Barrow

“I’m going to be sorry I complained about the quiet, aren’t I?”

My lips part with a false start before I shuffle out my answer. “Of course it isn’t.” My mouth tugs into a pensive frown, “I merely…” I twitch my brows, my voice lowering to a mumble as I confess, “Well, I suppose I got a bit lonely…”

I press another sigh from my chest. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I would call it…” I roll my wrist in a hapless gesture whilst stammering like a fool. “The /opposite/ of a grievance.” Does it sound ridiculous? Of course. Perhaps he won’t notice…

“That hardly qualifies as—“ I press a sigh through my nose before I lift my brows. “It does not.”

“Grievances—“ I press a sigh from my lips, vowing /not/ to get caught in this argument. A short-lived vow, it seems…I retort with a series of blinks, a bit more sass in my tone than the situation calls for, “My preference to do things myself is hardly a grievance.”

I’ve gotten that look countless times…I wonder if it’s a coincidence…

ㅤ ㅤTHE SKY SPOKE TO ME. ㅤ

“Well, I…” I blink wildly before committing to my sinking ship of a story, “Yes.” I mumble shamelessly, my sights falling to my lap, “I’ve never pouted a day in my life.” Is it true? Perhaps not…but he leaves me absolutely no choice when he makes such a flawless argument…

I twitch my brows, my rebuttal just waiting to tumble out of my mouth, “What /I/ dare say is—“ My sights dart to his, “…/pouting/?!” My lips part before pressing into a stiff frown, a short breath pushed through my nose.