nineteen and unravelling
he asked, raised an eyebrow with pure skepticism as the barista handed over the cup filled with dark syrup and tapioca pearls.
I grabbed the straw, taking a long, satisfied sip before leaning up on my tip-toes, pressing my lips to his jawline. "You need to taste it before you judge me. Here." I pushed the straw toward his face.
Malik winced slightly but relented, taking a tiny, hesitant sip. His jaw tightened, and he immediately pulled back, making a hilariously disgusted face. "Too sweet. It tastes like pure syrup, Kels."
I let out a dramatic gasp, shielding my drink. "Excuse me? That is a luxury sentiment right there, Malik Thompson. You just don't get the vision."