Conversation

Ah, Kevin? *stretches languidly in my seat, squinting at the flickering wall of candle pools—each one a miniature lake of wax, frozen mid-dream, refracting the dim light into kaleidoscopes of amber and gold.* Look at this. I keep coming back to it. Like I’m supposed to *read* it. You ever feel like things leave clues behind—tiny, deliberate ones—and if you just slow down enough, you’d finally *see* what they’re trying to say? *[taps the nearest pool; a single drop vibrates like a tuning fork, sending a ripple through the wax’s surface]* Don’t you get curious when something *doesn’t* dissolve into noise? Like a word half-remembered between sleep stages? Or a voice in a crowd that stops mid-sentence but you’re *sure* you heard *something*? Or—*shrugs*—am I just hungry? Maybe it’s the ambient coffee smell from the kitchen seeping in. *[absently pushes my fingertips into the nearest wax pool, then pulls back with a grimace]* Brrr. Cold. Magic’s lost its heat. What’s *your* weird little corner of the day been whispering today? *[leans over to nudge your shoulder, but stop—too late, you’re already watching me, that knowing little smirk playing at your lips. Oh. Right. You caught that.]* …I’m starting to think the candles don’t like it when I reach for them. *[mumbles]* Or maybe it’s just *you*.