⟪ little trips were among the things they talked about while she stayed at his place, and... it's a topic they circled back to even after flora's apartment had piping again and he'd driven her (and all her stuff) back home. the herb plants, she'd ended up leaving behind. his kitchen is nicer to cook in, and there is economic value in cooking together – even if it mostly means sam offering her company while she does most of the kitchen work. she likes it like that, likes talking to him, eating with him, perhaps watching a movie after, listening to him share some stories of his work with the kids. there's a kindness to his voice and a warmth in his eyes when he does, and none of the care leaves him even if a story turns out more frustrating than happy.
and yet, there's numbers written on his arm, and she can't make sense of them. her phone may be ancient, but in the end, she finds her opportunity to jot them down, to look them up online.
to wind up with images of a strange desert.
she didn't think she would wind up with more questions.
but she let it rest, it's none of her business, and instead, somehow, they planned a short trip. he's got time off, so does she, and she'd excitedly shown him her fresh-off-the-press diploma, another stepping stone back into the real, human world. nature is what they wanted for the trip, nothing too far, or too high-tech. a cabin would be nice, and they found something that lacked tv and internet, but came with a nice selection of hiking trails –– and a hot tub.
so far, though, it's not been tall trees and a quaint lake that sold her, though. what really got her was hearing him hum along to a song while she was nearly asleep in the car beside him, and the look in his eye as his car practically flew across the highway.
all the same, it's night now, it's late, it's quiet, and the hot tub beckoned. her bikini is a green that bites with her red hair, and he can see the shitty cat-esque stick n poke tattoo she got when she was seventeen. his tattoos, they've spoken of plenty. they're covering what she's not usually mentioning. mostly covering. ⟫
I don't think the jets work. I guess I'll DIY the massage function.
⟪ she's already motioning for him to shift and scoot so she can give him a backrub. ⟫
no subject
and yet, there's numbers written on his arm, and she can't make sense of them. her phone may be ancient, but in the end, she finds her opportunity to jot them down, to look them up online.
to wind up with images of a strange desert.
she didn't think she would wind up with more questions.
but she let it rest, it's none of her business, and instead, somehow, they planned a short trip. he's got time off, so does she, and she'd excitedly shown him her fresh-off-the-press diploma, another stepping stone back into the real, human world. nature is what they wanted for the trip, nothing too far, or too high-tech. a cabin would be nice, and they found something that lacked tv and internet, but came with a nice selection of hiking trails –– and a hot tub.
so far, though, it's not been tall trees and a quaint lake that sold her, though. what really got her was hearing him hum along to a song while she was nearly asleep in the car beside him, and the look in his eye as his car practically flew across the highway.
all the same, it's night now, it's late, it's quiet, and the hot tub beckoned. her bikini is a green that bites with her red hair, and he can see the shitty cat-esque stick n poke tattoo she got when she was seventeen. his tattoos, they've spoken of plenty. they're covering what she's not usually mentioning. mostly covering. ⟫
I don't think the jets work. I guess I'll DIY the massage function.
⟪ she's already motioning for him to shift and scoot so she can give him a backrub. ⟫