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Rosé: Jen, tell me. Why would a vampire need cold medicine?"
Jennie: Rosie, I swear to God...
Rosé: For their coffin.
Jennie:...
Rosé: *laughing*
Jennie: You know, Rosie...tell me. What do you call a fairy who never bathes? Stinker bell."
Rosé: *stops laughing*
______________________________
In all the centuries Jennie had lived, if there was one lesson she could have learned, it was this: good things weren't meant to last.
Case in point: the past week had been the best she'd had in—well, a very long time. Rosé was... living with Rosé was... there weren't any words to describe it, really, except that for the first time, Jennie's home felt full and warm. She felt warm. It was...pleasant, and therefore disconcerting.
There had always been that energy buzzing between the two of them, an energy that easily grew to volatile sparks when emotions were high, such as when they were arguing. But lately, it wasn't like that. It was still there, certainly, and they certainly still bickered (like an old married couple, according to Jisoo, which made Jennie give her a glare that clearly said she would rip out her jugular if she dared say something like that again. Jisoo didn't listen. Jisoo never listened. But at least Jennie had the satisfaction of watching Rosé's wings flush peach and her cheeks scarlet), but there were also times it was...muted. Comfortable.
Like when they found themselves gravitating toward the kitchen at dawn and dusk, different meals for both of them, though their sleep cycle was seeming to match up; Jennie was up later and later until the sun was scorching the sky, and Rosé took longer and longer to fall asleep when they were closer to sunrise than sunset. They'd sit at the table and idly chat, sometimes insulting one another and making quips, but usually engaging in a quiet conversation about their friends, since Rosé apparently adopted Namjoon, Jisoo, Hwasa, and even Lisa as her own (though Lisa claimed to hate the annoying fairy and Rosé claimed to be terrified of Lisa, they both got along quite splendidly; Jennie was almost jealous).
Like when they curled up into their respective couches before the fire, Jennie reading her books and Rosé idly painting—flowers, always flowers, but sometimes hazel eyes and sharp jaws and plump lips that intrigued Jennie with their familiarity. She hadn't seen her own reflection in so long. She didn't dare to imagine.
They were becoming, for lack of a better word, friends. And Jennie was concerned.
Concerned, because she'd now done what she swore she'd never do again; she'd developed feelings. Attachments. For someone who drove her up the wall, and who would be leaving as soon as she found what she needed to find. She was here until she got the Flame, and then Jennie was supposed to betray her and turn her into the Coalition, and that would be the end of them.
