// and it's alright, that's the way i like it —
Shouldn’t they all be better than this? Maybe. Are they? Not at all. After all, half of his job was to help people feel something when they too were in the pits of their despair. That didn’t change whether or not he was also a mess. So there’s little pity in him when it comes to the shit that’s happened to her and how she’s handling it, choosing instead to focus on a touch of his anger and hurt, letting his words fall upon her to make her think because it sounds like she isn’t fucking doing that at all.
She says no, swipes away the tears on her face, huffs out that her life isn’t ruined – her kitchen would suggest otherwise at the moment, and the dogs that have been hiding so much that they hadn’t even greeted him upon his approach, like Colt was this hurricane and they couldn’t reach the eye of it.
It feels like he has, though, with the way she seems to deflate – to explain - and it has Thorn’s gaze landing on her still with that hardened edge. “Fuck, Colt. You’re makin’ him matter by makin’ everything different.” He gestures to the kitchen. “You’re gonna cut out your familiarity because he’s in those spots but you’re gonna change it and then shit’s gonna look different than it did and when you remember why you did it, you’re still fuckin’ thinkin’ about him.” He rubs at his face, unsure why it’s bothering him so much but it is. “’Course it fuckin’ hurts.” He says, like it was the plainest thing she’d said all day.
Her demand takes him off guard though, hand falling from his face as his seafoam gaze focuses on her with confusion pinching his brows. “I don’t wanna punch you.” He snaps, but he doesn’t deny being angry. That much is an obvious given the storm cloud he’d become as he approached her door and the damage.
“But fine.” He says after a moment, deciding he wasn’t necessarily going to fight hand to hand. Maybe it’s cheating, but the courtesan’s hair suddenly begins to whip around like he’s brought his own little tornado into her kitchen. A touch of telekinesis has a piece of board from her kitchen island sailing toward her. “You owe me a lot’ve fuckin’ drinks, I hope y’know that.”
1/4
She says no, swipes away the tears on her face, huffs out that her life isn’t ruined – her kitchen would suggest otherwise at the moment, and the dogs that have been hiding so much that they hadn’t even greeted him upon his approach, like Colt was this hurricane and they couldn’t reach the eye of it.
It feels like he has, though, with the way she seems to deflate – to explain - and it has Thorn’s gaze landing on her still with that hardened edge. “Fuck, Colt. You’re makin’ him matter by makin’ everything different.” He gestures to the kitchen. “You’re gonna cut out your familiarity because he’s in those spots but you’re gonna change it and then shit’s gonna look different than it did and when you remember why you did it, you’re still fuckin’ thinkin’ about him.” He rubs at his face, unsure why it’s bothering him so much but it is. “’Course it fuckin’ hurts.” He says, like it was the plainest thing she’d said all day.
Her demand takes him off guard though, hand falling from his face as his seafoam gaze focuses on her with confusion pinching his brows. “I don’t wanna punch you.” He snaps, but he doesn’t deny being angry. That much is an obvious given the storm cloud he’d become as he approached her door and the damage.
“But fine.” He says after a moment, deciding he wasn’t necessarily going to fight hand to hand. Maybe it’s cheating, but the courtesan’s hair suddenly begins to whip around like he’s brought his own little tornado into her kitchen. A touch of telekinesis has a piece of board from her kitchen island sailing toward her. “You owe me a lot’ve fuckin’ drinks, I hope y’know that.”
1/4
thorn
— getting crucified,
every time you cross my mind //
every time you cross my mind //
