Theea
cause every night i lie in bed
the brightest colors fill my head
the brightest colors fill my head
He doesn’t answer, not at first—but it doesn’t feel like he’s shutting me out. He looks around the festival like he’s guarding top-secret information, sensitive to ears not meant to hear it. And maybe to him, it is.
He sets Aria on the ground and lets her toddle off on big paws and long claws. I smile fondly at her—resilient and sweet—lanternlight softening her fur until she slips beneath the row of trees and disappears into their shade.
Then he takes my cup. I tilt my head with a quirked brow; he tips it toward me… and a bottle. My confusion turns to a smile, bright and easy, and I follow him, meandering to a red-berried rowan where the light freckles the bench like sun through leaves. He sits on one end; I resist the urge to plop against him. Instead I sit close—off-center—my knee brushing his leg as I fold cross-legged, facing him.
I take my drink back, tipping it to him like a quiet thank-you, and have a long sip. But it's his words I'm drinking in, spreading through me with more tingling warmth than any alcohol could.
Green. Dark, forest green. Or rich, dark red.
Sunrise, at the breaking of a new day.
And raw onions.
I grin at the face he makes—such a free expression from such a stoic man—and drink again before resting the mug between my legs, elbows on my knees. His eyes are on mine—gods, why is eye contact with him so easy? Not just easy; I seek it out, a moth to a flame.
He returns the questions, and I purse my lips.
“Yellow. Or gold. Like sunflowers. Or the sun half-hidden behind a horizon. Sunbeams through a storm. Or… I love dusky, dusty blue. The kind the sky turns just after the sun has set, before the dark has settled.” Rambling. Again. My cheeks are definitely flushed now—mercifully, the booze can take the blame with how loose my limbs feel. “And I hate olives. All kinds. Doesn’t matter—they’re yuck.” My nose crinkles.
And time… my voice goes earnest before I can rein it in. “My favorite time is just before dawn. The real twilight of the world, when even the night owls have gone to bed and the early birds haven’t risen. It’s like time holds its breath—stars clinging to the sky, the sun still drowsy, everything that soft shade of blue and yellow.”
I bite my lip and look down at my drink like I’ve said too much. I always do when I get going. Charming, people call it—until I talk too fast or share too much. My thumb traces the rim; a rueful little smile tugs without me looking up.
“Sorry. Sometimes I can’t shut up.” I wince and shrug one shoulder, finally glancing back to him. “You already knew that, though.”
He sets Aria on the ground and lets her toddle off on big paws and long claws. I smile fondly at her—resilient and sweet—lanternlight softening her fur until she slips beneath the row of trees and disappears into their shade.
Then he takes my cup. I tilt my head with a quirked brow; he tips it toward me… and a bottle. My confusion turns to a smile, bright and easy, and I follow him, meandering to a red-berried rowan where the light freckles the bench like sun through leaves. He sits on one end; I resist the urge to plop against him. Instead I sit close—off-center—my knee brushing his leg as I fold cross-legged, facing him.
I take my drink back, tipping it to him like a quiet thank-you, and have a long sip. But it's his words I'm drinking in, spreading through me with more tingling warmth than any alcohol could.
Green. Dark, forest green. Or rich, dark red.
Sunrise, at the breaking of a new day.
And raw onions.
I grin at the face he makes—such a free expression from such a stoic man—and drink again before resting the mug between my legs, elbows on my knees. His eyes are on mine—gods, why is eye contact with him so easy? Not just easy; I seek it out, a moth to a flame.
He returns the questions, and I purse my lips.
“Yellow. Or gold. Like sunflowers. Or the sun half-hidden behind a horizon. Sunbeams through a storm. Or… I love dusky, dusty blue. The kind the sky turns just after the sun has set, before the dark has settled.” Rambling. Again. My cheeks are definitely flushed now—mercifully, the booze can take the blame with how loose my limbs feel. “And I hate olives. All kinds. Doesn’t matter—they’re yuck.” My nose crinkles.
And time… my voice goes earnest before I can rein it in. “My favorite time is just before dawn. The real twilight of the world, when even the night owls have gone to bed and the early birds haven’t risen. It’s like time holds its breath—stars clinging to the sky, the sun still drowsy, everything that soft shade of blue and yellow.”
I bite my lip and look down at my drink like I’ve said too much. I always do when I get going. Charming, people call it—until I talk too fast or share too much. My thumb traces the rim; a rueful little smile tugs without me looking up.
“Sorry. Sometimes I can’t shut up.” I wince and shrug one shoulder, finally glancing back to him. “You already knew that, though.”
a million dreams are keeping me awake
