[ The pitch of her amusement sounds like puzzle pieces clicking into place, the raised crags of abutting tectonic plates suddenly smoothing out, inhospitable land made green again. Green in the way his eyebrows slant up rather than down when he looks at her, his eyes wide as though it might help him see more of her at once. He only recovers, a little of that haplessness coiled back, as she pinches his collar, huffing a laugh β a faint breath, the slight twitch of his features that he knows she's inherited as a habit. Pretty, on her features, but not as pretty as the way she smiles, laughs, plays. Utterly unique in his life, in this world, and if this place is any indication, every world beyond.
Of course he'll remember. There's no world in which he'd forget, just as he's never forgotten the first time she'd made something just for him (cups and ashtrays, decorated with neon markers and paint), or the first time she'd accepted a gift from his hands.
It's a peck, at first, then more β the fizz of bubbly on her tongue, the smudging stickiness of her lip gloss, more intoxicating than any champagne, enough to set his heart racing as if it were one of her toys, wound up and let loose. His breath catches when he pulls away, just far enough to press his forehead to hers, to whisper, ]
Congratulations, my dear.
[ Between them, he raises his glass, the sound of the toast as clear as a bell. One clarion tone to mark good fortune.
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Of course he'll remember. There's no world in which he'd forget, just as he's never forgotten the first time she'd made something just for him (cups and ashtrays, decorated with neon markers and paint), or the first time she'd accepted a gift from his hands.
It's a peck, at first, then more β the fizz of bubbly on her tongue, the smudging stickiness of her lip gloss, more intoxicating than any champagne, enough to set his heart racing as if it were one of her toys, wound up and let loose. His breath catches when he pulls away, just far enough to press his forehead to hers, to whisper, ]
Congratulations, my dear.
[ Between them, he raises his glass, the sound of the toast as clear as a bell. One clarion tone to mark good fortune.
Careful, tentative: ] βKiss me again.