*He watches Fran turn away and lets the corners of his mouth drag down*
If ya gotta fuckin' think 'bout it-
*Sighing heavily, he turns away too, masking the quirk in his lips*
*His eyes narrow before his smirk deepens. Suddenly releasing Fran, he gets off the couch and backs away, hands tucked in his pockets*
Arright- guess ya don' getta bear t'day-
*Eyes glued to her clavicle, Pale leans in, his fingers hovering over skin he knows not to touch. After a rough swallow, a hoarse whisper escapes him*
Fuck-
“Yeah. . .” she whispers quietly before quickly shutting it down.
“I’m fine,” she waves it off. “I just need a job.”
Then deflecting hard, she adds, “And red velvet cinnamon rolls. Extra cream cheese icing!!”
He snags her finger and turns it back on her, making a buzzer sound.
"Wrong doll- you fuckin' started it- I jus' finished it- now tell me what t'fuck is goin' on- what- y'in some kinda trouble?"
She gives him an incredulous look like he has two heads.
“Who started this food fight?”
Standing, she brushes crumbs from the front of her dress.
“Why. . . that you be you. . . not me. . . YOU.” 🫵🏻
She watches his lips quirk, determined to see them spread into a full grin.
“You’d be the best-looking worm the world has ever seen.” She lowers her voice. “And definitely the longest.”