if you try and chase the sun you're never gonna catch it
The brush of Jack’s mind against his shields lands like a strike rather than a question, not because the Captain pushes hard but because Vesper is already paper-thin, cracked down the centre, every thought thrumming too close to the surface. The contact skitters along those fractures, sharp enough to make him flinch as though something physical had touched the back of his neck.
He ignores the knock entirely, even as the sound folds into the cramped dark of the room without comment, his breath tightening as he stares at the half-packed bag like it might offer him direction. It doesn’t. Nothing does. The echo of Colt’s thoughts still sits in him like a bruise blooming outward.
There’s a long, heavy pause—almost a held breath—before his shadows stir at the edges of the floorboards. They curl toward the door in a slow, measured creep, slipping through the seam with a quiet metallic whisper as they slide the latch free. The door eases open, enough for the lanternlight from the corridor to cut a thin line across the cot, catching on the constellation freckles scattered along his cheekbones.
"Just packin’ my shit," he says, the words rolling out low and steady, with none of the usual disinterest he weaponizes so easily. It sounds too final, too brittle beneath the smoothness, but he doesn’t try to fix it. "Ain’t comin' back with you."
He ignores the knock entirely, even as the sound folds into the cramped dark of the room without comment, his breath tightening as he stares at the half-packed bag like it might offer him direction. It doesn’t. Nothing does. The echo of Colt’s thoughts still sits in him like a bruise blooming outward.
There’s a long, heavy pause—almost a held breath—before his shadows stir at the edges of the floorboards. They curl toward the door in a slow, measured creep, slipping through the seam with a quiet metallic whisper as they slide the latch free. The door eases open, enough for the lanternlight from the corridor to cut a thin line across the cot, catching on the constellation freckles scattered along his cheekbones.
"Just packin’ my shit," he says, the words rolling out low and steady, with none of the usual disinterest he weaponizes so easily. It sounds too final, too brittle beneath the smoothness, but he doesn’t try to fix it. "Ain’t comin' back with you."
And now it's turning out to be the worst of my bad habits
☆ 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.
