if you try and chase the sun you're never gonna catch it
The phrase vending machine for affection lands with a dull, resonant thud somewhere deep beneath Vesper’s ribs; too accurate, too familiar, too easily mapped onto every imagined version of how things might have gone with Colt if he’d stayed, if he’d tried, if he’d let her see even half of what he felt and could do. The idea that knowing what someone wants turns into owing it to them is a fear he’s never named out loud, but hearing Jack put it plainly feels like someone cutting a lock off a door he hadn’t wanted opened.
As Jack mentions the truth ring, whatever composure Vesper had left collapses in a startled, visceral jolt. His head jerks toward Jack so fast it almost snaps. His eyes go wide—properly, comically wide—and for a rare second he looks young in a way that isn’t charming or aloof or devil-may-care, but horrified. "A truth ring?" he repeats, voice cracking just enough that he clears his throat immediately after, like he can smooth the edge back into place. "Fuck."
He drags a hand down his face, then tips his head back against the bulkhead with a little thunk, staring up at the ceiling like the wooden slats might offer him divine guidance. "You never catch a fucking break, huh?" It’s rhetorical, but the way he asks it—half incredulous, half commiserating, half absolutely convinced the answer is no—makes it sound like a genuine plea for the universe to reconsider its treatment of the Barclay bloodline, if not for their sakes, but for Nova and Caly at the very least.
As Jack mentions the truth ring, whatever composure Vesper had left collapses in a startled, visceral jolt. His head jerks toward Jack so fast it almost snaps. His eyes go wide—properly, comically wide—and for a rare second he looks young in a way that isn’t charming or aloof or devil-may-care, but horrified. "A truth ring?" he repeats, voice cracking just enough that he clears his throat immediately after, like he can smooth the edge back into place. "Fuck."
He drags a hand down his face, then tips his head back against the bulkhead with a little thunk, staring up at the ceiling like the wooden slats might offer him divine guidance. "You never catch a fucking break, huh?" It’s rhetorical, but the way he asks it—half incredulous, half commiserating, half absolutely convinced the answer is no—makes it sound like a genuine plea for the universe to reconsider its treatment of the Barclay bloodline, if not for their sakes, but for Nova and Caly at the very least.
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.
