Prompt: That's my only clean shirt.
Hilary's face contorts with amusement, delight and coral tinged lips curling upwards as her chuckle passes her teeth. She's soon cupping her mouth, digits splayed across her flesh, with the intention of blocking out her laughter, or at least hiding the fact that she is, in fact, laughing. She didn't need to hide it, Kai had already heard the laughter. He'd heard it brewing within her, noted how it had bubbled to the point where it couldn't be contained, and now he's wearing the soup stained shirt, with fingers locked into the hem of his material, attempting to hold the material at bay.
"You're supposed to eat that. Not wear it." She states between a bubbling laughter. It contains to flutter between her fingers, earning herself a stern look from Kai. That's great and everything, but that was his only clean shirt, and the other shirt he'd had, she'd obtained and was currently wearing.
"That's my only clean shirt." You're wearing the other. not that he needs to stay much more. Eventually, Hilary is smiling apologetically, it is her fault after all that he's covered in soup. She'd nudged him just as he was removing the bowl from the microwave, and hadn't realised that his grip wasn't that firm.
"I'm sure I have something you can wear." She retorts, one hand scooping under the material of his shirt, palm pressing up against it, whilst the other hands reaches for a wet cloth. She dabs at the material patiently, and whilst it's somewhat doing it's job, the stain is still visible, and she's almost choking on her laughter.
"You're not even remotely funny." Actually, she thinks she is, and she's currently attempting to mentally pick out the perfect t-shirt for him. Probably the brightest pink shirt that she could get her hands on, or the most floral in patterning. She's still faintly chuckling to herself at this point, still prodding and dabbing at his t-shirt, and he's still attempting to stand his ground, believing that Hilary was far from funny.
"I'll put it in the wash if it bothers you so much. You'll have to make do."
"You're wearing my other t-shirt."
"No. I'm wearing my t-shirt." She reaches back up, responds to her full height, flicks out a fingers, and prod politely at his cheek. The tip of her finger wipes at a faint splash of soup.