They lay there in the grass for a long time, Poppy's head on his chest, and her fingers intertwined with his. Finally, she turned to look up at him. "How far away is your apartment?" she asked curiously.
"I'm curious," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, you've seen my apartment, and the house where I spent half of my childhood. You know what my tastes are. What are yours like? Besides fishy, of course."
"It's just one fish," he said, shaking his head. "And, I don't have many things up. Maybe just done pictures of photography. It's mostly just black and white, excluding the fish tank."
(Okay, I'm back.) She met his gaze for a moment, her grey eyes meeting his brown ones. The edges of her irises were as dark as a chalkboard, but in the center, they were as blue as a robin's egg. "So, where are your favorite places in the city? We've been to mine."
"I don't quite have a favorite place," he said lowly. "I just take walks aimlessly around the block."
