αяє тнσѕє му ¢нυ¢к тαуℓσяѕ? *:.｡..｡.:*ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 *:.｡. .｡.:*

𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖱𝖳𝖸-𝖮𝖭𝖤: 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖮𝗇𝖾

~

"You don't hafta do 'at, ya know." Hobie grumbles in my ear, left hipbone pressed against my right.

"Just shut up and let me be helpful, Hobart." I tut.

After chatting about piercings and tattoos for a while, I had snatched the dishes from the coffee table and started filling the sink with hot soapy water, much to Hobie's dismay.

"Fuckin' 'Hobart'." He mutters under his breath, before stepping away to aggressively rub at his temples.

I slide the sponge over the ceramic, scrubbing where necessary. "Oops. I meant pookie. Just shut up and let me be helpful, pookie."

"'at's hardly better." He says, but it sounds more like 'be-uh' due to his accent thickening when feeling frustrated.

"Oh, you love it." Setting the now-clean dishes and cutlery we had just used in the drying rack, I start on the mugs that were already on the countertop.

"Alright, 'at's enough." Hobie takes the mug out of my hands, before handing me a tea towel so I can dry off my hands. "I can do allat."

"If you insist, lover boy." After running the towel over my damp, wrinkled hands, I hoist myself onto the countertop next to the sink so I can watch him.

His long fingers slide the sponge into the inside of the mug, two fingers pressed firmly on the walls of it as he cleans it in a circular motion. What else those fingers do?

I immediately get second hand embarrassment from my thoughts, face heating up, ready to whistle like an old-style kettle.

"Why are ya all red?" He looks up from his task, eyes meeting mine.

"No reason. Just, uh... Hot."

"You were complaining you were cold two seconds ago."

"Well, then it's cause I'm cold."

"Right." He seems unconvinced, but doesn't question me further. After a short while, he finishes washing up and drains the sink, before drying his hands on a fresh tea towel. "What do you wanna do today?"

"What are the parameters?"

Leaning against the countertop opposite me, he shrugs. "There are none."

"Bet."

I ponder all the possible activities. But the one I want to do most is...

"Would we be able to go back home?"

Hobie moves from his spot, coming up close to stand between my legs as they hang off the countertop, resting his hands on either thigh. "You missin' it already?"

"No. Well, yes, but I just wanted to get some more stuff and maybe stop at the florist."

His hands slide down to my knees. "Sure thing. But ya gotta be safe. Do ya want me to come?"

I playfully slap at his shoulder. "Obviously I want you to come! What, you thought I was just gonna ditch you? You can't get rid of me that easily."

He lets out a relieved laugh, one that lights up his face and heats my cheeks. I can't help but watch in admiration.

Hobie helps me off the counter, before leading me into the living room and passing me the shoes I had worn yesterday. "Ya got clean socks?"

"Yup." I take the balled up pair of socks from my pocket, and put them on. They are still warm from the dryer, much to my delight. "Warm on my tootsies."

"Tootsies?"

"Toostsies. Toes."

"You never cease to amaze me with your weird language choices."