that, so he doesn't. "I went on a hiking trip. I had to have the proper attire." He also has a pair of abandoned Salomon's and Fjallraven trekking trousers. Eetu could hardly recognize himself that week, though his parents, naturalists, a byproduct of being Finnish, with strong biophilic tendencies had been tittering with glee. Just how his smile grows, canines bared chock full of amusement. "Cute. You look like you just moved to a mountain state and advocate for more bike lanes in the city."
His jaw drops, and if he realized his mouth was gaping so rudely he'd shut it immediately. His cheeks hurt, full with delight. His gaze not immune to tracking her around his apartment. Eetu applauds at the wonderful performance. "How does it feel? Do you wish you were me?" He tries, really hard, to school his mouth into something less smiley, but he can't.
"I'm playing the part of you, not your fan club, thank you very much." An important distinction. She's seen his fan club before; junior associates and paralegals who are impressed with how fast his mind works, dates wowed by his quick wit and cool demeanor... Even his clients who look to him like a God. Andrea may be his closest friend, his most difficult rival. But blind adoration? She smirks with a flagrant shake of her head. "But I can play obsessed next!"
In another life, with another family raising her - maybe Andrea had a future in theater. Isn't that why she loves a law? All the passion and theatricality. The court is her stage... That, and his flat, which she roams about committing to the bit. "I'd pay to see you hike a mountain. Your frigid, Finnish butt wouldn't last a day in the Amazon Rainforest." Another way they were diametrically opposed - her hot climate upbringing in Brazil no match to the chill of his birth country. And yet...
Andrea meets the rare, soft smile that peeks through his composed features. Head tilted as she hums; "It's not half bad. Would probably be easier, in some ways." Pausing, letting her comment linger, before she shrugs. "You've got a way of not letting anything or anyone touch you." Eetu is a talent at that. Not heartless by any stretch, but cool and unattached. "I feel everything too much."
"The temperature is intentional. It's set to 63°F. It's better for your sleep." He says matter-of-factly. Besides, unlike Andrea, he's always in long-sleeves. Although it's not like she hasn't seen him in his pyjamas before, but those were law school days. He is dressed down though, donning a cashmere v-neck sweater, with a t-shirt underneath and his tried and true pair of brown slacks. His apartment's frigid in style as well as temperature. Minimalist, sterile, save for the Frame TV which showcases The Dog by Francisco Goya. "Wow. Enlightening." He says dryly. She's right though. Eetu lets out an overdramatic sigh and gets up, setting his laptop on the coffee table and padding to his room, searching in his walk-in closet for something appropriate for her. He doesn't own any hoodies or crewneck sweater, but he fishes out a Patagonia fleece that he's only ever worn once, when he was working at a firm that had hosted a company hiking retreat. He returns to her and of course, chucks the zip-up at her. "Don't say I never do anything for you."
"Like you sleep." Knowing Eetu, he spends more of his wee small hours scheming and plotting. That, or spot cleaning every nook and cranny of his meticulous apartment. And Andrea thought she was a lush, with her cleaning lady and designer end tables. "This yours?" Andrea takes the fleece in hand, inspecting it with a doubtful look. It's an anomaly to his usual dress code, and Andrea can't help but be doubtful. Still, beggars can't be choosers, and she slips it over her shoulders. "Oh God." She places a dramatic hand on her chest, a mocking smile.
"So this is what it's like being you." To make her point, she stands up on her tippy toes. "I'm the world's most prolific defense attorney. I eat precedent and due diligence for breakfast." She does it in her best Eetu voice, a coy smirk as she rounds about his apartment. "Every night, I plug myself into an outlet of this high-end, AirBnb like a truel legal cyborg." It's late enough in the evening that Andrea's competitive nature relaxes into good, old fashioned teasing. It's always been her job - humbling him, just a little bit.
I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter and grow sad. l want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
"i guess maybe a part of me hoped you were," he teased, "i can be a little vain that way." truth was, he actually appreciated that andrea saw beneath the surface with him. they way she could read him without kj having to say much. "i mean you are very beautiful it would feel inaccurate to leave it at the very bottom of the list." it was a half truth, there were a dozen things kj adored about andrea besides her beauty. he just enjoyed being a bit mischievous about it all.
it was interesting to kj, the way andrea seemed to be moving with this sense of urgency. he's quick to catch up. to try and follow her innuendos. kj wasn't exactly sure what andrea wanted but whatever it was he'd give it to her. "yeah, we're not too far from there." he wasted no time to match her pace. "you're moving fast," he teased. "what's got you in such a hurry?' he liked that andrea was being bold. if there was something she wanted, kj hoped she'd make it perfectly clear.
She bites into her inner cheek, to keep her soft smile from splitting into a wide grin. Like a kid experiencing Disney for the first time, or a teenager's first venture behind the wheel. There's something about beginnings, especially unlikely ones, that make her giddy and optimistic. They step out into the busier street, the city lit up in ways a moody restaurant just isn't. Catching the teasing smirk on KJ's face, Andrea hums. "I guess I just couldn't wait." She shrugs. For what, and how? The answer is made as she steps forward, closing the distance they've kept for the sake of 'taking it slow.'
Her dark eyes peer up at his, a twinkle in her as she hums quietly. "I think it's time we had a proper kiss, yeah?" Andrea teases, letting go of the jittery anxiety and replacing it with fervent certainty. Closing the distance between them, Andrea kisses with gentle purpose. Their lips come together, pure and certain, in all the way Andrea only imagined. KJ smells of him, of cologne and his natural scent, and tastes like the rich wine from dinner. Out here, they aren't in their lawyerly armor, but surrendering as two anonymous people in the busy city. When she pulls back, her arm is around his shoulders, resting her head on the crook of his nec.
Andrea's an exception to the rule of inviting prosecutors over to discuss cases or otherwise. He's told her as much, how special she should feel sat on one end of his five-thousand dollar sofa, him on the other end with his cat, Outis, curled up in between them. He's a bit spoiled because Eetu never makes him move, but how could he, when he's so cute?! He looks up from his laptop, squeezing his eyes shut and open again. "Do you think I should get a pair of blue light glasses? I always assumed it was a fad, but I don't know." And of course the jury had found his client guilty on the case they did. He's proofreading character letters, she victim impact statements. @rosesonbreeze
"I think you need to save your money and invest in your heating bill." Andrea gripes from the opposite end of the couch, adjusting the fit of the slouchy t-shirt that's draped over her form. Her blazer abandoned on the entryway hook, her Jimmy Choo's kicked off in the foyer. She's skimming statements in her tried-and-true university t-shirt, left at Eetu's place from their last 'quiet night in' pouring over legal statements. What good does it do, when the place is an arctic? Some metaphor for his own life, she thinks. "Staring at the evidence won't change the evidence." She points out, her fingertips flipping the page of her printed statements. "But sure, knock yourself out." She whistles, another shiver down her spine.
