#rf pico

Dolce sat in a chair in her room, knitting a hat far too small for herself, humming softly as Pico looked over her shoulder. 

“Is that for me?” she asked. Dolce glanced at her, before returning to her work.

“What makes you think that?” she asked. Pico pouted. 

“Don’t be mean Dolly,” she huffed. Dolce sighed.

“Yes, it’s for you,” she said. She held up the hat. It was patterned with sunflowers, and bright orange. Pico hovered closer, running a transparent hand over the knitting.

“You know what it reminds me of?” she asked. Dolce smiled.

“That picnic with mom and dad?” she asked. Pico nodded, smiling fondly.

“All the flowers were in bloom, and we had fruit sandwiches with apple juice,” she remembered. Dolce chuckled.

“We had fruit sandwiches with apple juice. You don’t eat,” she said. Pico shrugged.

“Still,” she said. “It was a good day. We were all so happy.” Dolce nodded, looking down to her knitting. Pico was silent for a bit.

“Do you miss them?” 

“Yeah.”

“I do too,” she said. She placed a small hand on Dolce’s shoulder. Dolce looked up at her, a small smile on her lips.

“At least I still have you,” she said. Pico grasped her heart in mock surprise.

“Dolly! That’s so sweet! I never knew you cared so much!” she said, theatrically loud. Dolce’s smile turned into a grimace.

“Actually, forget I said that. You can go,” she said, going back to her knitting. Pico flailed.