Theea
takes blood, sweat, and tears to look natural
You're not useless.
His voice is steady, a still lake, the silence of snow, the solid weight of a mountain. I keep my eyes down, taking my lower lip between my teeth. Every word he says sinks deep down, settling down like a stone in silt, sending clouds of uncertainty be carried by the current. Everything he says - they're hard words to live up to, told how wonderful I am by my parents for years, and wondering all the time if I can fill the grand space they carved out for me.
He steps around to my line of sight, stepping closer, and I can't help but look then. Gods, it nearly takes my breath away, that unashamed honesty he's got in those dark eyes. He didn't mean for me to lose, he meant for me to have an advantage—and I feel suddenly guilty for thinking that of him. That's not him.
He steps closer, close enough for me to tilt my head to keep my eyes on him, and he keeps going, not letting my head take his words and set them down somewhere else. He means for me to keep them close, and at the mention of assassinating him, I flicker the ghost of a smile, even as a lump is forming in my throat.
Whatever comes next. His voice drops with that, something that fills only the narrow space between us. He says it all like we're a team, like we're teaching each other, not facing off with each other. And I know as well as anyone that while that can be fun... I do have more pride than I like to admit.
I let silence hang between us a moment, arms folded around my middle, and then I drop my eyes, and I drop my forehead against his chest with a slow and unsteady breath. I nod without moving away. "Yeah," I agree, my voice a little more raw than I'd like it to be. I swallow hard. "I'm sorry. It's hard feeling like I've started from square one. I didn't need to take it out on you - you're my best friend."
I didn't really intend to say it, but when I do I know it's true. I've never really had a best friend before. I'm still learning what real friendship is like, but this feels like it has to be it. The trust, the conversation, the comfortable silence, the private smiles and laughter. That's real.
His voice is steady, a still lake, the silence of snow, the solid weight of a mountain. I keep my eyes down, taking my lower lip between my teeth. Every word he says sinks deep down, settling down like a stone in silt, sending clouds of uncertainty be carried by the current. Everything he says - they're hard words to live up to, told how wonderful I am by my parents for years, and wondering all the time if I can fill the grand space they carved out for me.
He steps around to my line of sight, stepping closer, and I can't help but look then. Gods, it nearly takes my breath away, that unashamed honesty he's got in those dark eyes. He didn't mean for me to lose, he meant for me to have an advantage—and I feel suddenly guilty for thinking that of him. That's not him.
He steps closer, close enough for me to tilt my head to keep my eyes on him, and he keeps going, not letting my head take his words and set them down somewhere else. He means for me to keep them close, and at the mention of assassinating him, I flicker the ghost of a smile, even as a lump is forming in my throat.
Whatever comes next. His voice drops with that, something that fills only the narrow space between us. He says it all like we're a team, like we're teaching each other, not facing off with each other. And I know as well as anyone that while that can be fun... I do have more pride than I like to admit.
I let silence hang between us a moment, arms folded around my middle, and then I drop my eyes, and I drop my forehead against his chest with a slow and unsteady breath. I nod without moving away. "Yeah," I agree, my voice a little more raw than I'd like it to be. I swallow hard. "I'm sorry. It's hard feeling like I've started from square one. I didn't need to take it out on you - you're my best friend."
I didn't really intend to say it, but when I do I know it's true. I've never really had a best friend before. I'm still learning what real friendship is like, but this feels like it has to be it. The trust, the conversation, the comfortable silence, the private smiles and laughter. That's real.
that's how it's done
