It’s one of those days where Wendy spoils herself by giving in to the sweet tooth she never really outgrew.  So, with a tub of ice cream in hand, she walks in and bounds for her room.

Before reaching her door, she sees her.  Wendy's default reaction would have been to just greet the other woman then bolt inside the confines of her sanctuary, but the latter has started approaching Wendy – she looking like a fish out of water, holding an ice cream-filled spoon halfway to her partly open mouth.

The woman smiles.  She smiles that damn smile that just makes Wendy blush, and warm, and inept, and shamelessly shamed, and a torrent of other feelings she hasn’t really the time to name.

Oh!  Not only that, the woman also furrows her brows in that adorable way where it shows more amusement than confusion; her eyes going back and forth from the tub of ice cream to Wendy's eyes – because she likes doing that, looking at people squarely in their eyes.  Wendy wishes she doesn’t, but she does, so…

“Bad day?” she asks, the delight in her voice unmistakable.

“Oh, uh, no, Irene unnie.  Not really.  I just- uh- sweet tooth!”  Wendy manages to squeak.

She's mortified.

And then Irene chuckles, so Wendy's even more mortified.  (Wendy begs the ground to open up and just swallow her.  'Yes, that would make things so much easier.')

Irene clears .  It’s then that Wendy realizes that it’s worth the embarrassment - her laughter.

A beat passed, and another, the two of them just staring at each other in silence; the smiles on their faces oh-so-apparent.

“I never outgrew it, my sweet tooth.”  Wendy offers, by way of explanation.  Irene nods, her soft beautiful smile never losing its radiance.

Then it hits Wendy.

“Oh!  Christ!  Where are my manners!?  Uh, would you like some, unnie?  Although, I don’t have another spoon…” Wendy throws out the words rather mindlessly, as she frantically searches the contents of her bag, hoping a spoon would magically appear inside.

The weight that bears on her other hand stops Wendy.  She turns to look, almost giving herself a whiplash by the abruptness of her action.

“It’s okay.”  Irene says.  She says it as she scoops ice cream from the tub, using Wendy's spoon with one hand, while the other rests on Wendy's hand for support.

And then – this, Wendy swears upon her grave – everything happens in slow motion; her lifting the spoon up, her bringing it to her lips, her lips parting to give way to the treat and closing to consume it, her pulling out the spoon, and her smile as she swallows the delicacy.

Irene holds the spoon out towards Wendy.  “Thank you!” she says.

Wendy takes the spoon from Irene's hand, fully aware that she's gaping at the older woman.  Wendy knows she must stop, but how in the bloody hell could she, when her brain just short-circuited and is most probably too fried to function anymore?

Somehow, though, that doesn’t offend Irene.  In fact, she seems even more amused than before, as she moves to part with Wendy.

“Quickly now, your ice cream’s melting,” she teases remarks.

And she leaves Wendy there – alone – to pick up her eyes, jaw, and heart, that she dropped, along with her dignity that Wendy's not sure she could put back.