❈ @internalresenting
⸨ ♚
A RINGLET OF KEYS ‘PON HER WRIST AND A WEB OF PLASTIC ‘PON ARCHER’S, the door of their new apartment lures them in with a sense of submission. Give or take six hours, their old dwellings are now vacant and polished for whomever may replace them, with this one prepared for ownership. “It would appear we are on the twenty-third floor this time,” she notes, steel locks clicking as she fiddles for a moment. As soon as the door caves, the trapped cold rushes them through the gap, and she hastens toward the thermometer to adjust it to a more tolerable level.
“Bring the groceries to me, Archer. I’m in the kitchen.” Where everything appears to be in working order. Good. Determination gleaning, the sleeve of her cardigan is rolled to the elbow, hands dousing themselves beneath the flow of the sink. “As a celebratory occasion, I intend for us to enjoy a homemade dinner, champagne and card games tonight. What say you, Archer? How does lobster sound, with butter and herbs?” Is she capable of cooking? Absolutely not, but when there is a will, there is a way! “You are welcome to bring our luggage in if you’d like. As a reward for carrying everything, I shall cook for you.”
















