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[He can't see it, but he can hear it.

Also, yes. That's very good logic because it works.]

Y'know, one day you're gonna come home and find me wearing that apron. [~pause for effect~] And nothin' else.

[open mouth, close mouth.]

Maybe you shouldn't do that.

I'll make sure the kids aren't home!

[Because that's obviously why she's protesting.]

[The kids.

Fuck.]

Not what I meant.

Then what did you mean?

[He smirks, lifting and turning his head just enough to press a kiss to her temple.]

That you'd willingly pass up such a wonderful opportunity?

More than willingly.

[Now she's just being a jerk.]

[She is. Saul feigns a pout.]

Wow.

[She nuzzles against his jaw in apology, though it might be ruined by the fact she's laughing a little.]

Love you.

[Ruined, or made better?

It's no fun if he can't joke around with the person he loves.]

But not the thought of my bare ass in a glittery pink apron, apparently.

[Nope, there she goes.

Her laughter's muffled against his neck, but it's still pretty obvious from the way her shoulder's are shaking with it.

That feels better.]

[He clicks his tongue in mock offense, huffing and sighing and — and tugging her on top of him so he can roll onto his back and give her a proper hug, apparently.]

[That's better, too.

She shifts around until she can rest her head over his heart, closing her eyes and focusing on the steady rhythm.]

Maybe if it wasn't so glittery.

[The apron, she means.]

The glitter's the best part.

[Although he guesses it won't be so great if it... goes places. Which is always a risk when dealing with nakedness and tiny granules of things. Like sand.

Ugh, sand.

The way he reaches up to stroke her hair is almost reflexive.]

Maybe it'd look better on you, though.

This better not be a lead in to me in a French Maid costume.

[Since - aprons, and. yep.]

Ooh.

[Like he wasn't already thinking that. He snickers.]

Mmph. Steph, baby, you are full of great ideas.

[She huffs out a breath.]

Did you hear any of that sentence aside from 'French Maid'?

Sorry, what? French Maid what?

[She gives him a light jab in the ribs.]

Down, boy.

[He squirms, trying not to giggle.

Steph pls.]

Did I also hear something about a "birthday present" in there?

Now you're either going crazy or lying.

[Or both.

She drums her fingers against his side, just teasing a little.]

[She better not tickle him, he swears to God...]

I dunno, I'm pretty sure — stop that — pretty sure I heard, "Hey, Saul, I am totally going to give you a great birthday present this year."

[Okay she stopped.

Drumming her fingers against his side over his shirt, because she slips her hand underneath it, instead.]

That'd require you telling me when your birthday is, you know?

[He will not give her the satisfaction of laughing. He refuses. This is not affecting him at all, he's just wriggling because... he has an itch. Yeah.]

Only if you tell me when yours is, too.

[She takes pity on him after a few moments and just rests her hand against his hip.]

August 19.

[She doesn't really think about her birthday much, and probably wouldn't have mentioned it if no one asked, but since he did...]

Same day as President Clinton.

[Of course Saul would know this.]

Mine's June third.

C:

go to bed

i did

good B(

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

what did I do to deserve this

started talking to me

why did no one warn me

they wanted you to suffer

i thought they loved me

they lied

o-oh

sry to break it to you

at least you're honest

but i still like you, at least

i dont want your love

whoa slow down gurl i said "like"

:C

u_u

ftr I don't want that either

you don't want my eyes?!?! that's a relief because i kind of need those

ofc I don't want your eyes they're practically useless

w o w

tell me I'm wrong

no one told me not to stare at the sun as a child ok