Wilona's P.O.V
"Everybody wants to rule the world." I fill in, watching for the moment of recognition that never comes. "By Tears for Fears," I add but the words slide off him as his cut vegetables slide of the chopping block. A colorful arrangement of bell peppers, mushrooms, onions and carrots falling into the awaiting pan.
"Name is nice but I've never heard of it." He admits, blue swirls glancing my way between his focus to cooking.
"Then what on earth do you listen to?" I ask, genuinely intrigued about what music could pull someone from such a classic.
"You wouldn't know any of it." He replies, continuing before I could press any more. I let the chicken pour into the pan of awaiting vegetables, leaving us side to side, a barely noticeable gap left between us yet I didn't feel the urge to widen it.
"But you like this," I state, not needing to question it with the way he still swayed while his head tipped back and forth in a rhymic motion.
