we're pausing all the chaos; r+i
Apr 6, 2024 20:38:44 GMT -5
Post by ᴥ on Apr 6, 2024 20:38:44 GMT -5
IVORY AUCLAIR
"I never said you were boring. Stop projecting." Two steps ahead of me, a stubborn lock-step. Sunlight spills through the corridor and he savors each one a gilded spotlight. "Are you a tenor? You act like one."
He's not wasting time, he's filling empty space. Which I can live with, as long as I get to the practice room in the same amount of time. And, if his head's not entirely full of hot air, it might actually be fun.
Oh, I just hope he ends up being fucking fantastic.
Excitement settles in my ankles, I skip a step. Jumping on the off beat, sliding into the space just ahead of him. Close enough to hook my pinky through one of the bracelets dangling on his wrist, chiming like bells against the finish on my nails. I hold his hand up, inspecting all the adornments there, and drop it unceremoniously when none catch my interest. Not loud enough.
I lean in, like we're sharing a secret, "What're you looking for, Ruby?" I pop the name between my teeth, his eyes are all soft onyx even in the sunlight spilling overhead. In defiance of it, even. "You've been observing me so carefully, surely you've found something."
I spin around; a marching-band about face, the arbitrary hours of my childhood I'd wasted learning ballroom dance put to pointless use. Our toes touch, I walk backwards for his every forward step. All childish excitement as I mime twirling drumsticks between my fingers, toss one right at his forehead again.
There's only a few flights of stairs between us and the room next to Simons' office.
"Well, whether or not I care will depend on how you sound."
I tap a finger on the tip of his nose.
"No pressure."
That's a lie.
He's not wasting time, he's filling empty space. Which I can live with, as long as I get to the practice room in the same amount of time. And, if his head's not entirely full of hot air, it might actually be fun.
Oh, I just hope he ends up being fucking fantastic.
Excitement settles in my ankles, I skip a step. Jumping on the off beat, sliding into the space just ahead of him. Close enough to hook my pinky through one of the bracelets dangling on his wrist, chiming like bells against the finish on my nails. I hold his hand up, inspecting all the adornments there, and drop it unceremoniously when none catch my interest. Not loud enough.
I lean in, like we're sharing a secret, "What're you looking for, Ruby?" I pop the name between my teeth, his eyes are all soft onyx even in the sunlight spilling overhead. In defiance of it, even. "You've been observing me so carefully, surely you've found something."
I spin around; a marching-band about face, the arbitrary hours of my childhood I'd wasted learning ballroom dance put to pointless use. Our toes touch, I walk backwards for his every forward step. All childish excitement as I mime twirling drumsticks between my fingers, toss one right at his forehead again.
There's only a few flights of stairs between us and the room next to Simons' office.
"Well, whether or not I care will depend on how you sound."
I tap a finger on the tip of his nose.
"No pressure."
That's a lie.