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Summary
Drift groans, pressing her palms against her eyes and dragging them down her face. AJ can’t stop smiling, her mind a buzz with pure mania.
It’s just kissing. She knows that. It’s just mistletoe, just the rules. Drift is right; people will get weird if they work out the two of them are faking a relationship for some reason, especially since their current conflict is steadily becoming hot gossip. So they need to be good at this. Really good, to get over the hurdles of them being barely able to stay in the same room for more than a minute a few days prior.
But it’s Drift.
Drift, who stares at her from across the room. Who wears her clothes so often they smell not of tobacco but orchids and turpentine. Drift, who she held under the moonlight and told her, swore to her, that she meant something.
Open book, her soft curls, her warm smile, her sharp frown, pages and pages of devotion spilling from AJ’s quill.
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Or: AJ and Drift practice their fake relationship.
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Bookmark Notes:
This is so good
Driftsey
‘Rebel work’
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Bookmark Notes:
(her fingertips feel numb, until they don't, until they do again.)
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