𝕄𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕆𝕟 (𝕂𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖)

::chapter 4:: petrichor

"We could re-watch some old Once Upon A Time episodes," Lance suggested as he packed up his papers and notebooks into a small, blue, duffel-like bag, "Unless binge-watching isn't exactly what you're in the mood for at the moment," he looked up from the glass dining room table and gave Keith a wink then continued to get his stuff together in such a Lance-like organized fashion.

Keith walked into the living room of the McClain home, unaffected on the outside by Lance's oh-so-apparent flirtatious remark, having gotten hundreds of them just like it before, but becoming a nervous wreck on the inside from his anxiety shooting through the roof. 'Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here. I should check to see if there's a thermostat. And of course, I don't see a thermostat. God it's hot. God is it hot in here?'

He could feel the dry skin on his hands, his feet, and his knees that all needed to be doused in globs of lotion, pump by pump at a time. And raindrops of sweat began forming on his stomach again and again until a tacky mess was all the boy could feel on the surface of his skin. Keith sighed, "Oh no, trust me. It's what I'm in the mood for," he swatted at the waterfall dripping down his exposed stomach in annoyance, "We could have Vanelle sit with us while we watch it if princesses, witches, and evil queens are what she's into."

"I'm not very sure that she'd be up this late," Lance yawned as he stretched his lanky arms up towards the direction of the slowly, descending moon, "but I can check her room and-"

Coincidentally, Vanelle just happened to be hopping down the stairs like she was in the middle of a solo game of hopscotch on a warm summer afternoon, smiling from ear to ear without a care in the world, probably with the soundtrack of Moana running through her head of curls.

Lance slung his duffel bag over his right shoulder and pushed in his chair, which scratched the checkerboard, tiled floor, making an ungodly amount of noise at a time like 2 in the morning.

Lance cringed hoping he hadn't woken up any of his siblings, and Keith jumped at the sudden noise, giving Lance wide eyes of horror.

"Aw did the noise scare my feminine prince?"

Keith rolled and flicked his eyes in the direction of the staircase, as his way of trying to warn his best friend of a creature that could be lurking in the shadows and be the ultimate cause of their impending doom, but Lance just laughed, "You can come out now Vanilla, or do I have to come in there and pick you up bridal style myself?"

The boy who sat tensed on the couch now loosened up his limbs and laughed at himself, realizing that the noise had come from none other than an "oh-so-frightening" nine-year-old girl.

The soft voice of the little ray of sunshine echoed down the hallway and into the living room, "I'd enjoy being picked up if you're offering," she said like it was deal she just couldn't refuse, "And Lance my name is Vanelle, not Vanilla." She stomped her foot further backing up her declaration of name originality.

Keith began walking over to the stairs, limping slightly like an old man in need of assistance, having forgotten about the gash on his knee that was approximately the size of the grand canyon. 'This is probably not the greatest idea' he thought, 'but I mean it's not like I'll give her the black plague or something so I'll be just fine'.

"And we meet again miss Vanelle." Keith held out his arms to pick her up, dipped her three times, and she jumped onto his front with her legs wrapped around his waist for support. Luckily they both didn't crumple to the floor and roll like a few tumbleweeds in a generic, western, movie scene.

"Haha, the pretty boy got here before you Lance," she teased in a hushed voice, careful not to wake the others.

Keith joined Vanelle in the teasing towards her older brother. "Yeah Lance, the pretty boy got to her before you," he tilted his head down now speaking to the emerald-eyed girl slothed against his stomach, "My name is Keith by the way."