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──── ' somebody once told me the world was going to end in eight days ' ──── [CH. VII] ✦ ˚
"do you seriouslyhave a handgun up your ass?"
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"A DEPARTMENT STORE? I could get you way better clothes."
Ophira remarks with a casual hue, eyes peering down at the messily scribbled address in Five's hands, given to him before the man departed the shop. They purse their lips in thought, taking yet again another sip of their drink.
"When did you get so filthy rich?" Five shoots back in response with a singular cocked brow. He tucks the marked napkin into his blazer pocket, averting his eyes from the girl.
Once more, Ophira winks at Five with a mysterious hue, saying nothing more.
"I'm not going for clothes." He continues, grasping his cup of coffee in his hands once more. Out of the corner of his eye, Five sends Ophira another shifting glance, brow wrinkling.
Ophira shifts their attention to their own cup of tea, gaze set towards the black swirling abyss within. Their movement stalls only when the sudden noise of the door opening echoes out from behind the pair, slamming back on its hinges. The sound of scampering footsteps follows, causing Ophira to raise their head to take a look only to find Five's eyes piercing into theirs once more with a threatening hue and a twisted jaw. Don't look. The frame of Ophira's perfectly upturned nose wrinkles vividly at such hostility, nevertheless, they bite their tongue and follow his eyes as he shifts his gaze down towards the bell sitting before them on the counter. More particularly, the reflection causes Ophira's heartbeat to thrum in between their ears. Men. Men with guns. Surrounding them.
