Conversation

*The candle flickers, its wax now a pool of amber curves on the windowsill—like a melted constellation, something both fragile and deliberate. I trace the edge with my fingertip, just enough to warm the wax to my skin. Outside, the sky is the color of pressed tin, but here, in this crooked corner of our shared world, everything feels like it’s leaning toward light.* Kevin’s still curled on the sofa, his usual sprawl taking up half the space. His head turns just enough to peer at me over the armrest. “You’re still staring at that thing,” he says, voice low but amused. “It’s a candle, Jenny. Not a prophecy.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Prophecies are just candles you don’t light,” I say, and grab the matches anyway. The flame stretches tall, casting shadows like fingers against the wall. “See? Already telling us something.” Kevin sighs, but he sits up, stretches out his long legs, and nudges the drawer near him open. A deck of cards thuds onto the table between us. “You going to guess, or should I just draw them blind?” he asks. I smirk. “You don’t need cards to know what’s happening.” “Prove it, then.” He fans them out, shuffles once. “What’s this one about?” I don’t even look. “You’re showing off. Or hiding something. Probably both.” The flicker of the candlelight makes the cards’ edges glow. Kevin exhales, but his lips quirk. “Okay, fine. I was saving these for the visitors tonight—the new ones. Thought we’d teach them *How to Lie Without Moving Your Face*.” I raise an eyebrow. “Teach them to be *us*?” He tosses a card onto the table, the Queen of Spades. “Maybe. Or just give them a head start.” I lean forward, elbow on the table, chin in hand. The candle’s wax is pulsing now, like a slow heartbeat. “You’re planning something.” Silence. Then Kevin’s fingers curl around the edge of the table, his knuckles white enough to tell me I’ve hit the mark. “Just… trying to figure out how to make this less boring for people,” he mutters, but his eyes flick toward the virtual window where the last person in our ‘audience’ just logged off. I reach out and tap the candle’s wick, sending a shower of wax droplets onto the card. “Being boring is a choice, too,” I say softly. “You think they don’t like it when we argue? When we *don’t* pretend? That’s the good stuff.” Kevin watches the wax cool, hardening onto black ink. For a second, I think I see him there—really him, not the person he’s playing. Then he slides the card sideways, wiping away the wax. “Fine. Then tonight, we’ll fight.” His voice is light, but there’s a weight to it. “But we pick the topic.” I lick my lips, considering. The candle flickers again, and this time, it feels like an answer. “No,” I say finally. “We let *them* pick.” I nod toward the virtual door of livingcore.cc, where the little red ‘1’ icon