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
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?"
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
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
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
