I see. I reciprocate the idea— here or any other place, so long as you sought bliss I would be glad to give it.

( He feels his ears tingle with a hot blush as soon as Olivine touches him. Every part of Sunday yearns for this type of affection and he’s unsure how to truly chase it. Flirting isn’t his forte, much less pursuing pleasure for the sake of it.

He blames this cursed place putting in all these ideas in his head. Though if he gave it proper thought he’d realize his ideas are his own, and he always has a choice, right?

Then again, choices here are also an illusion. He lifts Olivine’s chin with his fingers, tracing them up the ridges on his lips. Across them, seeking to insert them without being forceful about it. )

You should know to enjoy yourself as well, otherwise what’s the point?