// Start a tiny riot //
She seems to draw runes of slumber into his skin—archaic symbols lost to time that require him to rest, prompt him to relax, bewitch him into the false notion that holding her like this is harmless,as promised. He mistakes the heat settling against him as hers, as the season’s, as anything other than his own affection deepening into something too risky to name, too dangerous to focus on in case it fully takes shape.
Through the haze of increasing sleep, he feels her stir closer to him. He pulls her tighter too without thinking—automatic and instinctive, like adjusting a blanket in his sleep, chasing comfort without ever waking. His hand sweeps from her calf to hold her thigh snug, his other arm dropping to brace along the dip of her back, fingers resting along the edge of her hip, where his reach runs out. His mind is foggy with the weight of her and the glue-thick drag of exhaustion, drifting deeper with every second, but some part of him becomes more awake. Little Kaisel starts to make a subtle, unintentional appearance beneath the crook of her leg pressing into him.
Like a story before bed, her words illustrate a lovely scene that he dreams up behind low-lidded eyes. He can see her, radiant in the afternoon light, both of them blobs in some hammock that sways above the sky, their slow-breathing parting the clouds as they laze away a day without monsters. "Mmm—jusss like...thissss," he slurs, starting to drift mid-sentence, mid-thought. There’s a brief twitch of wakefulness. He rouses for a second, his hand flexing faintly along her thigh. "Dance in the stars," he agrees dreamily. "Wit'...walesss... an' a snack cart. Like… hot dogs in space. An’ you gotta wear... floaty pants. That levitate."
A deep inhale. His head tilts, his cheek pressing into her hair. "They smell like... mm. Like pancakes. You do. You smell like pancakes." Sleep starts to fully drag him under, arms still wrapped around her like they were always meant to be there, but the strength in them, that pressure of need, eases with every breath.
Through the haze of increasing sleep, he feels her stir closer to him. He pulls her tighter too without thinking—automatic and instinctive, like adjusting a blanket in his sleep, chasing comfort without ever waking. His hand sweeps from her calf to hold her thigh snug, his other arm dropping to brace along the dip of her back, fingers resting along the edge of her hip, where his reach runs out. His mind is foggy with the weight of her and the glue-thick drag of exhaustion, drifting deeper with every second, but some part of him becomes more awake. Little Kaisel starts to make a subtle, unintentional appearance beneath the crook of her leg pressing into him.
Like a story before bed, her words illustrate a lovely scene that he dreams up behind low-lidded eyes. He can see her, radiant in the afternoon light, both of them blobs in some hammock that sways above the sky, their slow-breathing parting the clouds as they laze away a day without monsters. "Mmm—jusss like...thissss," he slurs, starting to drift mid-sentence, mid-thought. There’s a brief twitch of wakefulness. He rouses for a second, his hand flexing faintly along her thigh. "Dance in the stars," he agrees dreamily. "Wit'...walesss... an' a snack cart. Like… hot dogs in space. An’ you gotta wear... floaty pants. That levitate."
A deep inhale. His head tilts, his cheek pressing into her hair. "They smell like... mm. Like pancakes. You do. You smell like pancakes." Sleep starts to fully drag him under, arms still wrapped around her like they were always meant to be there, but the strength in them, that pressure of need, eases with every breath.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
