04-12-2025, 07:19 PM
He watched her speak, hair tousled in the just-finished kind of way that only enhanced her adorable dediction. She wasn’t hiding behind her exhaustion—just wearing it plainly, like a badge of honor. He liked that. There was honesty in it. But he was finding that there was nothing he disliked about her. She seemed perfect. When she finished her question, that tilted-head mimicry catching him by surprise, his mouth quirked into a sheepish smile.
“What would I suggest?” he repeated, drawing the words out slowly like he was mulling them over seriously, which he was. “Well... assuming you want to avoid a full spiritual meltdown via floor-scrubbing a la Cinderella, I’d suggest a few non-destructive options.”
He stretched out his legs with a content groan, ankles crossing, one arm thrown loosely over his stomach.
“Option one: dive headfirst into a terrible D-movie marathon. The kind with ridiculous CGI and implausible romantic subplots. Bonus points if it includes explosions, sword fights, or space battles. I’ll even lend commentary, which I guarantee is better than the plot.” He chuckled.
“Option two: hunt down the weirdest café in the city—somewhere with mismatched furniture and poetry scribbled on napkins and people-watch. Make up backstories for strangers. It’s the closest you can get to a vacation without leaving your neighborhood. We might have to put you in a hat with a fake mustache to dial down how gorgeous you are so people don’t recognize you.”
He paused, the smirk fading into something more thoughtful, his voice softening without losing its warmth.
“Or option three... do nothing.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Not in the 'spiral into existential dread' way. I mean the real kind of nothing. Be still. No performance, no pressure, no purpose. Let the world move and just watch. There’s something quietly revolutionary about resting without guilt. Better if its with a friend.”
Ezvin lay the guitar aside, folding his hands behind his head and tilting his gaze upward toward the ceiling, where one of the overhead lights flickered with a lazy hum.
“Me? I’m planning to eat something unnecessarily decadent, take a bath that smells like the garden of the gods, and pretend the deadline calendar doesn’t exist.”
A beat passed. He looked over at her again, and this time his smile was slower, gentler, edged with that subtle playfulness he wore like cologne.
“But if you do decide to wander out into the wild chaos of a Moscow weekend and want some company…” He let the sentence trail off, his eyes dancing. “Well. I’m an excellent plus-one for aimless adventures.”
He sat up again, dragging a hand through his hair and shaking the sleep from his limbs. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward—it was charged, pleasant, easy. The way silence should feel between people who’ve made something honest together.
“What would I suggest?” he repeated, drawing the words out slowly like he was mulling them over seriously, which he was. “Well... assuming you want to avoid a full spiritual meltdown via floor-scrubbing a la Cinderella, I’d suggest a few non-destructive options.”
He stretched out his legs with a content groan, ankles crossing, one arm thrown loosely over his stomach.
“Option one: dive headfirst into a terrible D-movie marathon. The kind with ridiculous CGI and implausible romantic subplots. Bonus points if it includes explosions, sword fights, or space battles. I’ll even lend commentary, which I guarantee is better than the plot.” He chuckled.
“Option two: hunt down the weirdest café in the city—somewhere with mismatched furniture and poetry scribbled on napkins and people-watch. Make up backstories for strangers. It’s the closest you can get to a vacation without leaving your neighborhood. We might have to put you in a hat with a fake mustache to dial down how gorgeous you are so people don’t recognize you.”
He paused, the smirk fading into something more thoughtful, his voice softening without losing its warmth.
“Or option three... do nothing.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Not in the 'spiral into existential dread' way. I mean the real kind of nothing. Be still. No performance, no pressure, no purpose. Let the world move and just watch. There’s something quietly revolutionary about resting without guilt. Better if its with a friend.”
Ezvin lay the guitar aside, folding his hands behind his head and tilting his gaze upward toward the ceiling, where one of the overhead lights flickered with a lazy hum.
“Me? I’m planning to eat something unnecessarily decadent, take a bath that smells like the garden of the gods, and pretend the deadline calendar doesn’t exist.”
A beat passed. He looked over at her again, and this time his smile was slower, gentler, edged with that subtle playfulness he wore like cologne.
“But if you do decide to wander out into the wild chaos of a Moscow weekend and want some company…” He let the sentence trail off, his eyes dancing. “Well. I’m an excellent plus-one for aimless adventures.”
He sat up again, dragging a hand through his hair and shaking the sleep from his limbs. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward—it was charged, pleasant, easy. The way silence should feel between people who’ve made something honest together.