I hope you're wearing your welcome out

doves and ravens fly the same

The rain’s still falling in her mind, but it’s softened now, less of a storm and more of a curtain. It suits the moment—this strange hush between things said and unsaid, between choosing to stay and fearing what that means. Vesper doesn’t rush to fill the space. He just stands there, letting her words ripple through him, and through that deeper tide he never shows. It loops. It claws. It replays. Little flashes of doubt curling like smoke off dying coals. It’s all there—undercut with longing so raw he can feel it in the way she chews at her lip, the way she tugs her hair to the side like it might shield her from what she’s just done.

He doesn’t let any of it show. Instead, as she mentions blackout curtains and going to bed early, his smirk tugs lazy and slow at one corner of his mouth. "Hate to be the one to tell you this," he drawls, tilting his head, "the sun’s a star too. Might have to start wearin’ sunglasses just to make sure you don’t catch a glimpse."

Then, as she gestures toward where he’d almost walked away, he glances that way too. Bites gently at the inside of his cheek, considering it with a quiet nod. "Ain’t great at readin’ between the lines," he admits, voice soft but easy, like it’s just something true about him. In a way it genuinely is, if only because the line between giving away his telepathy can be so thin that even he's apt to lose track of it. "Or—I can be. I just never know which parts matter between what I think I hear and what I actually do." His gaze flicks back to her, steadier now. "I only started walkin’ ‘cause it looked like it was what you wanted. Not ‘cause I did."

She’s still fidgeting, her whole body caught in some rhythm of nerves she’s trying not to show. It’s in the tight clutch of her hand at her collarbone, the stubborn set of her jaw. She’s braced for another goodbye, even as she tries to stand her ground. So he takes the hat from his head and drops it gently back onto hers. The brim settles low, half-drowning her eyes, and he gives it a tiny tilt to set it right before reaching down to find one of her restless hands. His fingers wrap hers with deliberate care—slow, grounding, smoothing over the tension like he’s easing a knot from a frayed rope. "First things first," he says, a soft edge of amusement curling back into his tone. "We’re goin’ on a real date. One where you get all dressed up like you said you would."

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

COLT

I'm homesick for somewhere that doesn't exist
For someone I'm still learning to miss
Said goodbye, wasn't ready yet
Only see you in this silhouette

There's the faintest furrow of her brow in response to his astronomy lesson, a disbelieving crease that he’d call her out on something so minor. It cracks her humor open a bit more, because damn if he isn’t right, but fuck if she isn’t tired of being wrong. "Who said anything about you gettin’ to claim all the stars?" she tosses back, more of that smile breaking in around the words.

She doesn’t think the sun suits him. Not because he isn’t warm—he’s always been a bright patch in her day, a burn that leaves a mark in her mind, a heat that winds lower still. Certainly not because he lacks gravity, the magnitude of which has been too strong for her to escape, even when she tried.

It’s just—the sun is too much. Too bright. Too intense. Too apparent. He doesn’t strike her as the kind to call for so much attention, to stand alone and outshine all the rest. She can't imagine him nurturing all the plants, melting away all the chills, or sinking into the sea with such set rhythm.

No, it’s the dark for him. His light is quieter, easy to lose behind cloud cover, never glinting the same way twice. It’s the kind you have to search for—but once you find it, it'll cut through the gloom. His is more distant, but it feels like something you can still reach, still follow. Something you can make wishes on, and rest your head against when the world goes dim.

A surprised tilt slips onto her expression when he admits to a fault. She's laid everything bare for him—more than she meant to, more than she's comfortable with—and it's left her feeling far too exposed. So catching a glimpse of one of the less put together parts of him, it's soothing in its own way. Not the anchor of his hands, not the promise from his lips, but something she can wrap around herself to feel a little less stripped to the bone.

"I guess that's my fault," she mutters, tired. Damn tired of herself some days, so she can hardly blame him for getting a bit fed up and leaving, even now. "Sorry," she says gingerly, but there's a bit more strength to what had just been wavering now that she knows.

She glances up at the hat through her lashes as he sets it down like something final between them, just entirely changed from the one she'd pressed into it first. His hands on hers quiet everything again, but like the hush before something too loud her breath catches against her chest in a brief moment of strain, like she just might bolt on him after all.

She doesn't, though. Its just the loosening of everything wound taut, tugged into the lead of his hand with a trust that overwhelms all the rest. Her fingers curl around his in response, tightening reflexively when she has to brace for what he says next. "What?" she chokes out, then tilts her head back with a laugh. "A date?" she echoes, surprise and delight sprawling into a grin far too wide to hide. "Finally get sick of dirt and jeans?"

I'm homesick for conversations I would avoid
And now I miss the sound of your voice
Now there's nothing but a shadow left
So I'll just keep on chasing shadows of you

doves and ravens fly the same

There’s that spark again, flickering through her smile, through the tilt of her head, through the almost-defensive curve of her humour as she challenges him over the stars. He can feel the way it rises inside her, that subtle ripple of delight catching her off guard—like maybe she didn’t expect him to still be here, much less making her grin.

He doesn’t need her to say what she’s thinking to know she’s doing it again: tracing constellations across him, trying to decide what kind of light he really is. Not the sun, she thinks. Not so bold, not so certain. No, her mind runs somewhere darker, softer. Moonlight, maybe. Starlight. The kind of glow that has to be looked for. The kind of glow you wish on. It lands somewhere warm in his chest, even if he doesn’t show it. Just a small curl of pleasure deep in the dark.

He lifts his hand with mock surrender at her first quip, his expression all solemn mischief. "Only lookin’ out for your wellbeing, darlin’," he drawls. "Would hate for you to burn your retinas tryin’ to forget me."

There’s something quieter in her then. An apology. A glance down. Guilt crawling in like it always does when she thinks she’s ruined something good before it had the chance to bloom. He feels that, too. The tight churn of it. The weary ache of someone who never quite trusts herself not to wreck the things she cares about. But that one—he won’t let land. "Hey." His voice dips, softer now, but firm as ever. "You don’t gotta be sorry. Nothin’ to apologize for." And gods, if she knew. If she had any idea how many people’s thoughts he’s sifted through, how often words come twisted or tangled or not at all. He shrugs, casual as a cloud passing overhead. 

The smile that follows is easy, lopsided, his grip on her hand a quiet tether. She hasn’t pulled away. Not yet, and as she teases him about a date, the surprise bursting into something brighter, he lets the grin spread slow across his face like ink in water. "Tired of dirt an’ jeans?" he repeats with a scoff. "Never."

Then he leans in. It’s not rushed. Not sharp. Just a tilt of his body into hers, one arm still anchoring her hand, the other curling light at her waist. His breath ghosts warm against her ear, his voice slipping lower—like a secret meant just for her. "But I do seem to recall," he murmurs, the words rich with memory, "a certain someone sayin’—" he pauses, teeth grazing the edge of a grin, "that she needed a reason to get dressed up." His fingers skim the back of her knuckles, a feather-light trail. "And that if I didn’t undress her after, she’d consider it a personal failure on both our parts."

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

COLT

I'm homesick for somewhere that doesn't exist
For someone I'm still learning to miss
Said goodbye, wasn't ready yet
Only see you in this silhouette

She in fact did not expect him to still be here, or to be grinning at all his charm all over again. She wouldn't have said half of what she did if that'd even been an idea entertained in her mind, but it felt so inevitable, with him turning and her pushing, that this would be the last. She figured she’d get drunk on her porch until something nearly like sleep tucked her in, then wake to a blanket of dogs and the blood of a new day, resolve building up around the hurt. She might have found a thrown shot glass in the yard two days later, probably aimed at the stars and all their lingering light.

She sure as hell hadn’t expected to pull him back, let alone for him to turn to it. She's still not sure what to do with it, but the only drink she's got in hand now is him, and that's about as far as she'd like to think right now.

He manages to find all the cracks that've spiderwebbed out and sets into them like glue, easing the strain of holding all the edges together into something trying hard to be whole. Each worry gradually smooths under the brush of his thumb, and all the softness of his words cradle against her roughness until she's something you can touch again without fear of picking up a sliver.

So when he leans in and sets his hand against the corner of her waist, she doesn't withdraw. She's still though, the hair on the back of her neck standing on tiptoe at the graze of his exhale, the conspiratorial hum of his words a velvet wrapped blade that drags across her. He had the nerve to believe she didn't miss him?

A smirk sneaks in on her grin, dropping it to something sly with the memory of that conversation. She’s revisited that moment on the beach so many times, her old tease about him recognizing all the slopes of sand rings hollow now—she could find her way back like any backroad home. The hand he doesn't have a hold of presses onto his chest as her voice drawls too sweetly, "When an' where sweetheart?"

I'm homesick for conversations I would avoid
And now I miss the sound of your voice
Now there's nothing but a shadow left
So I'll just keep on chasing shadows of you

doves and ravens fly the same

Vesper doesn't grin so much as he curves at the edges, the kind of smile that flickers like candlelight across a face built for shadow. Her voice is saccharine, but her mind is raw—a sharp-glass ache he can feel curling around the thought of losing him. Not just losing, really. Bracing. Planning. Resigned to a porch and a shot glass and the weight of stars she’d rather not name. He tastes it in her memory like gunmetal on the tongue, not that he lets it show.

Instead, he huffs a soft breath, a low snort of laughter pressed warm and quiet against the place her hand settles at his chest. "How ‘bout after your rodeo," he murmurs, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. His thumb is still skimming slow arcs over her knuckles, grounding them both in the here and now—no weird Family tasks, no gods, no ghosts. Just her hand in his and the kind of promises that start soft and small.

"We’ll head north," he goes on, drawing it out like he’s painting it just for her. "Greatwood’s all colour start of Leafchange. Real pretty. Can do dinner...dancin’..." He leans in a little, close enough to brush a phantom kiss against her temple but never quite touching, letting his voice fill the space instead. "Then I’ll take you up to the observatory. Point out all the stars that ain’t got names yet. Or maybe the ones I reckon oughta be yours."

He lets it hang there, easy and unassuming—but threaded with quiet truth, like the slow tug of gravity pulling her in again.

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

COLT

I'm homesick for somewhere that doesn't exist
For someone I'm still learning to miss
Said goodbye, wasn't ready yet
Only see you in this silhouette

If there's a flicker of disappointment that he doesn't say tonight, she doesn't let it through—couldn’t even if she tried, once he goes on and empties everything out of her like a well-planned bank heist. The vault he manages to rob isn’t full of riches, just an abundance of feelings, with remnants of him clinging to every surface like he means to be caught. Breathless wonder rushes in to fill the space he’s left, a wealth of its own.

She'd expected dinner and little more, a very typical date and the kind she's used to, but nothing about him has been ordinary or mild, so she isn't sure why she had any idea he'd start now. Everything he describes feels like something out of a fairytale, too perfect to belong to her life, and yet he’s offering it like it’s simple, like she could just have it. Her grin softens around the edges, melts into something warmer until it morphs into a full laugh, rich with delight that spills between them.

Her hands lift to cradle both sides of his face, slipping past the gentle trace of his thumb, insistent with the grasp. She tips up and plants a kiss to those damning lips he's got. It’s clumsy in its relief, graceless with unhidden happiness, but it’s steady—sealing a promise into him. More than an alright, more than her standing half-tense with one foot in and one foot out. It's the best guarantee she can offer, that she'll try with all she's got to not build something broken between them.

She lingers at the edge of it before pulling away, searching for her balance against the pull of him, hands slowly trailing off him like she's reluctant to let go. “It's a date, then” she breathes, voice gone soft as butter on a hot biscuit. "Now," she says, managing to straighten up a bit. "Best see to your sister." There's no edge to anything now, just the quiet glow of a star's arrival. "I'll see you soon cowboy." She'll watch him go this time, but the ache of it will be entirely different. If she sinks into the bench on her porch tonight, it'll be to watch all the stars she can until she gets too sleepy to keep her eyes open.

[FIN]

I'm homesick for conversations I would avoid
And now I miss the sound of your voice
Now there's nothing but a shadow left
So I'll just keep on chasing shadows of you