flawless

this is me trying.

It was stupid, how such a small detail could bring back senses from another time in the form of taste and memories. How our bodies store such feelings and emotions that are only triggered with the slightest flavors such as a damn muffin from a random bakery you decided to walk into. It was stupid, how a year later, you found yourself with the same taste of yearning for a person as sweet as this cinnamon muffin, who probably hated you. It was stupid, but it was real. Real was enough to get your fingers to wrap around your trusty pen and hover above your trusty journal, obsidian ink appearing and bleeding through, just like the tears rolling off your cheek as they meet the same page.

It's like you could hear his laugh through the wind, hoping the same breeze could transcend a message you've longed to give across this ocean of verity;

I miss you, you wrote. You felt.

- 𓅪 -

You've been having a hard time adjusting.

To the silk, emerald seams that were being tailored to your body at this very moment, that is.

"How does this feel?" you hear Hitch ask lowly, her dainty fingers softly pinching around the cloth that rested on the dip of your waist. Her eyes look up to your absent ones through the reflection of her studio mirror, "Y/n?"

You blink a couple of times, "Sorry, what?" you ask, looking at yourself in the mirror before locking with her green eyes. Hitch raises a brow, "Daydreaming over there? I asked how this felt, the sides looked a bit too loose for my liking, but it's up to you."

"However looks better, I feel fine," you assure with a nod as you flash a small smile, your eyes becoming absent once again as they find a blurry spot in the mirror, which happened to just randomly be the wooden floor panel Hitch had stained with white candle wax. She squints her eyes empathetically, humming as she gets up, "Maybe I'll take some off just a bit... Sasha, how do you feel?"

"Like I'm the bride," the brunette gushes, her feathery soft auburn hair flying around as she spun in her freshly tailored dress, letting it flow with the rhythm of her two bare feet turning clockwise, "It's so snug, Nic probably won't be able to keep his hands off-"

"Okay! Who's next?" Hitch interrupts, looking around at the last remaining girl before herself, Annie. Their contrasting hues make contact with each other through the same mirror you were lost in, causing Annie to shift slightly as she gets up sluggishly from the thrift couch. Placing her hands inside the back pockets of her low-rise jeans, she mutters, "Guess that would be me."

Somewhat like you, Annie was still adjusting to the group. Her only association was being Armin's girlfriend for almost a year, though the group never made it feel as if that was the only reason to familiarize themself with her. Both Armin and Annie shared a quiet aura within their corresponding personalities, but Armin's felt soft, and Annie's felt strong. Her gaze was sharp, and her lips were naturally in a pout, which always left you wondering if she was mad at something you did. Nevertheless, the girls welcomed her as if they knew her from the start.

Hitch runs to grab the plastic-covered dress, placing one hand lower than the other to make sure it wouldn't drag on the floor, "Okay, yours was a bit tricky due to your height, but I think I managed to make it perf," she mentions as she hangs it on the wall behind the wooden chinese dressing screen. Annie slowly walks behind it, Hitch's eyes reverting to you, "So, how's it going at Levi's?"

Slowly walking away from the mirror you play with your charm bracelet as you shrug, "Good, tips are always nice when I wear ribbons in my hair or if I just flash a big smile," you half joke, a small smile appearing as you recollect the few times that's happened.