Koa
We are young supernovas
The silence that follows is stilted and awkward, heavy with things they've left unsaid. It hangs between them like humid air, threatening to crush them with its weight, to snuff out any lingering hope that the flame they've so long held between them could continue to stay alight. He ought to say something, he knows he does, but he's just so fucking tired.
Soh's voice breaks the prolonged silence; Koa blinks and lowers his coffee, gazing down at the Luminary who he used to know so well. She's tired, too, pale skin waxen with exhaustion, silver eyes rimmed by shadows and blood. An instinct to touch her rises in him, to brush his hand across her cheek, press tousled hair behind her ear. But he's lost that right, if he ever had it, and so his hands stay on his cup while he studies her through copper eyes.
"No, my family's okay. They left acrually yesterday." A sad smile creeps into his voice, and he has to swallow back a lump. "It's just me now." Him and a dying city and an empty house and the broken bonds and abandoned promises of a life they'll never live. Koa clears his throat abruptly, turning to blink away the tears that swirl in his eyes. When he looks at Soh again his expression borders on fragile. "What about you, Soh?" he asks her gently, the question an extended hand she's free to take or slap away. "What do you need?"
Soh's voice breaks the prolonged silence; Koa blinks and lowers his coffee, gazing down at the Luminary who he used to know so well. She's tired, too, pale skin waxen with exhaustion, silver eyes rimmed by shadows and blood. An instinct to touch her rises in him, to brush his hand across her cheek, press tousled hair behind her ear. But he's lost that right, if he ever had it, and so his hands stay on his cup while he studies her through copper eyes.
"No, my family's okay. They left acrually yesterday." A sad smile creeps into his voice, and he has to swallow back a lump. "It's just me now." Him and a dying city and an empty house and the broken bonds and abandoned promises of a life they'll never live. Koa clears his throat abruptly, turning to blink away the tears that swirl in his eyes. When he looks at Soh again his expression borders on fragile. "What about you, Soh?" he asks her gently, the question an extended hand she's free to take or slap away. "What do you need?"
and the heat's about to break
