VESPER
Vesper’s mental walls shimmer, thin as breath. It’s not weakness exactly, just the strain of letting someone see more than the polished surface he usually keeps in place. Vulnerability isn’t a trick he’s practised much—neither of them are built for it—but he rolls his shoulders anyway, as if bracing against the cold or the weight of honesty itself. If you’re already tearing the bandage off, might as well rip the whole thing clean.
He hums low at Jack’s metaphor, the sound rough in his throat, nodding once. "Yeah," he mutters, voice low. "That’s about it." The sigh that follows isn’t heavy, just worn, and he shakes his head like he might dislodge the ache behind it. "Can’t figure a way to bring any of it up without outtin’ myself," he admits. "But the longer it goes, the worse it gets. Every time things are good—real good—it’s like I pay double for it after." It isn’t just hearing her, it’s feeling her, the way every thought hits like static. Like the air between them fills with the echo of what she’s not saying: that he’s too young, too calm, too composed to be real; that he’s hiding something, or already halfway out the door. Each flicker of doubt in her mind catches like a spark on dry tinder, and by the time he’s walking away from her, his own thoughts are a mess of burned edges. It’s not malicious—she doesn’t even know she’s doing it—but it’s like being punished for every moment that almost feels right.
He’s quiet for a moment, the hold filled with the slow groan of the ship and the soft slap of waves against her hull. When he finally looks back at Jack, it’s with that same sharp focus he uses when reading a storm. "Does it make it easier," he asks quietly, "when they know what you can do?"
He hums low at Jack’s metaphor, the sound rough in his throat, nodding once. "Yeah," he mutters, voice low. "That’s about it." The sigh that follows isn’t heavy, just worn, and he shakes his head like he might dislodge the ache behind it. "Can’t figure a way to bring any of it up without outtin’ myself," he admits. "But the longer it goes, the worse it gets. Every time things are good—real good—it’s like I pay double for it after." It isn’t just hearing her, it’s feeling her, the way every thought hits like static. Like the air between them fills with the echo of what she’s not saying: that he’s too young, too calm, too composed to be real; that he’s hiding something, or already halfway out the door. Each flicker of doubt in her mind catches like a spark on dry tinder, and by the time he’s walking away from her, his own thoughts are a mess of burned edges. It’s not malicious—she doesn’t even know she’s doing it—but it’s like being punished for every moment that almost feels right.
He’s quiet for a moment, the hold filled with the slow groan of the ship and the soft slap of waves against her hull. When he finally looks back at Jack, it’s with that same sharp focus he uses when reading a storm. "Does it make it easier," he asks quietly, "when they know what you can do?"
And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?
☆ 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.
