Day 8: In Which Her Threat Is Real
Their end-of-the-day venting session had stretched itself into a leisurely 'snacks and booze' moment without either of them really noticing. They were talking about his job, and she seemed absurdly interested in his trips, and his backpacking up and down snowy mountains and thick rainforests. Her curiosity had no qualms, and she asked him about everything and anything—the food he ate, the people he met, the climate, the architecture, the history, the culture… Elsa had left no stone unturned, and— yeah, okay, so maybe he painted the whole shebang in a more glamorous light than reality, but come on, there she was, a stunning girl who also happened to be smart and funny—and not goofball funny, but poised and sophisticated funny—showing legitimate interest in the words coming out of his mouth. Sure, she had no other options available with the whole quarantine thing going on, but still… That girl was into him. And, by God, he would let Diana eat one of his eyeballs before he let that girl go without a fight.
Elsa kept swirling her wine—she still stuck to wine, no matter how much he mocked her for it, seemingly enthralled by the shapes it left on the sides of the glass. "My sister gave me a polaroid camera as a birthday gift a couple of years back," she commented.
Jack scoffed, shoving a handful of chips inside his mouth. "I hate polaroids. Too hipster for my taste."
She looked at him with a frown. "What are you talking about? You just became a YouTuber."
He shrugged. "Still don't like 'em."
"Wait right there," Elsa said, putting her glass down, and stormed back inside her apartment.
Half a bag of chips later, she returned with her camera, its rainbow strap wrapped around her wrist.
"Oh God, no…" Jack groaned, burying his face in his hand.
She hid behind the camera lens and smirked. "Come on, look over here."
He scowled, poking his tongue out. "I take offense in this, Elsa."
"Say cheese!"
The sudden flash momentarily blinded him, and he had to blink a couple of times for his vision's functionality to return.
Elsa tsked while shaking the freshly taken picture in the air. "You are so dramatic."
He rolled his eyes, stubbornly opting for not gracing her with a reply.
As she inspected the photograph, Elsa started giggling, and he found himself admittedly torn between remaining indignant at her lack of photographic sense and joining her—even if the source of her enjoyment at the moment was, well, his dumb self.
"I hope I at least look good in it," he grumbled.
She looked up at him, lower lip trapped between her teeth. "Your hair is a mess," she said as she showed him the picture, but it was too dark out there for him to see much— thank God for that!
Jack shrugged. "Hey, we're on lockdown. If there ever was a time when it was socially acceptable to not give a fuck about appearances, it is now."
She laughed wholeheartedly, and Jack was sure the melodious sound of her voice would be etched into his brain for eternity. "You can quarantine and still comb your hair, Jack. They're not mutually exclusive."
"We do not use combs in this household, Elsa," he stated in all seriousness.
Elsa shook her head before finishing her wine. "You're hopeless. And I'm buying you a comb as soon as the stores reopen."
"I'm flattered. But also a little bit offended."
Feeling a bit self-conscious, he ran a casual hand down his head to smooth out some of the tangled locks. His subtlety left much to be desired, apparently, seeing as not a moment later, he heard Elsa telling him, "Messy looks good on you, though. You're the kind of annoying guy who can pull off the roguishly handsome aesthetics without effort."
He stared at her, a finger stuck on a knotted patch of hair. With his other hand, he pulled his phone out. "Can you repeat that so I can put it on my channel?"
Elsa rolled her eyes. "You do that and I'm never talking to you again."
"Uh, Hello? We're quarantined," Jack sang with a mocking laugh. "Have fun talking to your damn plants after you ditch me!"
