Pastel Purple Poem by anais vionet

It's 6: 15pm. Peter, Anna, Sophy and I are studying in the common room of our suite.

"We need to get serious, " Peter whispered, but there was no subject in the declaration, so I was left confused and uncommitted, "about getting serious, " he clarified.

"I'm not sure I can get serious about a guy who doesn't separate whites and darks in the laundry, " I say, gently.

"No, " he said, shaking his head in brief vibration, "we need to get serious about DINNER."

"Oh! " I said, maybe a little too relieved.

"Ha! " He chortled, "YOU overthink everything! " He said, nodding his head up and down to prove it was true. "And speaking of laundry, " he continued, seeing me start to open my mouth, "the other night YOU asked me if your pastel purple panties should go with the whites or darks - so I must be an EXPERT! "

I laughed at the idea of his laundry expertise, sailing in from out of the purple like that, it was haywire. "Well, " I said, becoming introspective, "I didn't know you'd hold onto that question like a grudge, " I said, in quiet, wounded accusation, "from now ON, maybe you should stay as far away from my panties as possible."

"What are you two grousing about NOW? " Anna asked, looking up from her computer. "You guys are like an old married couple."

"True THAT." Sophie said, like a judge right before knocking her gavel to finalize a ruling.

"We weren't arguing! " I said, looking around confusedly. I looked at Peter, who was smiling broadly, "Were we? "

"Nope, " he said, wrapping his arm around me in a bearhug, "we were flirting."