. . ˚ . ( ☁︎ ) Ft. Interaction - Blog Posts
“ and what if it is? ” raises a testing eyebrow as indigo carries their latest delivery to be alphabetised. “ where is your whimsy, ozzy? your imagination? your sense of fun? ” she teases the man who holds the title of her first love, syllables falling so smoothly from her tongue it’s hard to imagine that title is prefaced with ‘ex’. and how he got that title is simple enough, a relationship in their early twenties that burned too bright and moved too fast, over before it had ever really started. she had fallen hard for sweet nothings, not realising the butterflies in her belly were really piranhas and his words were scooped lazily from a basket of catchphrases, a string located in his back to be pulled for flattery. ( luckily, she’s not one to hold a grudge - time heals all wounds etc. ) “ did you know she was told by doctors she’d never sing again? and look at her now! girls really do just wanna have fun… i completely understand where she’s coming from. we’re simpatico. ”
who : @hctbxed where : scratch that records when : monday , closing shift
" who's been in control of the jukebox ?? " ozzy asks the room in a light-hearted , yet somewhat accusatory tone ; but speaking to seemingly nobody in particular on his way out from the staff room to over to the cash registers . he likes cyndi lauper's chart hits as much as the next person , but he doesn't need to listen to a full album of her . when indigo pops up from behind a stack of boxes ( newly delivered stock , hot off the presses ) he almost jumps out of his skin . he wasn't expecting to see her today — could've sworn her name wasn't on the shift rota , but he did have a habit of forgetting things . he feels a little awkward in the presence of his ex-girlfriend , but clears his throat and tries to act like he would with any of his other coworkers . " it's not you , is it ?? i can get down to some of the super mainstream stuff , but this is getting a little old pretty fast ... "
she’s not one for reticence but is timid in the way she folds her hand into his, slow and delicate, as though the bubble could pop & the illusion could shatter any second. “ the honour is all mine, ” indigo whispers reluctantly, scared any word that leaves her lips could make him change his mind, find company elsewhere and leave her with a dry mouth and heavy heart. if love is golden then a crush must be yellow, she thinks. if tate is the sun, she is an adoring astronomer finding ways to enter his gravity, desperate to feel his pull against her skin. she follows him to the roof, only allowing herself to breathe when they’ve reached their destination, the night sky draping over their shoulders like a navy bedsheet. “ do you have a lighter? i think i have one somewhere.. ” she paws at her pockets, producing a purple lighter with ‘ indigo ’ written in diamantes along one side. “ a gift from my dad last christmas ” she says proudly, handing over the tool.
heart's beating fast enough to make his ribs ticklish, and the sight of her face nearly stuns him into a brief silence—her eyes shine even brighter than the glitter catching in the corners. it's dazzling but unsurprising that indigo glows, incandescent as ever in a space that dulls in comparison. the smile that quirks up his lips is almost instinctive, and who is he to leave her hanging? "why, miss miller, i do declare it'd be my honor." tate's always had a knack for meeting people where they are, sunlight melting through glass to flood whatever space its welcome in, and so her southern drawl is matched with one of his own. ( albeit, a terrible one. ) the joint gets tucked behind his ear with practiced flair, fingers free now to extend toward her in gallant offering— palm up, steady as anything despite the current tap dance in his chest. "careful now."
she's a burst of sparkles, coruscating around the room as if she's her own light source, kaleidoscopic in her movements. everything she touches seems to shimmer, vibrating with energy - or maybe it's just the trail of glitter she leaves in her wake. indigo finds herself in compromising positions more often than not, tonight being no exception as she perches languidly atop a pile of records, limbs gracefully crossed despite their expanse & her less than stable seating arrangements. & her heart does a hop, skip & jump! at the feeling of his fingers brushing against her shoulder, knows who is beside her purely on scent alone. "why mr albrecht, you certainly are a man after my own heart!" she speaks in a feigned southern drawl ( one which she'll most definitely regret later when she's lying in bed replaying the events of the evening .) "lead the way!"
𝙒𝙃𝙊 : closed for @hctbxed . 𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 : event 001 — in celebration.
it's a unique sort of lightheadedness, isn't it? when your heart does that quiet little trip over itself, not tossing you enough to knock you over, but just dizzying enough to make you notice the floor. tate's been fine all night, thank you very much, but now that the party's hit a little lull—pizza congealing on paper plates, soda gone flat, you sexy thing threatening another comeback—his eyes can't help but wander back to her. they've been doing that a lot recently, haven't they? it's embarrassing just how much courage it takes ( he's never really needed to will it to be, has he? ) for him to sidle over to her, finger lifting up to tap on the blonde's shoulder, gentle and hesitant. "hey. you busy?" obviously not, idiot, tate chides internally as he lifts a joint between two fingers and offers the most casual smile he can manage. "rooftop? we can share."
