“Of course it’s not. I find it quite rude that the birth of an imbecile isn’t already seen as a foul in itself,” brows flit upwards as he reaches for an ice cooler and utilizes tongs to pick out three solid ice cubes to chill his cup. “But until then, I suppose an exception as a makeshift solution could be made for you.” And there it was, that coy smile. Even if it meant that the only thing which had changed about her habitual scowl was the slightest lift to the corners of her lips, he felt he’d finally done something worthy of his time in the god-awful household of Delta Psi.
It wasn’t long until the cup obstructed his view of immaculately painted lips, which brought his attention over to how Skye tampered with bottles until they sat somehow in an order which Samuel was yet to decipher. It was in their moments alone like these, which the grad student would bring himself to mull over minute details of the captivating brunette before him. The way she’d analyze something as haphazard as half-emptied bottles and still order them as she did most things in her life. It was such particularities in which his mind would find a sliver of light much like a hole poked into a dark curtain, simply prying about until more and more sunlight shone through. “As most things you say out loud. Do you remember the time we kept going back and forth with Benadryl Cabbagepatch’s name? And every time you said one more, it sounded more poetic than the last. How do you do it, Montgomery?”
Sapphire irises remained unwavering upon honeyed hues. So deceptively warm in color that they could lull him much like a sweet poison waiting to consume him whole. Words couldn’t describe the amount of times he’d pen poems and prose, just to try to get the color of her eyes to sound just right. But there was no capturing the essence of those dewdrop ringlets, and how effortlessly they would knock the wind out of him much like an upper-cut to his chest. “I’d say this was the most eventful my night has been,” a lazy but candid admittance, hand sloshing around clear liquid in his solo cup before mirroring her previous gesture and sipping the contents of his own. “Truth be told, I could watch you scare off Bobs for hours.”
As cup once again comes into contact with smooth island, Samuel takes a moment to look up at her now — admiring her new seated position. Despite liquor bottles that accompanied her side and dim lightbulb which hung overhead, it was almost as if marble countertop served as a pedestal to cradle the holy figurine of her petite, ivory frame. In that moment, it was almost as if Skye was the only religion he knew, and only God he’d swear by. Another couple seconds of staring too long, before ocean eyes drop to marble surface and bring his momentary revering to a halt. Was he drunk? He couldn’t recall the last time he made so bold a move. His judgment surely wasn’t impaired, but perhaps it was the fact that he had a scapegoat of the excuse to fall back on, this time.
“Are you trying to make me feel better about my coughing? I can’t believe some girl really out-coughed me. Did she at least moonwalk her way out for her out-of-body experience?” A tentative pause. “Interpretive—?” Chiseled visage once contorted with confusion now morphs into that of humor. Grin becomes a little daring this time around, as he tilts his head back to regard her once more. “You never told me you went camping with Maddy Ziegler.”
“Bendingle Crampleboff’s name is easy to remix. It’s one of the seven wonders of the world, did you know? They got rid of the Taj Mahal to make room. Slurped it up into the space time continuum so it could take a break from existence for a year or seven,” she chimed out easily, dark eyes flitting up towards the dangling ceiling sconce so that she could watch the glass pendants as they trembled under the militant stomp of feet upstairs, light refracting with every thrum of bass like a miniature northern lights show hosted just for her. Honestly, she wasn’t all that consumed in something as mundane as a ceiling bulb fixture, she just felt it necessary to look elsewhere while his eyes drank her in like, well... like that. It was like with a mere glance he knew how to pick through the puzzle pieces she’d shaken out over a table into a deliberate mess and casually piece her together again. If it wasn’t for the fact that a guarded part of her kept at least four segments adamantly clenched inside her fist at all times, he probably would have been able to work out the complete picture in a matter of seconds. It was such a daunting thought that within another skipped beat of her heart she had to wet her plum red lips and take a sip from her cup to compose herself.
“You sound like a total voyeur. Is this your way of admitting you have a Peeping Tom fetish? Honestly, Samuel, that’s way more information than I ever asked for. My ears are wilting like trampled on flowers from the burden,” she rambled on in typically melodramatic fashion, finally meeting his gaze again that may as well have been slicing through her with all the burning intensity of an X-Ray -- the thought alone nearly had the apples of her cheeks tinged pink with it, the idea of a green, illuminated scan dissembling her down to the bare bones of the ivory Dior corset beneath her slip forcing her to give in to a soft swallow. “I guess I know what I’m getting you for your next birthday. A pair of binoculars and one of those hats with rainbow striped umbrellas mounted on top. The bush lurker’s ultimate gift set.”
“No moon walk. Only a lame crotch thrust, actually. Barely even visible to the naked eye. I had to squint like a hawk hunting a possum to catch it. I only awarded it two stars on the Strictly Come Dancing judge’s panel.” Eyes intently roaming his features, they slid down the ski slope of his nose before performing a soft jump to reach his lips, only dwelling there for a second or so until they were fleeing up towards his cheeks. Then, just as they were about to bounce back up to meet his stare, they stuttered to a halt. Hopping down from her perch without any explanation, Skye took a bold step forwards and reached up to the hollowed slant of his left cheekbone, within half a mind to mimic a gash against her fingertip for how sharp it looked in the kitchen light. “Did you just roll out of bed, Hayes? Honestly. Barbaric. You have an eyelash,” she informed after gently extracting it from the skin there, holding it upright on her index finger as her eyes flit between his to wait for a reaction -- the fact that she would never have bothered to do anything about it if it had been anyone else but him either didn’t register or was hastily repressed inside her head before it could. “This is where you make a wish, right? I’ll have stern words with the guy upstairs to make it come true if you tell me what it is. I promise. Swear on the bible.”
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
jbbartram-illu
dededos
