![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It felt as though they'd been planning this for months, and in a way they had; the idea of it born from scattered conversations through the winter as they rebuilt their friendship, vague we should dos and have you ever been tos laying out the bones of the idea. It had just been their will to actually carry out said plans that had faded a little as the winter bled into early spring, their time and energy subsumed into more immediate concerns: exams at school, Rosie's preparations for the choir concert, the unsettling strain of all that had happened with (and to) Tim.
With some of that strain now past and the rest of it on its way out, Rosie had begun considering it again, going up to Eponine after dinner a few nights ago with a bright flier in one hand and an oddly nervous flutter in her stomach that she couldn't quite explain. "There's a new exhibit at the museum," she'd said, holding the advertisement out, "if you still wanted to go?"
They'd settled on Saturday afternoon, the forecast having called for rain and a bit of chill. It seemed the perfect sort of weather for staying all day long within the cozy stone walls of the Darrow Art Museum, or huddled inside a booth at Phoenix Records. When the day itself arrived, bright and warm and summerlike, Rosie had to laugh--even as she was determined not to postpone their plans yet again.
Inspired by the delightful surprise and the new lightness in the air, it's easy for Rosie to succumb to the turn of the season and the sense of something beginning; to pull a dress to suit the weather from the back of her closet, to slip her feet into a pair of summery sandals, to fuss with her hair a little more and slick on a new shade of lipstick before admiring herself in the bathroom mirror. And while it's a bit silly given the nearness of Eponine's room to her own, once she's finished getting ready she knocks on her friend's door, just the same as she might if they lived down the street from each other rather than merely across the hall.
"Ready to go?"
With some of that strain now past and the rest of it on its way out, Rosie had begun considering it again, going up to Eponine after dinner a few nights ago with a bright flier in one hand and an oddly nervous flutter in her stomach that she couldn't quite explain. "There's a new exhibit at the museum," she'd said, holding the advertisement out, "if you still wanted to go?"
They'd settled on Saturday afternoon, the forecast having called for rain and a bit of chill. It seemed the perfect sort of weather for staying all day long within the cozy stone walls of the Darrow Art Museum, or huddled inside a booth at Phoenix Records. When the day itself arrived, bright and warm and summerlike, Rosie had to laugh--even as she was determined not to postpone their plans yet again.
Inspired by the delightful surprise and the new lightness in the air, it's easy for Rosie to succumb to the turn of the season and the sense of something beginning; to pull a dress to suit the weather from the back of her closet, to slip her feet into a pair of summery sandals, to fuss with her hair a little more and slick on a new shade of lipstick before admiring herself in the bathroom mirror. And while it's a bit silly given the nearness of Eponine's room to her own, once she's finished getting ready she knocks on her friend's door, just the same as she might if they lived down the street from each other rather than merely across the hall.
"Ready to go?"
