A Wasp With Her Wings Outstretched

She eyed him warily from across the bed. They were in various states of undress and a record skipped on the needle in the next room, distorting the only Beach Boys song  she actually liked. A cup of tea cooled in the kitchen; the tea bag left in. It would taste too strong now, and soon be cold. Neither of them had moved within the last five minutes, and it was almost comical how still they sat: a single sleeve of her blouse dangling loosely in front of her, his pants pulled halfway down. His shirt was unbuttoned except for one, the one at the very bottom, exposing his pale chest with its smattering of hair for all to see, except the only other eyes in the room were hers, and they were fixed on his.

“I can’t remember now,” he told her, “but I’m fairly certain they’re green.”

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