Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool
He's caught off guard sometimes, by the stunning way a simple glance at her is enough to hang everything up in his chest. His breath hitches as if he's forgotten how to breathe. His pulse quickens into something too scattered to count, humming into something loud behind his ears. His throat runs dry, and his tongue feels suddenly too thick, or maybe that's the drift of his heart as it sails up higher, held aloft by her.
It happens when she turns back, and he doesn't expect it to hit then. Maybe it's spurred on by the ridiculous thoughts that he'd need Mel to deliver something to improve this, or the quick idea of asking her for forever, even if it's not the way he'd like to do it.
No, none of those thoughts hit him until later. It's just, simply, her. Dressed in seawrought light, dappled in saltwater, and wreathed in damp gold, she shifts like a small sun trying to break through this terrible night. She moves through shadow and surf with a practiced ease, perfectly content to thrive against everything that'd contain her. She's incredible.
He inhales suddenly as she rolls across the distance back towards his chest. Her gaze blooms like seaglass in the dawn, brilliant and soft and full of color that floods the spaces nearby in its hue. His free hand grabs hold of the side of her face, fingers slipping beneath her ear and into her soaked curls, thumb sweeping along her jaw. He'd kiss her, and set everything building inside of him into it like a mark made for her, but before he has the chance, she drops the idea that he needs something spicier than her. She shrugs, even.
His jaw can't help but pop open for a moment, a disbelieving chuckle following suit. "I like spicy," he agrees, "but mostly with my food. With my relationships, I like you." Were it said differently, or not brought on by his words and actions, he might have wondered if she's the one in need of some spice, but as it stands, he's adamant that he does not need any outside ingredients.
"I reached for her because I thought she was going to fall into the sea and drown," he says pointedly, 'brows lifting with the punctuation of the matter, and now perhaps he needs to be worried that she thinks six seconds is all he needs. Her question mirrors the one that he had too, which selfishly took a backseat when everything started to unravel in the water. "That's not a bad idea," he murmurs with agreement. "I can still channel," he offers, unsure of her number of summoning coupons left in stock.
It happens when she turns back, and he doesn't expect it to hit then. Maybe it's spurred on by the ridiculous thoughts that he'd need Mel to deliver something to improve this, or the quick idea of asking her for forever, even if it's not the way he'd like to do it.
No, none of those thoughts hit him until later. It's just, simply, her. Dressed in seawrought light, dappled in saltwater, and wreathed in damp gold, she shifts like a small sun trying to break through this terrible night. She moves through shadow and surf with a practiced ease, perfectly content to thrive against everything that'd contain her. She's incredible.
He inhales suddenly as she rolls across the distance back towards his chest. Her gaze blooms like seaglass in the dawn, brilliant and soft and full of color that floods the spaces nearby in its hue. His free hand grabs hold of the side of her face, fingers slipping beneath her ear and into her soaked curls, thumb sweeping along her jaw. He'd kiss her, and set everything building inside of him into it like a mark made for her, but before he has the chance, she drops the idea that he needs something spicier than her. She shrugs, even.
His jaw can't help but pop open for a moment, a disbelieving chuckle following suit. "I like spicy," he agrees, "but mostly with my food. With my relationships, I like you." Were it said differently, or not brought on by his words and actions, he might have wondered if she's the one in need of some spice, but as it stands, he's adamant that he does not need any outside ingredients.
"I reached for her because I thought she was going to fall into the sea and drown," he says pointedly, 'brows lifting with the punctuation of the matter, and now perhaps he needs to be worried that she thinks six seconds is all he needs. Her question mirrors the one that he had too, which selfishly took a backseat when everything started to unravel in the water. "That's not a bad idea," he murmurs with agreement. "I can still channel," he offers, unsure of her number of summoning coupons left in stock.
Kaisel
All about the bounce in my step
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
