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."
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
☆ 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.
