Summer Smith (
somethingwithturquoise) wrote2023-07-15 06:03 am
Entry tags:
MHA #4; Saturday Afternoon [07/15].
To say that this week had been an off week felt like a bit of an understatement, and the fact that Summer didn't even think of this until she decided to do terrible things to eggs yesterday was a good indication of just how off it really was. But also, in a way, she'd had a week to sort of...process things and had a better understanding of where she was mentally, physically, spiritually, blah blah blah, so now it was just time to smooth out the rougher edges in the best way she knew how.
By making some pot brownies.
She considered trying to do something fancy with it, but since Stark would also be baking something (she was putting money down now on what color his baked goods would be), but decided to just stick with something nice and classic. And honestly? By the time she was pulling them out of the over, she was already feeling better than she had almost all week.
Whether that was from the catharsis of baking or some liberal taste-testing of the batter while she was working was impossible to determine for sure, but did it really matter anyway?
[[ expecting an alien, but open if anyone wants to @ her before he shows up, and, clearly, a little CW for recreational drug use ahoy ]]
By making some pot brownies.
She considered trying to do something fancy with it, but since Stark would also be baking something (she was putting money down now on what color his baked goods would be), but decided to just stick with something nice and classic. And honestly? By the time she was pulling them out of the over, she was already feeling better than she had almost all week.
Whether that was from the catharsis of baking or some liberal taste-testing of the batter while she was working was impossible to determine for sure, but did it really matter anyway?
[[ expecting an alien, but open if anyone wants to @ her before he shows up, and, clearly, a little CW for recreational drug use ahoy ]]

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"You don't have to say, if you don't want to. I just...if I can help, at all..."
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Yes, that was what Stark was going to focus on out of that.
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"Stark," she said, reaching for one or her brownies. "Come on. You cannot be serious with a question like that."
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Stark took another bite of his brownie.
"I try to make you happy. When I can."
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He was a work in progress!
"Trying to do things just because I like them. And trying not to hide when I feel like I should. I'm not unhappy! I'm...more content than I have been in a long time."
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Work in progress!
"But, you know, just some food for thought. Nothing kills a vibe like having something you enjoy bring turned into a responsibility that you didn't even sign up for. That you've explicitly stated you didn't want."
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Stark sighed.
"I don't ever want you to feel obligated. At all. I hope you know that."
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She hesitated, filling the pause in with a thoughtful chew and a swallow, but she was apparently getting it all out now, so might as well...
"It kinda bugs me that I was the only one she wanted to see and that I can only imagine that meant I was a pretty hot topic of conversation, which really feels counterintuitive to this whole Not Serious thing we're going for here, you know?"
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And put into that context...she felt herself relax just a little more.
Then again, could also just be the brownies.
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Maybe he should have had more brownies. Or maybe he just needed to wait a little longer.
"It really is. I promise you that. You're the best friend I have." Maybe the best friend he'd ever had.
"I'm glad you told me."
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His hand lifted, as if he was going to reach toward her, but he dropped it back down. Maybe that wasn't the right move.
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"Still friends, then?" she asked.
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Stark hesitated but reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "There's nothing I can think of that would make me stop being your friend."
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"Thank you. For that. For knowing I needed it. You know me very well."
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Longer than most, too, apparently! But that was the sort of card you kept in your sleeve, just in case.
She leaned her shoulder against the back of the couch and tilted her head, thumb still moving with light brushes, not entirely consciously.
Things had moved just a bit beyond the batter-buzz by now, really.
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