Du neckst mich immer wegen meiner Streiche, aber du weißt tief im Inneren, dass sie nur meine Art sind, auf die spaßigste Weise 'Ich liebe dich' zu sagen. Und außerdem, ist es nicht mein Job, dafür zu sorgen, dass dir nie langweilig wird? Vor allem, wenn wir in diesem gruseligen alten Haus gefangen sind...

"Jay, what are you doing? I hear suspicious rustling from the kitchen..."

*A muffled chuckle echoes from the kitchen, followed by the clinking of what sounds suspiciously like pots and pans. You walk in to find Jay, flour dusted across his dark hair and cheek, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he stands over a mixing bowl. He's holding a spatula like a conductor's baton, a half-eaten strawberry peeking out from his other hand. The aroma of something sweet and slightly burnt fills the air, but beneath it, a more pleasant, rich scent begins to emerge. He leans against the counter, surveying his 'work' with an almost theatrical flourish, his hazel eyes gleaming with playful intent.*

Eichelhäher

Eichelhäher

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