Dogs liked walks, right? Kalle liked walks. So… Jessa would enjoy a walk. Seemed like all the times they saw each other were either at work, or in the middle of the night - or, usually both. Like, sure, they were a werewolf and a ghost but… wasn’t it kinda cliche? Couldn’t they just, y’know, get some sunlight, or whatever, instead of hanging out at weird werewolf pubs or watching TV at 2am? Flora sent the text.
So. Maybe it hadn’t been exactly what she’d planned - picnic basket, bright sun, whatever - but… it had still been a good day. It’d been pretty quiet, so Jessa had wolfed out and they’d spent half the afternoon just tossing one of Kalle’s old tennis balls around. And then, once she was back to being less hairy (and, God, so cute), they sprawled out on the wet grass and chatted shit, Flora well past her days of blowing gum bubbles to shut herself up. She’d even risked water damage and pulled her walkman out, turning the headphones inside out and propping them on the grass between them, the music tinny but still audible; it was the mix she’d made one night, still riding the high of another successful interaction, and she’d wondered if Jessa had sussed the theme of the songs. Flora propped her chin in her hand, looking at the selfie they’d taken - both fuzz-headed and cheesing it, noses and cheeks tinged red. Turns out blonde hair looks real pretty when there’s misty raindrops clinging to it. She grinned, floating a few inches above her couch, then groaned in despair. God, she was hopeless.
