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.⋆♱ PANDORA'S ECHO⠀,18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnqUS8RfLHg
007. 2 girls, 1 milkshake, and jay
"Leave them there, Jay," Naomi swats his hand from the fresh basket of crisp, crinkle-cut fries.
Jay scoffs and leans against their regular booth. "For the last time, you just ate. Why do I keep getting bullied?"
"They're communal," she replies dryly, taking one and smothering it in ketchup.
"I'm the only one who ordered..."
"Just like we're sharing the milkshake, we're sharing these too. So, communal."
Clover quietly pulls the basket slightly closer to her side and says nothing.
"See? Cove gets it," Naomi grins and leans back into the booth, pulling her knees up. The afternoon light comes in low through the window, catching the silver rings on her fingers. Outside, the street moves at its usual weekend pace — slow, unhurried, full of people with nowhere urgent to be.
"Okay, guys, so," Naomi starts while picking up another fry. "So I've been lowkey talking to August lately."
"The stone-faced quiet kid?" Jay lazily lifts an eyebrow.
"Yes, Jay," Naomi drags out her sigh.
"I got it right, guys; give me a high-five for that one," Jay looks toward Clover with his hand raised toward her face. Clover side-eyes him and picks up another fry, ignoring her annoying friend completely.
"Hater," Jay mutters before smacking his teeth. "Back to you, though, and what else?"
"And nothing, Jay. I just feel like he could use somebody to talk to, and I'm kind of helping him come out of his shell a little," Naomi shares earnestly.
Clover perks up, tilting her head attentively. "That's really sweet of you."
"Yeah," Jay agrees, nodding slowly. "Very noble. Very Naomi Brie Harper of you." He points the fry at her. "Just don't make it your whole personality."
"It's not—" she stops. "I'm not. I just think he needs a push."
"Then push him," Jay says simply, dropping the fry into his mouth. "We're rooting for you. Good luck on your little project."
"It's not a project—"
"Makeover. Transformation arc. Whatever you want to call it." He waves his hand generously. "We support you."
Clover presses her lips together to keep from smiling. Naomi looks between the two of them. "You're both useless."
"We love you," Clover offers.
"Deeply," Jay confirms.
Naomi shakes her head and steals another fry.
The conversation drifts the way it always does with the three of them — no real direction, just whatever surfaces.
Jay and Clover both reach for the basket at the same time. Jay's hand lands over Clover's — warm, accidental. He pulls back first, already sipping from the group milkshake like it didn't happen.
"Okay, but I need opinions," Clover says, pulling her phone out and sliding it across the table. Jay shifts in the booth without thinking, arm dropping over the back of the seat behind her as he leans in to look. His fingers end up close to her shoulder.
On the screen is a photo of a half-finished garment — structured shoulders, a deep neckline, something between a blazer and a dress. "I've been working on this for like two weeks, and I can't decide if the collar is too much."
Naomi picks the phone up and examines it seriously. "The collar is the whole point. Don't touch it."
"You think?"
"It's the thing that makes it yours. If you take it off, it looks like something you could buy anywhere."
Clover takes the phone back, looking at the image again with fresh eyes. "Okay. Okay, yeah."
"Who's it for?" Jay asks, still leaned in.
"Just a piece. For my portfolio, maybe." She sets the phone down. "I want to do a small collection by the end of the year. Like six pieces. Something cohesive."
"You should," Naomi says immediately. "I'm serious, Cove. You've been sitting on this for too long."
"I know, I just—" Clover smooths the edge of the table with her thumb. "I want it to be right before I put it out there."
"It's never gonna feel right enough," Naomi says, not unkindly. "At some point you just have to let people see it."
Clover considers this quietly. The topic shifts, and Jay's arm drops from the back of the seat naturally, easy as it came. Clover traces the rim of her cup and says nothing.
"Speaking of putting things out there," Naomi says, turning to Jay. "How's the music stuff going?"
He makes a face. "Good. I think. I've been working on this beat for like a week, and it's almost there but not quite."
"Almost there, how?"
"Like... it has the right feeling but the wrong sound. You know?" He taps the table rhythmically, like he's trying to work it out in real time. "I know what I want it to feel like when someone hears it. I just can't figure out how to make it sound like that yet."
"That's actually a really specific problem," Clover says.
"Right? And my dad keeps asking when I'm gonna have something finished, like—" he stops, rolling his lip ring briefly. "It's fine. He doesn't get it. He thinks music is either done or not done, there's no in between."
"Does he listen to what you make?" Naomi asks.
"Sometimes." A pause. "He's not around enough to have an actual opinion, so." He shrugs, easy and practiced, the kind of shrug that's had a lot of use. "My mom likes it. She's got worse taste, so that actually means more."
Naomi looks at him for a second. "She should hear the new one when it's done."
"Yeah." He brightens slightly. "Yeah, she should. Can I get a high-five for that one?"
Naomi reaches across the table and gives him the flattest, most unimpressed high-five she can manage.
"That's so — you know what, I'll take it." He drops his hand and grabs the milkshake. "What about you, what's going on with the gallery thing?"
Naomi exhales, tapping her rings against the table. "I've been thinking about the four pieces. I keep starting concepts and scrapping them."
"What kind of concepts?" Clover asks.
"That's the thing, I don't know yet. I know I don't want to do what I always do. I want it to feel like—" she searches for the word. "Like something I haven't said yet. Not just technically good."
"So something personal," Clover says.
"Yeah. But not obviously personal. I don't want it to feel like a diary entry on a canvas."
"Tension without confession," Jay says.
Both girls look at him.
He blinks. "What? I said something smart, give me another high-five—"
"Absolutely not," Naomi says.
"You just described her whole artistic vision in three words, and you want a high-five," Clover tells him.
"I want recognition for my genius, yes."
Naomi points at him. "Tension without confession. That's actually it." She pulls out her phone and types it into her notes. "Don't let that go to your head."
"Too late," he says serenely.
Clover laughs, soft and bright, leaning her chin into her hand. Outside, the light has shifted — afternoon sliding toward early evening, the street quieter now. The jukebox in the corner hums something old and barely audible.
Naomi looks at the two of them: Jay with his feet up on the seat, Clover tracing the rim of her cup and feels the particular ease of people she doesn't have to explain herself to.
She doesn't say that. She just steals the last golden fry.
"Hey—" Jay starts.
"Communal," she counters.
ns216.73.216.176da2
and then Add to home screen.