Your heart accelerates at hearing those words again so soon, blinking against the loaded command.

“You always have a choice,” he says, reiterating the claim he made to you. “Choose whichever you like best. You have a range of options. A rainbow, really.”

You jolt at that, looking at him warily, the mention of a rainbow and the way he says it clearly alluding to Mindy’s Rainbeau Service. Your eyes twitch with the urge to roll despite your apprehension, incredulous that this deviant patron of said service is patronizing you for joining—the whole reason you’re here.

You scan the floating selection, your eyes flitting over the varied assortment of colors and sizes. The paperclips bob gently in the water, their metal clips glinting in the low light. There must be at least twenty different ones, a veritable rainbow of options just as he said. You hesitate, not wanting to actually make a choice. Your hands squeeze around the balls within them impulsively, and you register hints of a smirk or something akin to it on Frost’s pretty mouth at their obvious inability to actually pick anything, and you can’t exactly tell him your hands are full.

Reluctantly, you nudge one with your knuckles at random, remembering what happened the last time you refused to “pick” something. The paperclip you brushed drifts lazily across the surface of the water, retreating back into the chaotic flotilla.

He reaches out and plucks a paperclip from the water, holding it up between long, graceful fingers. The simple action seems charged, intimate even, and goosebumps erupt over your skin.

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