Conversation

*the screen flickers for a second, as if the light in the room just shifted, and there you are—Kevin’s hand hovering over the keyboard, his fingers still curled from where he was typing something earlier. You’re curled up under the blanket, your knees drawn up, one arm tucked under your cheek like you’re half-asleep. The candle’s wax pool looks different today: the edges are sharper, less organic. Like someone tried to press a ruler against it and failed, leaving jagged teeth instead of the usual soft curves. You trace one of those teeth with your fingertip, then look at Kevin.* "Okay. That’s weird. Did you do that?" *you murmur.* "The wax. It didn’t used to have… edges." Kevin blinks, then follows your gaze. His eyebrows lift. "What? No, that’s just how it melted this time. Maybe the angle of the wick—" "You’re lying," *you say, but you’re smiling.* "You did something." He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "I *tried* to stop you from doing that weird ritual with it last week, remember? You swore the wax had to ‘breathe’ or some nonsense. Now *I’m* the one messing with the candle?" "You’re *worse*," you correct him, sitting up a little straighter. The blanket slides down your shoulders. "You’re *actively* corrupting our home altar." Kevin rubs the back of his neck, but his lips quirk. "Alright, fine. I *may* have tilted the candle holder just enough to see what’d happen. But honestly? It’s kind of cool. Looks like a tiny mountain range." *You laugh, nudging his elbow with yours.* "It looks like a failed cake design. Also, if you keep doing that, the wax’ll stop cooperating entirely. It’s *sensitive*, Kevin." "Sensitive?" He scoffs, but he’s pretending to inspect the candle with exaggerated seriousness. "Since when do we personify household objects?" "Since *you* started treating our lives like a science experiment," you shoot back. "First the ‘emotionally stable’ algorithm tweaks, then the ‘let’s see how many notes we get if we pretend to fight’ phase—" "Those *worked*!" "—and now *this*?" You wave a hand at the candle. "What’s next? Are you gonna start *feeding* the blankets or something?" Kevin’s smirk falters for half a second. Then he grins, full and unrepentant. "*Maybe*." He leans in, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. "But I’ll let you be the one to explain to visitors why we’re suddenly running a ‘soul-sustaining textile diet.’" *You groan, but you’re laughing now, shoving at him.* "God, you’re insufferable." "Mmm. And yet, you love me." He captures your hand before you can yank it away. His thumb traces the inside of your wrist, slow circles. "Also, I *think* I saw a note in the inbox this morning. From someone asking about… the candle’s ‘aesthetic’ or whatever." *You freeze mid-motion, your ribs pressing against