VESPER
There’s something about Colt’s thoughts tonight that feels quieter in their chaos, like smoke curling slow from a candle’s throat; no longer wild with flame, but not yet gone cold either. The sharp edges of them still scratch at his mind, still bleed hurt and fear and want in equal measure, but there’s softness now too, brittle but earnest. And that’s what cuts deepest, what leaves a dull ache pressing into the space behind his sternum, because he shouldn't hear any of it. Not like this. Not without permission.
He knows this isn’t how it’s meant to be, how no one should have to stand bare while he stays wrapped in velvet and secrets. The things Colt reveals by accident are things he shouldn’t have, gifts she never gave. Her doubt in herself, her brokenness, the years she’s spent walking in circles and calling it healing, he catches it all without trying, without asking, and it’s not fair. Not to her, and not to him either. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less when her thoughts tangle toward him only to recoil. When the small warmth of her wanting him is followed by the louder panic of wondering if she’s wrong to want anything at all. When she glances back at him and thinks of how he glimmers in the dark, and he has to pretend it’s just a look, not a confession.
So he smirks instead, offering a crooked shrug that barely hides how tight his jaw’s gone. "Yeah, well. Least now you know they’ll sound the alarm if a big cat comes prowlin’ ‘round the ranch," he murmurs, voice low, teasing, but warm. It’s something easy—not because he feels easy—but because she’s trying, and he wants to meet her there.
When she turns back to the cabinet, struggling with the reach, his shadows stir without prompting, silent as breath, gentle as a hand on her back. They nudge the bottle forward even as his eyes remain fixed on her, drinking in the stretch of her frame, the way the hem of his sweater slips upward and reveals a sliver of skin he aches to touch. He does nothing, though, just watches. Just lets the moment pass like smoke through his ribs.
He lifts a shoulder, eyes still on her but smile softening. "It is what it is," he says with a quiet drawl. "I ain’t one to complain. I'm not sure the girls’ll stick it out too much longer though." The mention of the bar earns a breath of laughter, real, if fleeting. "Jack seemed on board," he says, though there’s a flicker in his mind, a hollow he won’t name. "Not sure he’ll welcome a party, but...if it happens, I’ll make sure you get an invite."
Vesper accepts the drink she offers, their fingers brushing in the transfer, and his gaze tries to catch hers, blue meeting brown, slow and steady, a silent nod of thanks in the space between them. He lifts the glass and sips, letting it settle on his tongue before he hums, lips twitching into a smirk. "Tastes just fine," he says with a grin. "Thanks."
But the words that come next take longer to form. They settle in his throat like stones, heavy and half-formed. He sets the glass down on the island, fingers lingering around its base, and clears his throat softly before finally speaking. "Jack’s sendin’ me up north," he says at last, voice quieter now. "Since he’s left Torchline, he needs to rebuild the shit he had there. Reestablish himself in the Grey Road, which means needin' eyes in different places." His gaze lifts again from her eyes down to her mouth and back again, as if he might read her future in the way her lips part or press shut. As if he might feel the shift before she says a word. "I'll be there for...a while."
He doesn’t know what he expects to find in her mind as he says it. Relief? Regret? That restless grief that tastes like goodbye even when it isn’t spoken. Whatever it is, he braces for it. Tries not to hope for too much or flinch from too little.
He knows this isn’t how it’s meant to be, how no one should have to stand bare while he stays wrapped in velvet and secrets. The things Colt reveals by accident are things he shouldn’t have, gifts she never gave. Her doubt in herself, her brokenness, the years she’s spent walking in circles and calling it healing, he catches it all without trying, without asking, and it’s not fair. Not to her, and not to him either. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less when her thoughts tangle toward him only to recoil. When the small warmth of her wanting him is followed by the louder panic of wondering if she’s wrong to want anything at all. When she glances back at him and thinks of how he glimmers in the dark, and he has to pretend it’s just a look, not a confession.
So he smirks instead, offering a crooked shrug that barely hides how tight his jaw’s gone. "Yeah, well. Least now you know they’ll sound the alarm if a big cat comes prowlin’ ‘round the ranch," he murmurs, voice low, teasing, but warm. It’s something easy—not because he feels easy—but because she’s trying, and he wants to meet her there.
When she turns back to the cabinet, struggling with the reach, his shadows stir without prompting, silent as breath, gentle as a hand on her back. They nudge the bottle forward even as his eyes remain fixed on her, drinking in the stretch of her frame, the way the hem of his sweater slips upward and reveals a sliver of skin he aches to touch. He does nothing, though, just watches. Just lets the moment pass like smoke through his ribs.
He lifts a shoulder, eyes still on her but smile softening. "It is what it is," he says with a quiet drawl. "I ain’t one to complain. I'm not sure the girls’ll stick it out too much longer though." The mention of the bar earns a breath of laughter, real, if fleeting. "Jack seemed on board," he says, though there’s a flicker in his mind, a hollow he won’t name. "Not sure he’ll welcome a party, but...if it happens, I’ll make sure you get an invite."
Vesper accepts the drink she offers, their fingers brushing in the transfer, and his gaze tries to catch hers, blue meeting brown, slow and steady, a silent nod of thanks in the space between them. He lifts the glass and sips, letting it settle on his tongue before he hums, lips twitching into a smirk. "Tastes just fine," he says with a grin. "Thanks."
But the words that come next take longer to form. They settle in his throat like stones, heavy and half-formed. He sets the glass down on the island, fingers lingering around its base, and clears his throat softly before finally speaking. "Jack’s sendin’ me up north," he says at last, voice quieter now. "Since he’s left Torchline, he needs to rebuild the shit he had there. Reestablish himself in the Grey Road, which means needin' eyes in different places." His gaze lifts again from her eyes down to her mouth and back again, as if he might read her future in the way her lips part or press shut. As if he might feel the shift before she says a word. "I'll be there for...a while."
He doesn’t know what he expects to find in her mind as he says it. Relief? Regret? That restless grief that tastes like goodbye even when it isn’t spoken. Whatever it is, he braces for it. Tries not to hope for too much or flinch from too little.
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.
