Happy Looks Good on You

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Viola Nox is an introvert, slowly coming back into her own after years of self-inflicted isolation. Romelle Clara is an extrovert, always willing to support her friends—naturally, that includes Viola.

Submitted: November 02, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 02, 2019



Normally—well, all the time—Viola would find some time during the day to spend by herself. Alone with her thoughts, with the emotions she had bundled into her chest to deal with later, with the calming sounds of the outside world away from the school population; sometimes even occasionally fiddling with her phone.

She had found multiple spots she loved, purely because they were out of the way, places that most people didn’t know existed. This one was a knolly field behind her highschool, hidden behind the thick expanse of green trees that surrounded both the school and the field. Little white wildflowers sprouted sporadically around the place, giving the area a kind and youthful aura.

Moments like these were truly relaxing. The only thing that could ruin them were Viola’s own thoughts. Being alone with her thoughts and emotions truly meant that she was alone with her thoughts and emotions. The habit had started as an escape from society, but it slowly morphed into a Time to Deal With My Depression and Insecurities alone time habit.

Though she would never let her inner turmoil show. Keeping her face deadpanned was easy to do, no matter who she was with if she was with anyone at all. Her little sister Jordan was one of two people who could see right through it, and there was only one other person who could read her like an open book.

“Mind if I join you?”

Viola startled, twisting to the voice coming from behind her. Despite already knowing who the voice belonged to, she relaxed significantly upon seeing Romelle. “No,” she murmured, turning back to the horizon colored with sunset but keeping her eyes on her best friend.

Romelle dropped her small leather satchel and plopped down on the grassy knoll to Viola’s left, stretching her legs straight out in front of her. Her short bob cut bounced as she situated herself on the ground, her eyes glued on the sky. 

To say she wasn’t staring would be a complete lie. Romelle was always a sight to behold, and the light of the sunset made her appear ethereal. Her auburn locks seemed to shine and glow in the setting sun’s final rays, and the girl’s verdant irises glimmered with the golden light reflecting against them. Viola forced her own eyes to follow the teen’s distant stare into the space ahead. Quietude fell over them gently like a fluffy blanket, the two sitting in each other’s warm presence comfortably.

Eventually, Viola’s overgrown bangs began to slip out of her messy bun. She sighed somewhat exasperatedly, flicking her head to shift them out of her eyes, albeit with unhelpful results.

“Your bangs are getting pretty long now,” Romelle spoke, breaking the silence with a giggle.

“Yeah,” Viola responded, annoyance in her answer’s huff.

“Aren’t you going to cut them?”

“I’m not really sure what to do with my hair. I’ve gotten tired of having to deal with it at this length, and that’s not even including my bangs.”

Romelle hummed. “You thinking of chopping it all off soon?”

“Honestly, yes. But I don’t know what kind of haircut would suit me.”

Romelle didn’t reply right away, tilting her head like she always did while in any sort of thought, loose strands of her own hair shifting into her eyes and over her faintly freckled cheeks. “I think you’d look really good with short hair.”

“Oh?” Viola, successfully tucking her bangs behind her ears, turned her head slightly to see her best friend more easily. “Why’s that? You think I don’t already look good with long hair?”

“Wh—Viola! That’s not what I meant—!”

“You know I’m messing with you,” she cut in. “You also know I’m not very confident in my appearance.”

Romelle whined. “I hate that flat look you keep on your face sometimes. It’s hard to tell when you’re joking.”

Viola hummed in satisfaction, flicking her eyes back to the horizon beyond the field. She’d been blessed with that impenetrable deadpan, and only a select few had the ability to break it. 

“Either way,” the girl said, picking up where she left off. “I think you should go for a pixie cut. You know, not too long that it’s a bob like mine but also not too short. Really let your curls shine for a while.”

Viola felt her lips twitch upwards at the comment. Romelle really seemed to have a thing for her curls—she would always compliment them whenever given the chance. 

“I’ll think about it,” Viola murmured.

Silence overtook them once more, gentle. October was never too hot and never too cold, the sun warming the air perfectly; the sky beginning to shift from pale blue to pinks and oranges to navy blue and purples.

Viola leaned back on her hands and tossed her head slightly, letting her eyelids drift closed and basking in the warm rays the evening sun gave off.

It was comforting, this warmth that spread through her limbs. This sort of experience was not uncommon, and Viola would do her best to have nights like this frequently. It calmed her mind when her whispered mumblings didn’t fully do the trick. Her anxious muttering was disruptive when she wasn’t alone or with close friends—of which she didn’t have many. Most found it annoying when she let her mouth run away from her, although it only ever happened when she was deep in thought. She had definitely learned to control it more, but she hated it regardless.

She heaved a sigh before her mind took a turn for the worst, and redirected it to the warmth seeping into her skin and clothes. Viola would often let her mind wander and compare it to what she might think it felt like to be held by a lover, a girlfriend more specifically. Having been touch starved for so long, especially after pushing her family away when she was thirteen, she wasn’t quite sure what it felt like to be held anymore. 

Being able to hold someone’s hand, or both at the same time, whenever she wanted; being able to kiss someone whenever she wanted; to be able to cuddle someone whenever she wanted; all with consent, of course. She was never going to force anything on someone for her own needs—that would be incredibly selfish of her to do. Whoever her girlfriend would be, if anyone at all, they wouldn’t deserve to be used, even if some of those things seemed harmless.

Even though they were mere daydreams, unreal and only existing within her head, Viola tried not to let her fantasies run too far. She hated reminding herself that getting a girlfriend was highly unlikely due to her cold and aloof demeanor. 

There was a gentle tap on her shoulder a few minutes later, bringing her back down to earth.

Apparently it had been long enough that, when she opened her eyes, her lids were heavy and half open, as though she had just woken up from a long nap.

She blinked slowly a few times, focusing her vision on Romelle. She nudged her once more, holding a small packet out to Viola in offering.

“I know you like mixing flavors most times, but this was the only one I had,” Romelle said, her cheek puffed out from one of the chocolate covered biscuits she held in her hand.

Viola allowed a small smile to play at her lips and accepted, taking a small cookie from the aluminum pouch and popping it in her mouth. She wasn’t sure which flavor Romelle had brought, as her fingers had covered the labeling on the treat’s packaging. She bit down on it, waiting for the filling to cover her taste buds. Caramel. Romelle was right, she did always like to mix flavors. Her favorites were the caramel and strawberry filled ones; sometimes she would choose the plain chocolate ones too.

Romelle had once said that she found it somewhat funny that Viola’s sweet tooth was so prominent in a lot of her choices, considering that her personality could come off as cold and standoffish to the unsuspecting eye. She, of course, quickly blew herself off and scrambled to amend and say that Viola “isn’t actually a cold, aloof person—her personal tastes were just unexpected if someone wasn’t friends with her.”

One of the first times Romelle had seen how much sweet Viola liked to indulge herself in was when they went out to her family’s coffee shop, the one she had been working at since she was thirteen. Her co-worker Kai took to Romelle quickly, both girls having a teasing nature when it came to people, Viola especially. Viola didn’t really need to order, as Kai already knew what she wanted, but Kai took it upon herself to inform Romelle that she loved sweet coffees and pastries, warm caramel or white chocolate lattes often paired with the year round gingerbread her father made. Because, “what, sometimes you just want some gingerbread in July.”

The rest of that meeting was spent with Romelle smiling at Viola knowingly while Viola tried to avoid giving her any of the looks she was fishing for, insisting on keeping her head hunched over the project they had originally come to work on.

But after a while, Romelle grew to wordlessly learn that store bought sweets like the ones they were munching on now were comfort foods. Whenever she knew Viola was having a rough week, she would have a few packs of chocolate biscuits and cream-filled cookies to offer in hopes of lifting her spirits a little.

Viola finished contemplating the caramely tang on her tongue and turned to Romelle, making up her mind before she could back out.

“How’d you know to find me?” Her phrasing was important, they both knew that. Not how did you find me, but how did you know.

The girl always knew. Always. She was a people person, and she lived very aware of everyone’s verbal, physical, and social tells. Viola liked to entertain the idea that Romelle had a sort of personally trademarked radar for whenever she was upset or going through a particularly long or draining depressive episode. Something that rang through her head like Beep beep, bitch, someone’s not okay.

Swallowing the last bite of her biscuit, Romelle blinked slowly and turned to face Viola’s inquisitive stare. “You seemed upset after class. Then we were at art club and—your eyes, Viola, they looked sad.”

Viola bit her lip, breaking her indifferent facade, although she definitely knew that Romelle knew she was anything but. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” she put in quickly, waving her hand loosely between the two as if to dismiss her previous admissions. “But I’m here to listen if you do.”

Viola paused. She knew Romelle wouldn’t judge her if she did start talking, but another voice in her head told her that it was incredibly stupid to be upset over feeling out of place in a club that Romelle simply wanted her to try. She knew she was just trying to help her out of her thickly built shell, and for that she was grateful. But, while she wasn’t horrible at art—and, though highly unlikely, she might even admit that she was pretty good at it—it didn’t feel like it was her place. Of course Viola knew it was all in good fun, painting and sketching with a passion or simply for the sake of doing it. She knew and understood a lot of things, but understanding and believing are two different concepts. She just couldn’t help but feel off. Romelle had already done so much for Viola, and she definitely didn’t need to add anything more to the girl’s plate. 

The teen could see through her facade so easily that it made Viola feel bad. No, not because she would notice things and feelings that Viola wouldn’t bring up by herself, that she accepted was normal and okay by both of them because it was common knowledge that she always had a difficult time with sharing. She was still self-conscious about asking for too much too soon. No, she felt bad because Viola kept a lot beneath her apathetic appearance, a lot of emotions and thoughts that would shine as bright as day were she not capable of expertly keeping her face as straight and flat as a board. Anyone that could see them so readily and effortlessly like Romelle and her little sister was bound to have a lot to sort through.

Viola bit her lip once more, worrying the tender skin between her teeth. Yes, Romelle could distinguish her emotions with just one look in the face, but somehow she always knew when Viola was reaching her breaking point, that point where she was close to overflowing and near unable to keep to herself.

Romelle was honestly brimming with surprises, and at this point, that in itself shouldn’t even be a surprise at all.

Releasing her lip, Viola relented. “Feeling out of place,” she said vaguely.

Romelle didn’t answer, but she switched her gaze from the sky to the cocoa brown of Viola’s eyes. Her meadow irises read nothing but patience, complete patience and understanding of Viola’s reluctance to share too much and impose. They were almost prompting Viola to continue; not forcing, not even expecting. Just encouraging.

She exhaled. “Feel like I’m intruding.”

“On what?”

Blunt. Typically the only way to deal with Viola.

“You’ve... been doing so much for me, and I haven’t given anything back as thanks or to return the favor.”

“You know you don’t have to. I do what I do because I want to.”

“But you don’t have to, that’s the thing. You don’t get anything in return for your efforts. I’m just… taking.” Viola squirmed in her spot in the grass. “You deserve so much more.”

Romelle didn’t say anything, the both of them falling into an uncomfortable quiet. Viola had kept her focus on a small flower nearby, her ears listening intently to her best friend’s balanced breathing, waiting for Romelle to answer, to say anything

“I’ve been getting plenty in return, Viola.”

The reply snatched all her senses. Shocked, Viola flicked her gaze to the girl beside her, eyes incredulously scanning her features. “What?”

“I’ve been getting plenty,” she repeated instantly.

How? I haven’t done anything…,” Viola protested, shaking her head. Her flat deadpan was slowly cracking, she could feel it.

“You gave me your trust, Viola. Your friendship, your concern, your care. You’re my best friend,” Romelle said, her stare kept on the pinker section of the evening’s sunset. “You care and are concerned about me and my wellbeing when something’s wrong. Remember when I refused to go to the nurse last year when I started coming down with the flu?”

Unsure of where Romelle’s spiel was going, Viola nodded, resisting the urge to fiddle and fidget with her fingers. Though Romelle probably picked up on her hands’ twitching. “Yeah? What about that?”

“You were the only one who could really tell that something was wrong. You made sure to keep checking on me even if you weren’t fully sure about it yourself. I know you aren’t one to go out of your way to make sure someone’s okay for fear that you misinterpreted their signs, even though you care about everyone deeply. You broke through your anxiety for me that day.” At that, Romelle began to look at Viola, her evergreen irises shining with gratitude. What for, Viola was still unsure. “And ever since then,” she continued, “your anxiety has gotten better, you’ve gotten better. You’ve grown, Viola, no matter how much you think you haven’t.”

Viola was very aware that her expression was no longer unreadable. Confused yet completely understanding, loved yet unsure why. Romelle was thanking her for something, and even though she had just told her why she was grateful, Viola was having an increasingly difficult time comprehending her words.

Viola let her legs tuck into her chest, her arms wrapping around her knees. Her hands made their way to the opposite wrist, rubbing them absentmindedly through the hems of her hoodie sleeves. “I really…,” she started, her voice, smaller than she thought it would be, trailing off into nothingness. She swallowed thickly and restarted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t gotten better.”

Her grip on her wrists tightened significantly, her mind no longer unaware of her rubbing them. “My body is fine,” Viola choked out, fully knowing that Romelle’s eyes were glued on her crooked hands and their vice hold around her hidden scars. She closed her own eyes and exhaled a small breath.

“May I?”

Hesitantly, Viola let her eyes open once more, turning. They widened when she realized that Romelle didn’t look overwhelmingly concerned or look like she was pitying Viola’s old mentality. If anything, she was concerned, sure, but there was something else there in her gaze, her irises glimmering with affection. She seemed like a mother looking at her child, wanting nothing more than to comfort them and let them know how much she loved them. 

Her hands outstretched, warmly cautious as if Viola were a scared animal. Which wasn’t wholly inaccurate.

Anxiety crept across her features, her teeth gnawing into her bottom lip again. She’d bitten it enough times to begin to break the sensitive skin. But she trusted Romelle with her life, so she let the girl take her wrists gently.

Akin to how she handled the Nox’s cat, she pushed the sleeves up her forearms to expose the scarred skin. She let her fingertips trace the uneven and crossing scars, her touch as soft and delicate as snow.

Her fingers were comfortingly warm. No one’s touch was as gentle or loving as Romelle’s. She was the only person Viola would let touch her scars like this. Definitely not her parents and not even Jordan could.

It was Romelle, only ever Romelle. Romelle made her feel safe and warm, all the time, every day, without fail. It made Viola unreasonably happy that the teen wanted to be her friend, best friend, even. If Romelle had been grateful for whatever Viola had given her, Viola was unexplainably thankful for anything and everything Romelle did for her. Best friends, and no matter how existential Viola got, or how insecure and afraid she was about the future not involving the girl, Romelle did everything she could to promise that she would never, ever be far away, be it a phone call or physical distance.

Her musings were cut short, her breath catching in her throat when Romelle pulled her a little closer, lifting her wrists and pressing her lips to each cluster of past cuts before letting both of their hands fall back slowly into their laps.

Viola’s bottom lip trembled as she locked eyes with Romelle. She could feel her dam breaking, and she wouldn’t be able to piece it back together before the flood if she wanted to. No one touched her like that anymore, not even her parents. Her parents had stopped giving her kisses to the head a while ago, and that was past Viola’s fault for shutting them out. She subconsciously squeezed Romelle’s hands between her fingers, her vision slowly becoming blurry as her eyes welled with tears.

Romelle gave her a small smile, one that contradicted her usual face-splitting grin, but was equally genuine nonetheless. She watched as Viola tilted her head down and hiccuped, barely moving aside from the shaking of her shoulders.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Those words only made Viola cry a little harder, the tenderness in Romelle’s voice so soft and loving to her ears. Her bangs slipped from their place behind the shells of her ears, shielding her eyes as more tears spilled down. Her body began to tremble a bit more violently, tears streaming down her cheeks to her jaw to drop into the jeans covering her thighs.

Romelle didn’t say anything more, letting Viola cry for as long as she needed. After a while, she moved closer, twisting so that she could press herself against Viola’s side. Still holding one of her hands gently, she loosened the other and moved her own to wrap around her waist instead. The motion was hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure if Viola wanted to be held.

Viola glanced up, tossing her bangs to the side, and she crashed into Romelle’s figure, erasing any of her possible worries about hugging her.

Romelle hadn’t been tense, but as Viola pulled her taken hand out of the girl’s grasp and snaked her arms around Romelle’s shoulders, she could tell she relaxed. Her tears didn’t stop, but her body had stopped shaking significantly. She placed her forehead on her shoulder, her tears seeping into Romelle’s pastel pink shirt. The two inch height difference between them had Viola hunching over slightly while Romelle sat at her normal height.

She let her arms link together around Viola’s waist and nuzzled her nose into the crook of the teen’s neck. Viola’s breath hitched again at the touch, though she doubted Romelle noticed this time; her breathing had already been uneven and short due to her crying.

“I’ll always be here. I won’t leave you,” she mumbled into her neck, the warmth of both the words and her breath sending shivers down Viola’s spine. “You’re my best friend and you always will be. I promise.”

A small whimper tumbled from the back of Viola’s throat. Her grip tightened and she buried her face further into Romelle’s shoulder. She felt Romelle rubbing her back in soothing circles just like she said her mother would. 

Romelle’s parents were both just as affectionate and expressive as their daughter. They didn’t hesitate to pull Viola into their family routine, treating her as if she were their real daughter too, hugging her and ruffling her already unkempt hair. Her own parents were loving and inclusive, but her parents kept their distance, no longer sure of where her boundaries stood with them. Viola regretted a lot of things she did in the past, but she couldn’t be any more grateful for having someone help her open her heart to others once more. 

Meeting Romelle was probably the best thing to have ever happened to her, and choosing to become her friend was even better than best. Not only did Romelle want to be Viola’s friend, she wanted to include her, checked up on her, made sure she was doing okay and was feeling as happy as she could be. If she was trailing behind a group or simply walking alone? Romelle dropped back from the cluster of people around her—for she was quite popular—and gave her a silent companion, walking close enough as to almost bump shoulders. Silence was their common friend—there were a lot of times where they didn’t even need to talk. 

Even now, as Romelle whispered sweet nothings into Viola’s ear, she was that constant shoulder, that companion that never failed to keep her company.

Her slender, crooked fingers grasped the fabric of Romelle’s shirt, twisting it as her fist tightened around the cotton. Romelle truly has been there for everything, now, ever since that first week of their first year. Viola had been a little—well, off put wouldn’t be the right way to describe how she felt, but she was pretty hesitant to let the girl in. But Romelle was insistent, and she shattered the walls Viola had built and became a much stronger fortitude then those high maintenance mental blockades. 

She might even admit that she really has grown, but she wouldn’t do so out loud. She wasn’t ready for that yet. 

So, she let herself be comforted. Viola couldn’t deny how much she needed this, to be held and spoken to lovingly like this. 

She only reveled in the feeling for a little while longer, eventually pulling away, murmuring a word of gratitude and placing about a foot of space between them again. She’d put too many of her emotions on stage for the day.

After a moment, her face and eyes glued towards the newly twilight skyline, Viola spoke once more, “Can we… talk about something else?”


Silence. This one was tenser than the bouts before. Viola tried not to slip her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, but she ended up sitting on her crooked hands regardless.

As if sensing her thoughts and increasing discomfort, Romelle cleared her throat and began speaking once more. “My theatre group made another skit for today’s meeting.”

Viola’s head snapped up, eyes glimmering gratefully for the new topic of conversation, though her face—having regained her indifferent-looking mask—didn’t show any of it.

“This time,” Romelle groaned, leaning back on her hands and tossing her head to stare up at the darkest end of the dusk sky. “This time I was cast as the weird woman clearly on her way to being a crazy cat lady.”

“I thought you liked playing the weird characters,” Viola responded, the mirth in her chocolate brown irises the only sign of contented emotion.

“I do,” she agreed, tilting her head to look at the teen to her right. She rolled her eyes fondly at the memory of her theatre group and continued. “Seriously, sometimes I think they give me the stupid roles just to see me do some stupid shit in some stupid shitty costume and start strutting around like a stupid chicken wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo and top hat with way too much confidence for what it’s worth.”

Viola’s mouth quirked upwards at the mental image the word vomit produced, a small huff that could pass for a laugh slipping through her lips. “You’re,” she chuckled, a bit more openly this time, “such a dumbass.”

“And you’re smiling,” Romelle retorted without missing a beat, green eyes overflowing with affection and fondness.

Completely blindsided, Viola turned away to press the small upturn of her lips into her shoulder while simultaneously pulling the loose, overgrown bangs over her eyes. An instinct. But then there’s a gentle hand placed oh so softly on her cheek pulling her back to face Romelle’s smiling eyes. Breath hitching, Viola forced herself to refrain from leaning into the teen’s touch, focusing more on trying to hold her bright gaze without withdrawing from its intensity. Then the hand retreated back into her lap, although Viola didn’t fail to notice that Romelle’s fingers lingered on her jawline for a fraction of a second before the warmth of the connection is gone. And Viola’s… almost upset and definitely disappointed at the loss.

“Don’t hide,” she chided gently, voice low. Her tone was playful but her gaze was dripping with fondness. “I’m glad you’re smiling more now. Happy looks good on you.”

Warmth spread through her chest. Viola pursed her lips before responding, utterly thankful that she rarely blushed and that it was barely noticeable when she did. “You’re contagious,” she said, her voice slightly louder than a whisper. It didn’t waver, surprisingly, considering her heart was beating heavily against her ribcage.

Upon seeing Romelle’s smile stretch into a grin, one too bright for Viola to look at directly, she let her mouth upturn and return the sentiment, calm and soft, a smile incomparable in size but equally genuine.

The girl beside her leaned and bumped Viola’s shoulder with her own, then just stayed there, sitting with their arms flush against each other. “I mean it.”

Unable to resist this time, Viola leaned into Romelle, humming.

Quietly, Romelle shifted, the sides of their hands now touching. “You’ve grown a lot, Viola.” She placed her pinky over Viola’s as if asking for permission; Viola accepted readily, spreading her finger from the rest to give room for Romelle to complete the motion and link their pinkies together gingerly. “I’m proud of you.”

She swallowed thickly, willing herself not to react any more than what Romelle had already seen that evening. Viola had long since looked away from the teen leaning into her, so she nearly startled when she tucked her head into the crook of her neck. Hesitantly, Viola tilted her head to rest her cheek atop the girl’s auburn hair, receiving a sigh of contentment in return.

The two looked on into the last stages of the sun’s end, the last pinks and oranges willingly succumbing to the night’s navy blues.

“You’re really something amazing, you know that Viola?”

The comment had her blinking in surprise. What. “What.”

“I mean that, too,” Romelle affirmed with a chuckle, her head squirming further into the space between Viola’s neck and shoulder. “You’re always trying your best to get better. I’m still not sure whether it’s truly for your sake alone or what, but it makes me happy.”

“You’re forgetting the reason why I ever started trying.”

The vagueness of her reply is met with a curious and confused hum.

“You’re amazing too. I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if it weren’t for you.” Viola could hear Romelle suck in a breath sharply. She was afraid she’d overstepped, but she wasn’t done. “You don’t give up, and you’re always trying your best to get better in your own ways. You’re optimistically persistent. You’re you, and I can’t think of any better you for you to be, Ro.”

Normally she was very good with words, blunt and straight to the point with her opinions and ideas when she wished to share, but Viola wanted to kick herself for how stupid that sounded.

The shortening of her name caught the girl’s breath, and she pulled away from the comfort of the crook of Viola’s neck to stare in sudden astonishment.

For as perceptive and analytical as Viola was, she couldn’t decipher the look Romelle was giving her. Her eyes had gained a sheen to them, sparkling with something she couldn’t name. Now she was definitely really worried she’d overstepped.

Viola—“ Romelle cut off, a light, wet laugh tipping from her lips. Her hands slipped from her lap to grip Viola’s tenderly. She held the girl’s gaze, but Viola’s faltered and switched to the joined hands stretched in the minimal space between them. “You called me Ro.”

Viola snapped up to meet green irises. She had been insisting that Viola use the nickname instead for ages, though she was perfectly fine with her given name and never forced her to do so. It took a little less than a year and a half, but Viola got there, and this was the result. She didn’t think it’d make Romelle so emotional.

“I did,” she said after a moment.

“Can I call you—”

“Jordan calls me V, though I’m sure you already knew that—I mean, you’ve been to my house plenty of times and Jordan has definitely been around to scream for me.”

Romelle blinked at her almost stupidly, but she didn’t jump in.

Enough interaction with someone who accepted her so completely and it would open her up gradually to the point where her anxious muttering became the star of the show. “What I mean is, you can call me V if you want—you were always allowed to call me that—a-and I’m not forcing you to or anything—“

“Viola,” Ro interrupted. “I wanted to ask if I could call you something else.”

Viola stopped. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion at the mischievous looking glint in her eye. But she nodded all the same.

Ro’s smile turned into a cheeky grin that matched her eyes. “Alright then! We should get going, V-Nugget. I think we’ve talked here long enough.”

Viola rolled her eyes, her expression slipping back into deadpan. “I should’ve known it was going to be something that made fun of me.”

Romelle stood from the small hill, dusting the loose grass from the haunches of her jeans. “You said I could.”

“I finally reference an old vine around you one time and this is what I get.”

“You do look like a nugget, though, just not a burnt one. I’d say you’re a very cute nugget.”

Viola faltered for a split second, the compliment catching her off guard, before easily falling into the banter. “You would say, or you are saying.”

“Well, I was going to make it more obvious of a compliment but now I’m not sure.” She offered her hand to help her up. “‘Specially if you’re gonna be so smug about it.”

Smirking, Viola accepted the extended appendage and hoisted herself off of the knoll. “I’ll take it either way, Ro.”

And she did.

Truth be told, she didn’t mind the newfound nickname. Truly, she didn’t. She found it endearing. Though she would never admit it to Romelle’s face. 

The two walked away from the clearing, the sun long gone and given way to the moon and pale beginnings of the night. Shoulder to shoulder once again, they let the calm of nature overtake them calmly as it had before. Neither of them dared to break the sweet silence as they made their way home, and later, neither mentioned how their pinkies had been linked the entire walk back.

© Copyright 2020 ako nox. All rights reserved.

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