a cold shoulder at closin' time
The moment she drops from the branch, he follows her movements with the unblinking precision of a predator bracing for something he can’t quite predict. Without telepathy, her intent is a blur of motion; pack thudding to the ground, boots catching bark, breath breaking fast through the leaves. He shifts his weight, head lowering, ears angling forward as she stumbles into her landing and then bolts toward him. There’s no time to parse the shape of it. No distance to retreat into. The jaguar’s instincts spike in a fierce, involuntary rush that he quickly realizes he needs to dampen, so he shifts.
The change coils through him in a silent snap of starlight, constellation-marked fur tightening into pale skin as he rises onto two feet. He stands at his full height just as she collides with him. The force of it makes his breath catch, not from pain but from the sheer momentum of her throwing herself into the space he’s barely reoccupied. Her fist connects squarely with his shoulder a heartbeat later. Even with her restraint, it lands solidly enough to jolt through muscle. Not that he flinches, but he doesn't return the embrace either.
Instead, he just looks at her.
Stiff, controlled, blue eyes shuttered and distant in a way that feels at odds with the wild rush of the Glade around them. Her arms around him, her breath brushing his collarbone, and he gives her nothing but a raised brow and a cool, deliberate quiet. "You were lookin’ for me," he says, voice low, smooth, and scraped through with cool skepticism. "In the Glade?"
He lets the question hang only a moment, just enough to make clear he isn’t stepping into her momentum, no matter how tightly she’s wrapped herself around him. Then he draws in a slow breath; not sharp, not dramatic, just a deliberate settling of air as if bracing against the next unavoidable thing. His gaze hardens a shade, blue sharpening like a blade angled to catch light. "I saw you at the festival."
It isn't said as a casual observation nor a neutral statement. The way he says it drops all ambiguity, every vowel weighted and unmistakably pointed toward the image burned behind his eyes; her mouth on Thalassa’s, hands in places he has no fucking interest in remembering, the heat of it sparking through him in ways he hasn’t managed to shake.
The change coils through him in a silent snap of starlight, constellation-marked fur tightening into pale skin as he rises onto two feet. He stands at his full height just as she collides with him. The force of it makes his breath catch, not from pain but from the sheer momentum of her throwing herself into the space he’s barely reoccupied. Her fist connects squarely with his shoulder a heartbeat later. Even with her restraint, it lands solidly enough to jolt through muscle. Not that he flinches, but he doesn't return the embrace either.
Instead, he just looks at her.
Stiff, controlled, blue eyes shuttered and distant in a way that feels at odds with the wild rush of the Glade around them. Her arms around him, her breath brushing his collarbone, and he gives her nothing but a raised brow and a cool, deliberate quiet. "You were lookin’ for me," he says, voice low, smooth, and scraped through with cool skepticism. "In the Glade?"
He lets the question hang only a moment, just enough to make clear he isn’t stepping into her momentum, no matter how tightly she’s wrapped herself around him. Then he draws in a slow breath; not sharp, not dramatic, just a deliberate settling of air as if bracing against the next unavoidable thing. His gaze hardens a shade, blue sharpening like a blade angled to catch light. "I saw you at the festival."
It isn't said as a casual observation nor a neutral statement. The way he says it drops all ambiguity, every vowel weighted and unmistakably pointed toward the image burned behind his eyes; her mouth on Thalassa’s, hands in places he has no fucking interest in remembering, the heat of it sparking through him in ways he hasn’t managed to shake.
you were beggin' me to stay 'til the sun rose
☆ 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.
