doves and ravens fly the same
Vesper doesn’t move while she speaks, doesn’t shift so much as a breath when her hands fall away like she’s the one being dismissed. His shoulders lower only when she tells him he’s done right by her—words shaped with barbs she’s trying not to use, and truth she isn’t used to offering. They settle over him not like balm but like snowfall on bruised skin, and he lets the weight of it seep in.
She’s thinking he looks too put together. That her noise is louder than anything he’s ever said aloud. And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been. But she doesn’t see it—what it costs him to look like this, and the whys of it all. How much he has to hold in check to avoid cracking under the pressure of her heart breaking against his ribcage.
He hears every piece she won’t say: the fear that she cares more, the certainty that she matters less. That she’s just a stretch of road on his way to something bigger. He doesn’t argue. Not out loud. But if she could see the map inside his head—the one he’s rewritten again and again to find his way back to her—she might understand just how many turns he’s taken on purpose.
And still, she’s cutting through the tether like it’s mercy. Like his silence is permission to be discarded. So, against arguably better judgement, he doesn’t let her finish folding inward. Doesn’t let the distance widen. One hand lifts—not sudden, just inevitable—and he reaches for hers, where they’ve begun to twist together in front of her like they’re trying to hold her upright. His fingers brush gently between them, coaxing them apart with all the slow assurance of someone who’s always known how to open gates.
Then, softly: “All I want right now is to spend some time with you.” His words are plain. Careful. No dressing, no conditions. Just what they are, because he knows her aptitude for twisting things around in her mind when the night stretches long, so better he lay it out clear. “Don’t need it to be more. Don’t want it to be less.”
And then, that same crooked edge she knows too well sneaks into his mouth—more ghost of a grin than full expression, but there’s something wolfish in it, a flicker of mischief underneath the reverence. “I’m a good deal more selfish than you’re givin’ me credit for. You just forgot how damn great it is bein’ in your company.”
He lets the space between them stay small. Lets her decide whether to close it. But his thumb drifts across her knuckle as if she already has.
She’s thinking he looks too put together. That her noise is louder than anything he’s ever said aloud. And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been. But she doesn’t see it—what it costs him to look like this, and the whys of it all. How much he has to hold in check to avoid cracking under the pressure of her heart breaking against his ribcage.
He hears every piece she won’t say: the fear that she cares more, the certainty that she matters less. That she’s just a stretch of road on his way to something bigger. He doesn’t argue. Not out loud. But if she could see the map inside his head—the one he’s rewritten again and again to find his way back to her—she might understand just how many turns he’s taken on purpose.
And still, she’s cutting through the tether like it’s mercy. Like his silence is permission to be discarded. So, against arguably better judgement, he doesn’t let her finish folding inward. Doesn’t let the distance widen. One hand lifts—not sudden, just inevitable—and he reaches for hers, where they’ve begun to twist together in front of her like they’re trying to hold her upright. His fingers brush gently between them, coaxing them apart with all the slow assurance of someone who’s always known how to open gates.
Then, softly: “All I want right now is to spend some time with you.” His words are plain. Careful. No dressing, no conditions. Just what they are, because he knows her aptitude for twisting things around in her mind when the night stretches long, so better he lay it out clear. “Don’t need it to be more. Don’t want it to be less.”
And then, that same crooked edge she knows too well sneaks into his mouth—more ghost of a grin than full expression, but there’s something wolfish in it, a flicker of mischief underneath the reverence. “I’m a good deal more selfish than you’re givin’ me credit for. You just forgot how damn great it is bein’ in your company.”
He lets the space between them stay small. Lets her decide whether to close it. But his thumb drifts across her knuckle as if she already has.
VESPER
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
