Qebhet (coolwaters) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2021-08-22 23:08:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | much the miller's son, qebhet |
WHO Qebhet and Much
WHEN Saturday afternoon, 21 August
WHERE Qebhet’s brownstone, Harlem
WHAT Awkward, why would anybody be awkward?
WARNINGS TBA
Well, I hope you’ll stay for some tea, at least! It was only in the moment after hitting send on the message that Qebhet started second-guessing herself. He was busy. He had a whole list of people to help, and she’d just unwittingly created another job for him, and now she was demanding more of his time. And— what if he read it as a different kind of invitation? What if she meant it as a different kind of invitation? Did she mean it as a— No! That is— it wasn’t— she wasn’t— not interested. But first and foremost, she wanted to make sure that they were still… okay. That she hadn’t made things hopelessly, irreparably awkward when she’d kissed him (and then apologised to him, and then kissed him again, and sun and stars, she was older than empires, how was it she could still find herself behaving like a flighty girl?). It was only a couple of minutes before her phone pinged with a reply. Much seemed as cheerful and breezy as ever, and not for the first time Qebhet wondered whether the only person she’d made things awkward for was herself. By the time her buzzer sounded, the sun had clouded over completely. The rain wasn’t forecast until evening, but the sky had a forbidding look about it and the air was stiflingly close in a way that reminded her of monsoon season down south. The air con was doing its best, but even in a lightweight t-shirt dress with her braids coiled atop her head in a bun, Qebhet could feel the clinging humidity. With a little twinge of apprehension, she opened the door. |