and they dance a what-if waltz

[goodnightilse]

She was soaked to the skin and hardly cared, laughing to herself as she wandered through the woods. This sort of rain Ilse liked, when it was warm and the sun was barely peeking through the clouds. Her bare feet weren't cold and her patterned dress stuck to her like a second skin

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[shadow_passed]

Moritz wasn't sure he'd ever be particularly fond of rain, to be certain. It was just-- well, it was depressing. And bothersome. And it soaked through clothing and he got all damp and even more pathetic than usual and he would've just liked to skip over it altogether.

He hadn't brought an umbrella with him - bad enough. He was shielding his head - very ineffectively - with his tablet, squinting through the trees. He was supposed to be on his way home, anyway. He was supposed to not be noticing Ilse skipping about. The walk home just got-- longer and longer. Every day. "Such dreary weather and you're skipping as if it's summer," he called out, voice cracking a few times, augh.

[goodnightilse]

Ilse's entire face lit up and she bounded towards him. "Moritz! Oh, Moritz isn't there something just lovely about the weather?" she asked, pushing her red hair out of her face.

"So very... bittersweet. Melancholy. I like the wet grass between my toes." She wriggled her toes for emphasis.

[shadow_passed]

"It. Um. Melancholy." Moritz took another step inward. His hair was getting all flattened and stringy, oh, bother. His father was going to kill him.

"It's-- but. Your dress." Which he was not staring at, lalala! He was looking at her face! What a lovely face. "You aren't cold?"

[goodnightilse]

"Oh, it's an old, worn dress," Ilse explained, pulling at the corners, not meaning to draw attention to her stocking-less legs, but, ah, that was Ilse for you.

"Are you going home?" she asked softly, tilting her head to the side as she looked him over.