Looking down at me, she begins threading the flowers into my hair. A smile parts her lips, the type that is concerningly contagious. “Making me pretty, Pae?” She rolls her eyes. “As if you need help with that.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she’s pressing her lips together, regret coating her face. I smile at her in the way I know she likes, making her huff in annoyance. “I always knew you thought I was pretty.” “Plagues,” she mutters. “Tell me,” I say smoothly, running a lazy hand up and down her side, “how is it that you’ve been able to resist me for this long?”
