VESPER
The flare of Colt's relief hits first. It floods the jagged quiet of her mind like a lantern finally lit; brief, bright, and almost too fragile to look at directly. Vesper doesn’t flinch from it, though. He’s used to that kind of light. The kind born from fear’s retreat, from holding steady until the worst passes, from bracing for a storm, even if it turns out to just be a squall. But it cracks something all the same, watching her sag like that. The adrenaline she’d been clinging to is gone in a gust, leaving her teetering on exhaustion and raw emotion, swaddled in pain he knows she doesn’t want to name. He doesn’t reach for it, doesn’t poke at the ache curled in her ribs or the ghosts pacing behind her eyes. He lets it pass through him instead, quiet as a tide, carrying the shape of her night in its pull.
Vesper chuckles as she huffs about setting him on fire, slow and warm. "Nova’s got fire magic too," he says as he starts to approach the porch, careful not to startle the dogs again. "I’ve gotten pretty good at dodgin' it."
His gaze drifts, lazy as moonlight, toward the torn edge of her shirt. The cold’s already working its way beneath the thin fabric, and though he’s not fool enough to comment on the view just now, there’s something thoughtful in the tilt of his head. "Could always wear mine if you want," he offers casually, a ghost of suggestion in the curl of his lip.
He doesn’t push that either, just falls into step behind her when she opens the door, the warmth of the house spilling over them like a wave. He kicks the snow off his boots at the threshold before slipping them off, glancing once more toward the dogs as if in silent thanks for not tearing him apart on instinct.
Inside, the heat wraps around him like a second coat, coaxing a low sigh from his chest. He shrugs out of his jacket, careful with the weight of it, and hangs it near the door before unwinding his scarf and raking a hand through his hair, setting pale strands askew in a starburst mess that doesn’t bother him in the slightest.
Colt’s thoughts are still a storm behind her eyes. Faint echoes of doubt. Guilt. A sharp-tongued desire to spare him from the wreckage even though it’s part of who she is now. The awareness of her own mess weighs heavy, like she’s bracing for him to realise it and leave. Easing in with a lazy shrug, Vesper paces just far enough in to glance toward the hearth. " ’Fraid jaguars ain’t got pockets," he says, dry and teasing. "So I couldn’t bring champagne, so you're stuck with whatever didn't get turned into a torch just now."
Vesper chuckles as she huffs about setting him on fire, slow and warm. "Nova’s got fire magic too," he says as he starts to approach the porch, careful not to startle the dogs again. "I’ve gotten pretty good at dodgin' it."
His gaze drifts, lazy as moonlight, toward the torn edge of her shirt. The cold’s already working its way beneath the thin fabric, and though he’s not fool enough to comment on the view just now, there’s something thoughtful in the tilt of his head. "Could always wear mine if you want," he offers casually, a ghost of suggestion in the curl of his lip.
He doesn’t push that either, just falls into step behind her when she opens the door, the warmth of the house spilling over them like a wave. He kicks the snow off his boots at the threshold before slipping them off, glancing once more toward the dogs as if in silent thanks for not tearing him apart on instinct.
Inside, the heat wraps around him like a second coat, coaxing a low sigh from his chest. He shrugs out of his jacket, careful with the weight of it, and hangs it near the door before unwinding his scarf and raking a hand through his hair, setting pale strands askew in a starburst mess that doesn’t bother him in the slightest.
Colt’s thoughts are still a storm behind her eyes. Faint echoes of doubt. Guilt. A sharp-tongued desire to spare him from the wreckage even though it’s part of who she is now. The awareness of her own mess weighs heavy, like she’s bracing for him to realise it and leave. Easing in with a lazy shrug, Vesper paces just far enough in to glance toward the hearth. " ’Fraid jaguars ain’t got pockets," he says, dry and teasing. "So I couldn’t bring champagne, so you're stuck with whatever didn't get turned into a torch just now."
rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?
☆ 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.
