Separate names with a comma.
His frown deepened and he squinted at the eggs before looking up at her. "Yes, he... is not a good man."
She shrugged slightly, not looking at him. "I wanted to give you a hug and you don't trust me. It's fine. I get it, Abel, really, I do."
He gave her a small smile before looking back down at the eggs, his brow furrowing.
Her brush hung limply at her side and she sighed before turning back to the wall, starting to paint again, her shoulders slumped.
"I'm doing that now. I think. It's been a while since I've cooked."
She frowned, looking insulted. "What? No. I wanted to ask if I could hug you. I'm really grateful for you."
He looked over at her, his face soft. "I have no idea what I'm doing," he told her. "But I make up for it in spirit."
She turned to look at him, looking fascinated. "Great. Hey, Abel?"
He set the oatmeal aside before pulling out some eggs.
She tilted her head, looking over her shoulder with a frown. "Because we're working with paint and I don't want you to get paint on it if you...
He continued working, cooking some oatmeal.
"That shirt you're wearing," she said casually, reaching up and missing a high spot. "How much do you like it?"
"I have no idea," he replied enthusiastically. "Just whatever feels right."
They worked quietly for a while, with Ophelia humming to herself. After a while, she spoke. "Abel, how much do you like that shirt?"
He frowned, squinting before he began to work.
"Born ready," she said, wielding a paint brush.
He looked around curiously before going into the kitchen, looking interested.
She came back in, tying her hair back in a braid as she looked up at the walls, playful music playing. "Alright. Ready?"
"I don't think there's anything I can do," he said, shaking his head. "It's fine. You can't pry."
"Yeah, yeah. Give me just a second, I'm gonna put on music, okay?"
