COLT
I've been sleeping wide awake
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
It's strange, how easy it is to shift from needing every inch of him pressed against her like a second skin, certain she couldn't exist without another press of his fingers or curl of his breath, to accepting the hollow feeling that follows. He’s still there, close, but she can feel the drift beginning, like water rushing in through a crack now that they've parted. After the way they burned, everything else can only feel cold by comparison.
She doesn't let him go, not completely. Her legs remain tied against him, pressing in quietly whenever he shifts too far. If he means to make it out of here whole, he'll have to wait until she's fallen asleep. If she were braver, she'd slip into the shower, let the sound of the water hide the opening and closing of her front door—but she's never been brave with him. So she remains, selfishly wrapping what's left of the moment around herself like time is just another blanket she can wear, until it too becomes threadbare.
His admission presses in on her chest and her head tips back with it, slow and grateful. Something better than unbothered. Not loud, but honest. Her eyes shut briefly, as though savoring its echo, and she sighs softly to make room for it inside her. "A shame then," she muses, lips twisting a bit, as if this is some shared joke between them now and not an exit wound making a mess of the night. "That you're such a good employee." She has warned him before about being too good, and now he's gone and done it again. She can't blame him though, work matters, she knows. As much as she doesn't like it, she understands it.
She turns to rest her head in the crook of a cushion, gaze lifting to find him. It catches on the terribly attractive way he sprawls in the afterglow of unraveling—every line of him softened for a second, each breath stitching him slowly back together. Sweat gleams along his collarbone, catching firelight until it looks like he’s burnished bronze. His hair’s tossed, pale strands clumping together in chaotic curls, a display of her handiwork that she's deeply satisfied with. He looks ruinous and rebuilt all at once, and the sight of him makes her ache in a way that isn’t entirely physical; something half hunger, half heartbreak.
She considers, for just a moment, not accepting this. Refusing it with every part of her to see if shoving back on truth could alter it, something she's admittedly not well versed in. The world has broken, awful parts to it, and she has always taken them in stride, knowing there's balance. Sunshine and storms each have their place. This though, him leaving, it feels like a storm she should do more than shelter from.
Her teeth catch on her lower lip as she studies him, cradling the blue of his eyes like they might hold an answer she hasn’t learned to ask for yet.
She doesn't let him go, not completely. Her legs remain tied against him, pressing in quietly whenever he shifts too far. If he means to make it out of here whole, he'll have to wait until she's fallen asleep. If she were braver, she'd slip into the shower, let the sound of the water hide the opening and closing of her front door—but she's never been brave with him. So she remains, selfishly wrapping what's left of the moment around herself like time is just another blanket she can wear, until it too becomes threadbare.
His admission presses in on her chest and her head tips back with it, slow and grateful. Something better than unbothered. Not loud, but honest. Her eyes shut briefly, as though savoring its echo, and she sighs softly to make room for it inside her. "A shame then," she muses, lips twisting a bit, as if this is some shared joke between them now and not an exit wound making a mess of the night. "That you're such a good employee." She has warned him before about being too good, and now he's gone and done it again. She can't blame him though, work matters, she knows. As much as she doesn't like it, she understands it.
She turns to rest her head in the crook of a cushion, gaze lifting to find him. It catches on the terribly attractive way he sprawls in the afterglow of unraveling—every line of him softened for a second, each breath stitching him slowly back together. Sweat gleams along his collarbone, catching firelight until it looks like he’s burnished bronze. His hair’s tossed, pale strands clumping together in chaotic curls, a display of her handiwork that she's deeply satisfied with. He looks ruinous and rebuilt all at once, and the sight of him makes her ache in a way that isn’t entirely physical; something half hunger, half heartbreak.
She considers, for just a moment, not accepting this. Refusing it with every part of her to see if shoving back on truth could alter it, something she's admittedly not well versed in. The world has broken, awful parts to it, and she has always taken them in stride, knowing there's balance. Sunshine and storms each have their place. This though, him leaving, it feels like a storm she should do more than shelter from.
Her teeth catch on her lower lip as she studies him, cradling the blue of his eyes like they might hold an answer she hasn’t learned to ask for yet.
I'm tired of running from the conversations
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
