Signe   watched   him   carefully,   catching   the   tenderness   in   his   face 

Signe   didn’t   consider   herself   extremely   bold   or   wild   by   nature,   but   there   was   something   about   the   way   Charlie   responded   to   her   teasing   that   just   lit   her   up   from   the   inside   out.   Thoroughly   pleased   to   have   affected   him   with   just   her   words,   Signe   had   settled   into   the   sofa,   waiting   expectantly.   He   asked   about   the not-so-mild   playlist   and   she   smirked   to   herself.  “I’ll   see   what   I   can   do   for   you.”   The   food   smelled   absolutely   intoxicating   and   she   found   she   was   growing   more   and   more   excited   to   try   his   food.   Of   course,   he’d   prepared   semla   for   her   on   their   first   date,   but   dessert   was   very   different   to   an   actual   meal.   She   watched   as   Charlie   carried   their   plates   over,   her   eyes   lingered   on   the   tattoos   of   his   arm   before   focusing   on   the   meal   and   enticing   scent   wafting   around   then.   “It   smells  divine.”  Signe   offered   him   a   playful   smile   as   she   accepted   the   plate,   leaning   into   the   kiss   he   pressed   to   the   top   of   her   head.  “Since   you   listed   yourself,   does   that   mean   you’re   on   the   menu   too?”  she   asked,   cheekily.   She   giggled   as   he   came   to   sit   beside   her,   thighs   pressing   together   and   she   hummed,   pleased   at   the   closeness.   She   was   about   to   dig   into   her   plate   when   Charlie   took   the   plate   back.   She   barely   had   a   chance   to   protest   when   he   cupped   her   face   and   kissed   her   senseless.   A   soft   noise   of   surprise   escaped   her   before   she   eagerly   responded   to   the   kiss,   truly   melting   into   it.   He   was  everywhere   –   his   taste   on   her   lips,   his   touch   on   her   cheek   –   and   then   he   had   the   nerve   to   pull   away   like   he   hadn’t   just   set   her   entire   nervous   system   on   fire.   Signe   barely   registered   the   movie   title   that   blinked   on   the   screen   as   she   let   out   a   slow,   stunned   breath   trying   to   calm   her   heart   galloping   in   her   rib   cage.  “Now   we   can   eat?”  she   echoed,   incredulous.   She   turned   toward   Charlie   with   narrowed   eyes,   playful   yet   dangerous.  “Because   …   what?   That   was   the   appetizer?”  Signe   reached   for   her   plate   once   more,   steadying   herself   with   a   rather   large   gulp   of   wine.  “I’ll   get   you   back   for   that.   I   thought   you   said   no   more   teasing.”   She   smirked   at   him   before   taking   a   bite   of   the   salmon   on   her   plate   and   then   groaned   in   satisfaction.   “Oh,   that   is  fantastic,”  Signe   said,   covering   her   mouth   to   finish   chewing   before   focusing   on   Charlie.  “You  made   that.”   Her   eyes   were   wide   with   wonder   at   his   ability   to   bring   together   ingredients   in   a   way   that   complimented   each   other   so   well.  “You   really are   good   at   this,   aren’t   you?”

Charlie’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, warm and full-bodied, the kind that spilled out with no filter. Deep, surprised, and slightly unsteady. He stood there with a ridiculous grin, plating their food like it was a Michelin tasting, even though all he really wanted was to abandon the counter, cross to the other room, and kiss her until he forgot what restraint tasted like. He finished up the salmon and vegetables, trying to focus on not burning his fingertips or slapping down the garnish too aggressively, but it wasn’t easy. Not after that voice from the living room, all cool and tempting and laced with just enough heat to short-circuit his self-control. He shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to refocus. "You’re tryin’ to corrupt me, love," he called back, the words slightly breathless. "That was the mild playlist? Christ." He paused, smiling as he laid down the last bit of glazed salmon with practiced precision. The smell was incredible, citrus and spice and garlic and that slight sweetness from the honey, but all he could really think about was the way her voice had wrapped around those words like a dare. Discipline, Hughes. She deserves dinner. "I’m also gonna need a link to that one. For scientific purposes."

Once everything was set, he wiped his hands and took a quiet second to breathe. Then he grabbed both plates and made his way back toward the living room, shoulders relaxed, steps easy, but eyes locked on her. He walked in, sleeves still rolled with tattoos peeking out from under, carrying their plates carefully in each hand. The way she was curled into his sofa, waiting for him not just politely, but eagerly, sent something twisting in his chest. "Alright, alright, no more teasin’," he said, presenting the plates with all the air of a man delivering a masterpiece. "Spiced glazed salmon, garlicky roasted veg, and a chef trying very hard not to get distracted by the fact that you’re actively ruining him."

He handed her the plate like it was sacred, balanced and perfect, even adding a soft "Enjoy" under his breath. He bent to press a kiss to the top of her head, one hand lingering briefly on her shoulder as if to ground himself. Then he circled around, setting his own plate down before sinking into the couch beside her, closer than before. Their thighs touched, and he didn’t bother pretending it was accidental. He picked up his own plate, but only for a moment. Then, in a sudden, quiet decision, he set it back down. He turned to her, gaze steady and lips tugged into a smile just shy of smirking. "Actually," he said, reaching gently to take her plate from her hands, catching her gaze with something more heated now. Something inevitable. Before she could respond, he gently set it down on the coffee table without ever breaking eye contact. Then he leaned in, swift and sure, cupping her face with both hands as he kissed her. Properly. No teasing. No testing. Just all of it. Want, gratitude, affection, need. Like he’d held back long enough and decided, finally, to let it land. He hummed into the kiss, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek, savoring the way she responded. It took effort, actual, physical effort, to pull away. When he did, he rested his forehead against hers for a beat, catching his breath, smiling like he’d just won something he hadn’t realized he was competing for. "Right," he said, voice low and a little hoarse. "Now we can eat." Charlie leaned back, lips tucked in, still biting down a grin as he reached for the remote. He hit play, finally, but he didn’t move away. His thigh stayed resting on hers, plate now in his lap, ready to experience her favorite movie, and whatever else this night would bring.

The   sound   of   her   father’s   voice   had   Signe’s   expression   softening.   She   laughed   softly   and   shook   her   head. “I   should   keep   asking   you,   you  still   cut   them   better   than   I   do,” she   teased,   hoping   to   ease   some   of   the   weight   on   his   heart.   Signe’s   tone   was   still   warm   with   affection   as   she   leaned   against   him. “But   no,   I’m   not   four   anymore.   I’m   twenty-four   and   apparently   very   brave   for   attempting   something   in   the   kitchen   that   doesn’t   involve   takeout   menus.”   As   they   stepped   into   the   cafe,   Signe   clocked   the   lip   and   her   brow   furrowed   for   half   a   second   before   she   smoothed   it   again.   She   knew   he   wouldn’t   want   her   to   fuss,   but   she’d   slowed   her   pace   to   match   his   anyway. “A   pastry?   Something   chocolate-y.   And   latte,” Signe   said   as   she   started   fishing   her   wallet   out   of   her   bag. “But   I’m   buying,   Pappa.   Consider   it   pay   back   for   all   the   times   you   stayed   up   ‘til   morning   helping   me   with   a   science   project   I   left   to   the   last   minute.”

a   phone   call   to   bridge   the   miles.   he   supposed   it   would   do.   søren   wasn’t   about   to   lift   his   daughter   under   his   arm   and   fireman   carry   her   back   home,   despite   that   being   exactly   what   he   wanted   to   do.   raising   a   child   was   all   about   sacrifice   —   sacrificing   the   first   few   years   of   his   career   to   stay   at   home   with   her,   sacrificing   their   life   in   sweden   for   a   better   one   there   in   palmview   and,   now,   letting   signe   go.   “just   a   few   minutes   away,”   he   nodded,   as   if   it   didn’t   kill   him.   “i   have   to   keep   reminding   myself   you’re   not   four   years   old   and   begging   me   for   cut - up   strawberries   anymore.” any   time   spent   with   signe   was   precious.   he   agreed   immediately   to   the   terms,   certain   in   the   knowledge   that   he   would   try   not   to   make   dad   jokes   about   the   way   their   meal   would   inevitably   turn   out.   “i   look   forward   to   it,”   he   replied,   “whatever   you   cook   will   be   perfect,   i’m   sure   of   it.   it’s   all   about   spending   time   with   you,   sötnos.”   the   café   couldn’t   have   come   at   a   better   time.   he   pushed   open   the   door   and   held   it   for   signe   to   go   first,   making   their   way   towards   the   counter   with   more   of   a   pronounced   limp   than   usual.   the   more   he   walked   without   rest,   the   worse   it   became.   even   years   later.   “what   do   you   fancy ? ”

⇢ ✨ STATUS ﹕ open ( 2/6 ) ⇢ ✨ TAGGING ﹕celine + utp !! ( @palmviewstarters ) ⇢ ✨ LOCATION ﹕ retro roots.

“This   store   is   either   a   fever   dream   or   a   trap,”   Celine   muttered   under   her   breath,   eyeing   a   hot   pink   rotary   phone   like   it   might   bite   her.   “I   swear   my   aunt   had   one   just   like   this,   just   covered   in   cigarette   ash.”   She   picked   up   a   pair   of   gold-framed,   star-shaped   sunglasses   and   ran   a   finger   long   the   edge.   She   caught   motion   in   her   peripheral   vision   and   glanced   up,   raising   an   eyebrow   with   faux   gravitas.   “Hey,   these   scream   ‘divorced   and   dangerous,’   right?   Asking   for   a   friend."   Celine's   smirk   widened,   taking   in   her   fellow   shopper   before   tilting   her   head.   There   was   something   about   the   otherworldly,   out   of   time   feel   of   the   store   that   had   her   lowering   her   usual   guard,   just   a   little.   “What's   your   poison?   Lava   lamps?   VHS   tapes?   …Velvet   couches   with   suspicious   stains?”

#𝐁𝐲𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞: a study in soft things

“You’re   insufferable,”   she   murmured,   no   heat   in   her   words.   Signe   heard   the   playful   taunt   in   his   words   as   he   came   closer,   but   she   didn’t   move   away.   She   nudged   her   nose   along   his,   a   playful   taunt   not   meant   to   entice   him   to   anything,   just   a   reminder   that   she   was   willing   to   meet   him   move   for   move.  No   going   back   now.    They   could   agree   on   that.   Charlie   drew   her   in   like   a   magnet   and   she   was   determined   to   see   whatever   this   thing   between   them   would   be.   Her   arms   wrapped   around   his   neck   as   he   spoke,   explained   how   important   representation   was   and   she   nodded   in   agreement.   Butterflies   danced   in   her   stomach   as   he   admitted   that   he’d   watch   the   film   with   her.   It   felt   just   as   much   as   a   confession   of   wanting   to   get   to   know   her   as   his   earlier   confession   had   been.  “You   don’t   see   a   lot   of   coming   of   age   stories   with   the   Asian   girl   as   the   lead   –   not   to   mention   a   queer   one   at   that.   When   I   first   watched   the   movie,   I   felt   like   I’d   gotten   a   jolt   –   like,   oh   wait,   there   are   others   like   me   out   there,”  Signe   smiled   to   herself   and   then   met   his   gaze.  “It   has   a   bittersweet,   but   hopeful   ending.   So…I’ll   bring   the   tissues.”   She   tilted   her   head,   curiosity   sparked   in   her   features.  “What’s   your   favorite   movie,   then?”  Signe   shifted,   her   hands   sliding   down   to   rest   on   his   shoulders   as   she   rested   her   head   on   his   chest,   letting   him   sway   them   gently.   The   music   was   soft   in   the   distance,   enhanced   by   the   crackling   of   the   bonfires   and   the   crash   of   the   waves   on   the   shore.   She   allowed   herself   to   just   be   present   for   the   moment   and   then   looked   up   to   answer    his   question.  “I’d   want   it   somewhere   coastal.   Not   necessarily   big   city   coastal   –   somewhere   a   little   quieter   maybe?”   Signe   smiled,   her   eyes   brightening   as   she   began   picturing   exactly   what   that   studio   would   look   like.   “I’d   want   my   studio   in   a   converted   old   building,   maybe   something   that   used   to   be   a   villa   or   something.   Floor-to-ceiling   windows,   worn   wooden   floors,   big   linen   curtains.   Plants  everywhere   that   thrive   even   if   I   forget   to   water   them   half   the   time,”  she   giggled.  “People   could   come   in,   sit   down,   have   fika,   create.   It’d   be   a   space   for   collaboration   and   sharing   ideas.   Maybe   I’d   host   pop-ups   for   young   designers?”   Signe   shook   her   head,   as   if   her   answers   had   gone   off   the   rails   a   bit   and   she   needed   to   reset   the   tracks.  “And   maybe   an   apartment   above   it.   So   that   I’m   always   surrounded   by   that   feeling.”   She   nodded   to   herself,   satisfied   with   the   answer   she’d   given.  “And   you?   Do   you   want   to   own   a   restaurant   someday?   Or   a chain   of   restaurants?”

Charlie’s grin curved, slow and satisfied, the kind that said he’d caught every flicker of her expression. The breathless sound of her laugh went straight through him. He liked her. And he didn’t want to stop earning that laugh, didn’t want to be the kind of man who only ever got one shot at it. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to continue to be the reason she'd laughed like that.

"Oh, I’m doubling down, Signe," he said, eyebrows lifting in mock challenge as he leaned a little closer, voice low and teasing. "If I kissed you like that and still had the nerve to ask your favorite film, maybe I'm pretty certain you're not goin' anywhere.. and maybe," his voice dropped softer, "maybe you want me to ask you about thing you enjoy while we're on a date.." He nodded solemnly, like it was a serious personal flaw, voice back to it's normal volume now. "You’re learnin’ just how ridiculous I am. No goin’ back now."

As she started describing the movie, Charlie straightened a little, eyes never leaving hers. He listened, really listened, his teasing softening into something gentler. "I ain't seen or heard of it," he admitted, "but I’d watch it. With you, I mean." His brow furrowed faintly in thought. "Representation like that… it’s not somethin’ I got growing up. Not until I were older. Then I started seein' more things that felt like me... but maybe that's just 'cause I know who I am now, innit? I think it’s brilliant you saw yourself in it. Proper important, yeah?" He paused, giving a playful squint. "Hold on, is it gonna wreck me emotionally? ‘Cause I’m tellin’ you now, I will show up to that movie night wearin’ a hoodie and huggin’ a pillow." He paused dramatically, hand over his heart. "I’m pretty delicate."

Then came her muttered shut up, barely audible, but oh, he heard it. Charlie let out a gasp of mock offense, already standing as if the insult had forced him upright. He held out his hand with a wicked grin. "That’s it. Signe Holström, you have brought this upon yourself." When she slid her fingers into his, he gave a gentle tug, pulling her up and forward until she bumped softly against his chest. "You’re gonna pay the ultimate price," he declared with faux seriousness. "Dancin’ with me while I ask more 'ridiculous' questions." His arm slid easily around her back, and he began to sway them slow, lazy. The music from the event felt distant, but the sound of the waves made up for what the moment may have lacked. "So tell me," he murmured, dipping his head just slightly, voice a touch lower now, "If you could drop everythin' right now and open your dream studio, anywhere in the world, with no budget, no logistics, no limits, really, where would it be? What would this studio look like?"

He wasn’t in a rush to kiss her again, not because he didn’t want to, but because this was the part he wanted to sit in. The part where she looked at him like that, like she couldn’t quite believe him, and he got to prove he meant every damn word. He did, however, press his lips to her temple, letting them linger there for a moment.

The   way   Charlie   was   looking   at   her–like   she   was   the   only   thing   that   mattered–made   it   impossible   for   Signe   to   think   straight.   The   kiss   he   pressed   to   the   back   of   her   hand   sent   a   shiver   up   her   spine   and   even   though   she   tried   to   hide   it,   her   breath   hitched   just   enough   to   betray   her.   Her   heart   was   slamming   against   her   ribs   so   loudly,   she   was   certain   he   could   hear   it.   She   opened   her   mouth   once.   Closed   it.   Tried   again,   but   all   that   came   out   was   a   breathy   little   laugh   that   sounded   way   too   much   like   a   gasp.  “I–you–”  she   stammered,   feeling   the   heat   crawl   up   her   neck   all   the   way   to   the   tips   of   her   ears.  “You’re   not–you   can’t   just   say things   like   that   and   expect   me   to   function,   Charlie   Hughes,”    she   reprimanded   although   there   was   no   heat   in   her   words,   only   her   face.   Then   he   started   talking   about   her   wearing   her   own   designs   and   Signe   thought   she   might   actually   melt   into   the   floor.   Without   ever   seeing   her   designs,   he   made   he   feel   like   her   work–like she–   was   something   worth   admiring   like   that.   Signe   let   out   a   breath   she   hadn’t   realized   she   was   holding,   a   smile   tugging   at   her   lips.  “I   guess   it’s   only   fair,”    she   said,   her   voice   still   breathless,   threaded   with   something   that   matched   the   softness   he   offered.  “You’ll   stare,   and   I’ll   be   quietly   losing   my   mind   every   time   you   look   at   me   like   that.”   It   was   meant   to   be   a   joke   but   even   that   revealed   too   much.   She   laughed,   light   and   awkward,   and   ducked   to   hide   her   face   in   his   shoulder   for   a   moment   because   it   was   either   that   or   actually   lose   her   mind.   She   took   a   moment   to   steady   herself   before   pulling   back   just   enough   to   look   up   at   him   again,   her   eyes   shining   and   cheeks   burning,   and   gave   him   a   helpless   little   smile.  “You’re   already   ruining me...   Take   some   responsibility   will   you?”

“Just wanted to hear ya say it.” Charlie’s body swayed a little where he sat, clearly pleased with her answer, delight dancing in his expression as he looked over at her without even a flicker of hesitation. “Lucky for you, love,” he added smoothly, “I’ve got no plans to deny ya anything you want.” His voice dipped just enough to make the words feel like more than teasing. Without letting go of her hand, he lifted it between them, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the back of her fingers, slow, deliberate, like the moment deserved more than a joke.

When she brought up the contract, his grin kicked back into place, easy and wide. He leaned closer, their hands still laced, and gave the smallest tilt of his head, that boyish glint in his eyes returning. “Think we could make it a verbal agreement then, yeah? I’m afraid my hand’s a bit occupied at the moment... super important business.” Charlie glanced up at her through his lashes, smile soft but playful, clearly enjoying the game she was playing, and happy to meet her there.

But when she spoke about wearing her own designs, his expression shifted, that teasing smile softening into something gentler. The way she answered, hesitating and thoughtful, had him leaning in just a touch, genuinely curious now. “I’d actually really like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, earnest, even as the corners of his mouth still tugged upward. “If you’re comfortable, of course. I mean… sketches are one thing.. but you? Wearin’ something you made with your own hands?” His smile broke a little wider, a quiet laugh huffing out of him like he couldn’t quite believe how sincere he sounded. “That’s what I’d call art, yeah?”

He gave a small shrug, but the admiration was written all over his face as his gaze stayed locked on hers, softer than before, the flirtation not gone, but folded now into something sweeter, something real. “Fair warning though,” he added, leaning in just enough to close the space between them again, looking both ways like this was top secret information, “I’ve got a terrible habit of starin’ when I’m impressed. And somethin’ tells me I’d be absolutely ruined watchin’ you in one of your own designs.” His lips curved, eyes gleaming, but the look he gave her wasn’t just about charm, it was full of that growing ache he couldn’t quite hide anymore. Like he already knew he was in trouble with her. And maybe he liked it that way.

Her   shoulders   lifted   in   quiet   laughter,   amused   by   the   other’s   confession.  “Well,   personally,   I   think   art’s   meant   to   be felt   more   than   understood,”  she   offered   gently.  “But   I   know   others   have very   strong   opinions   on   the   matter.”  Her   voice   was   all   but   a   whisper,   glancing   around   making   sure  she   didn’t   make   the   same   mistake   of   offending   one   of   the   artists.   Signe   followed   the   stranger’s   gaze,   glancing   back   to   see   that   it   didn’t   resonate   with   her   either.   “Nothing   with   this   one   either?”   Signe   wasn’t   the   kind   to   make   someone   feel   bad   for  ‘not   getting   it’   so   she   decided   to   steer   the   conversation   in   a   new   direction.  “Do   you   live   nearby?   I   just   moved   into   the   neighborhood   not   too   long   ago,   and   I   decided   to   go   exploring.”   After   a   brief   pause,   she   added   with   a   hesitant   smile.  “I’m   Signe,   by   the   way.”

Marcela didn't frequently spend her free time admiring the art at the Mango Bay Art District, but she had some time to kill after her shift at Retro Roots and decided to check out what local artists had put up recently since she was in the area. If nothing else, this was a step in the right direction towards her goal of being at least a little more responsible with her time this year. What trouble could she really land herself in here?

She was mindlessly wandering around, not spending too much time with any one piece of art when a voice attracted her attention. "Oh no, you're fine. I'm really walking around more than anything." She glanced around for anyone who looked like the stereotypical, pretentious artist types she imagined were responsible for the artwork here. "Between you and me, I think most of this lost on me. I'm pretty sure I accidentally insulted one of the artists the last time I was here by not seeing their vision or something." As she spoke, she shifted a little to peer around the other just to see if she was missing out on something by not viewing this particular piece. Sure enough, though, it didn't really stand out to her.

⇢ 🌸 STATUS ﹕ closed. ⇢ 🌸 TAGGING ﹕signe + sigrid!! (@ofelation) ⇢ 🌸 LOCATION ﹕ palmview university.

Signe   made   her   way   up   the   familiar   staircase   of   the   humanities   building   with   a   to-go   iced   coffee   in   one   hand   and   a   wax   paper   bag   in   the   other   containing   a   cinnamon   bun.   A   peace   offering,   if   she   was   being   honest   with   herself.   Signe   didn't   visit   her   mother's   office   often,   not   because   she   didn't   love   visiting   her   mom,   but   because   Sigrid   Holmström   was   a   consummate   professional.   The   girl   had   always   felt   guilty   about   disrupting   her   mother's   crisp,   orderly   and   polished   world   at   the   university.   Switching   the   coffee   to   her   other   hand,   she   knocked   twice   on   the   office   door   before   opening   it   without   waiting   for   a   reply.   “Professor   Holmström,”   Signe   began,   her   voice   full   of   playful   formality.   “I   come   bearing   caffeine   and   carbs.   And   maybe   a   bit   of   daughterly   guilt.   You   free   for   a   little   break?”