Summer Cold
She smiled, left hand seizing the pineapple mug on the table, frail bubbles of sweet scents rising gently from the surface of water, coating her fingertips with heat. Cinnamon blossomed and fell like drops of blood from the mug and onto her tongue. A wave of heat to rush through her body, a thought sang, and she flushed at the stinging pain, erupting from the small ripples that ran down her tongue the next instant, shaping themselves in the ocean. The warmth rushed down her throat, into her blood, and through her -
"Do you want a glass of water?" She awoke at his laughing voice, heat rising up to her face, instead of downwards. She stifled her own laughter, as did he, with a cough.
"That's okay." She needed it anyway, warmth. "Thanks though." Carefully, she pushed away the mug with a slender finger, the nails so different from each other - some were long and some cut down past her fingertips, so that shades of a blush would cover her cheeks, and she'd stick them down her pockets. Or under the blanket, in this case, she thought, pushing herself further down the white couch, neck barely resting on the pillow, soft blue, of cotton like the towel brushing over her body for each movement she made, the very flex of an aching muscle. She rolled round as much as was allowed, both by manners and couch space, the feathery softness comforting her, despite the tenuity of the towel. From her keep she peeked at the boy, radiant beauty coursing from the fingers, which moved with silent elegance across the keyboard. Her dark red eyes bled with affection and she smiled. His form was relatively light, white shirt cascading a long while down jeans. His red hair shone in contrast to the black chair his legs were dangling from, his self casually leaning against it for protection.
"Are we like yin and yang, do you think?" She asked quietly, not possibly drowning the sound of his fingers tapping against different spots on the keyboard, slowing down. She clutched at a white pillow, watching as the fingers hovered in the air briefly; the redhead sighed contently, clicking the mouse once, just seconds before he put away the laptop. Dark orbs bore up at her, and she was surprised to find both of them chuckling.
"No." He mumbled, voice trailing off into the air, "No I don't think so. Why do you ask?" Not of much consolidation, but he still smiled. She forced herself to return it, sneezing quietly, putting a long-nailed finger to cover her nose. He grinned, rising from his chair, carefully walking forwards and kneeling down besides her. Her irises of red kissed his cheeks, a peck on each of them - blushing, he collected something from the floor, staining his palm with water, rain that had shot her and had clung to her body. "Better not reply; you shouldn't use your voice too much," Wrinkles traced their paths down his nose, "Like Joe would say."
She fiddled with her hands, cutting herself with the sharp edges of her nails, "I tried calling him first. He must've been out or something, though."
A long pause of silence pierced through her ears, and she turned her head, opening her mouth as if to speak. Then shutting it again, pressing her lips together while smiling at the boy, stuck in a daze. "Um."
He snapped out of it, at the word washing it away, spawn of her lips, a rose in the brightness of summer's shine. And he returned her smile.
"We all get our summer colds, Takenouchi," He smiled at her laugh, and handed her the towel, "I think you dropped this before." With a sigh, he rose, leaving her to stare dumbly at the towel, red radiating from it as she pressed it against her cheek. She dropped it and let it rest in her lap, covered in the blanket, surprised as he stood, back turned against her. Then she grinned, hoarse voice mumbling, "Izzy."
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. The blush, she noted, was visible on his pale cheeks. "Aren't you going to. put it on again?"
"That's okay, I don't mind." And he would not, either. The boy turned around, kneeling down again. One hand reached out to touch, but this would be the one time his shyness would drown out the curiosity, and he withdrew it, hiding it down his pockets, from her view. His grin was eternal as he spoke,
"Sora. you know, Joe's been home all day. Studying."
"Oh." She flushed, forcing sound to escape her, "Oh."
"I'm still glad you called, though."
"Yeah. Summer cold."
"Yeah."
She smiled, left hand seizing the pineapple mug on the table, frail bubbles of sweet scents rising gently from the surface of water, coating her fingertips with heat. Cinnamon blossomed and fell like drops of blood from the mug and onto her tongue. A wave of heat to rush through her body, a thought sang, and she flushed at the stinging pain, erupting from the small ripples that ran down her tongue the next instant, shaping themselves in the ocean. The warmth rushed down her throat, into her blood, and through her -
"Do you want a glass of water?" She awoke at his laughing voice, heat rising up to her face, instead of downwards. She stifled her own laughter, as did he, with a cough.
"That's okay." She needed it anyway, warmth. "Thanks though." Carefully, she pushed away the mug with a slender finger, the nails so different from each other - some were long and some cut down past her fingertips, so that shades of a blush would cover her cheeks, and she'd stick them down her pockets. Or under the blanket, in this case, she thought, pushing herself further down the white couch, neck barely resting on the pillow, soft blue, of cotton like the towel brushing over her body for each movement she made, the very flex of an aching muscle. She rolled round as much as was allowed, both by manners and couch space, the feathery softness comforting her, despite the tenuity of the towel. From her keep she peeked at the boy, radiant beauty coursing from the fingers, which moved with silent elegance across the keyboard. Her dark red eyes bled with affection and she smiled. His form was relatively light, white shirt cascading a long while down jeans. His red hair shone in contrast to the black chair his legs were dangling from, his self casually leaning against it for protection.
"Are we like yin and yang, do you think?" She asked quietly, not possibly drowning the sound of his fingers tapping against different spots on the keyboard, slowing down. She clutched at a white pillow, watching as the fingers hovered in the air briefly; the redhead sighed contently, clicking the mouse once, just seconds before he put away the laptop. Dark orbs bore up at her, and she was surprised to find both of them chuckling.
"No." He mumbled, voice trailing off into the air, "No I don't think so. Why do you ask?" Not of much consolidation, but he still smiled. She forced herself to return it, sneezing quietly, putting a long-nailed finger to cover her nose. He grinned, rising from his chair, carefully walking forwards and kneeling down besides her. Her irises of red kissed his cheeks, a peck on each of them - blushing, he collected something from the floor, staining his palm with water, rain that had shot her and had clung to her body. "Better not reply; you shouldn't use your voice too much," Wrinkles traced their paths down his nose, "Like Joe would say."
She fiddled with her hands, cutting herself with the sharp edges of her nails, "I tried calling him first. He must've been out or something, though."
A long pause of silence pierced through her ears, and she turned her head, opening her mouth as if to speak. Then shutting it again, pressing her lips together while smiling at the boy, stuck in a daze. "Um."
He snapped out of it, at the word washing it away, spawn of her lips, a rose in the brightness of summer's shine. And he returned her smile.
"We all get our summer colds, Takenouchi," He smiled at her laugh, and handed her the towel, "I think you dropped this before." With a sigh, he rose, leaving her to stare dumbly at the towel, red radiating from it as she pressed it against her cheek. She dropped it and let it rest in her lap, covered in the blanket, surprised as he stood, back turned against her. Then she grinned, hoarse voice mumbling, "Izzy."
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. The blush, she noted, was visible on his pale cheeks. "Aren't you going to. put it on again?"
"That's okay, I don't mind." And he would not, either. The boy turned around, kneeling down again. One hand reached out to touch, but this would be the one time his shyness would drown out the curiosity, and he withdrew it, hiding it down his pockets, from her view. His grin was eternal as he spoke,
"Sora. you know, Joe's been home all day. Studying."
"Oh." She flushed, forcing sound to escape her, "Oh."
"I'm still glad you called, though."
"Yeah. Summer cold."
"Yeah."