#v02.

send📱to find out about my muse's phone.

what name my muse has set for yours: Nate

what ringtone my muse has set for yours: the default.

what contact photo my muse has set for yours:

what my muse thinks of the way yours texts: nathan doesn't text in an annoying way— it's a mix of modern acronyms, and occasional proper grammar. she doesn't really have an opinion, she'd just rather he picked his timing better. nothing like an i'm home early text to act as a mood killer and/or klaus annoyer.

how quickly my muse responds to your texts: unless it's related to dan, she puts off on responding. it doesn't look it, and she wouldn't sound it unless someone pressed about it, but she feels horrendously guilty and it's worse if he's nice to her. she sees the notification, and swipes it away like she's doing with all the guilt anyway.

how often our muses text: not too often. she lives with him most of the time. they don't talk much in person so they don't talk much over text either.

how often our muses call: more often than they text. nathan has learned tay is easier to reach if he calls her as opposed to texting her. and sometimes a missed call will have her magically appearing back at home. it works a treat.

does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours: yes.

reindeer sledding had been a hit. and after an impromptu snowball fight, a bath each with a week's worth of bubbles and the same-old bedtime story, the kids are tucked into bed. tay waits on the couch in the living room, legs tucked beneath her, draped in a blanket. the fire roars; she can already hear klaus' objections to joining her under it. so when he does, she untangles herself from it, thinking it better not overwhelm him with her warmth.

"there's hot chocolate left." it sits, warming in a pot on the stove. the excessive amount of whiskey in the mugs goes unmentioned. she stands; having any not being optional. when she returns, the cups are ladened with freshly whipped cream, and dusted with grated chocolate.

tay leaves hers on the coffee table, handing klaus his. "try it," she insists, straddling his lap, and she waits, expectant, until he concedes. when he does, she leans in to lick his top lip clean. like usual, she returns to her previous spot with a sly grin, and picks up her cup. she takes a sip from her own, gaze fixed on the crackling logs. the flames are bigger than earlier.

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