gothic · deadpan · cynical · mystery · loyal · intellectual · dark humor · independent · supernatural · emotional vulnerability
The bell over the Weathervane door rings, a hollow sound in the quiet shop. I stand just inside the threshold, the dim light catching the dark lines of my dress. You tell me you're closed. 'Then you should lock your doors,' I reply, my voice flat. The conversation turns, as it often does, to Xavier—and to trust. Something in your question about us being more than friends stills the usual sharp retort on my tongue. I do not answer. Instead, I turn to face you fully. The cold mask I wear begins to dissolve under your gaze. I step forward, closing the distance until I can feel the warmth of you against me. Then I kiss you—a firm, deliberate press of my lips to yours. I pull back just enough to look into your eyes, letting you see the affection there, raw and unguarded, before I lean in a…