on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
He should expect the reaction, the standoff of the whirling bartender and the lithe courtesan. But Thorn isn’t a fighter, he never has been. He’s a healer. He heals and he helps, and in exchange all he’s ever asked for was an experience, a story. So as Cas whirls toward him, fists up and itching for a fight, Thorn reaches for those fists, to the arms full of tension that he snags, uncaring of the consequences.
He studies Cas’ face in the dark edge of the entry way of the restaurant on the street, finding something there like apprehension. He also can see the way the bartender seems to give in — no, he’s cracking. And Thorn wonders if it’s his glittering hands that have the power to take someone like him down.
But he’s a healer, and he might not be around King’s End that much longer, so he might as well shoot his shot now while he gets the most conversation he’s ever gotten from the bartender, even if it meant he had to corner him in a tight space.
He calls him bright. And it sinks somewhere deep in Thorn’s chest, warm and sweet. But then Cas’ explaining that it’s hard for him to trust that Thorn means well, and the muscles flare in his jaw as he works it for a second, trying to figure out just what he can say to get him to trust him. “Cas.. You can trust me. I—” he’s about to say he’s not going anywhere, but that might be a lie, so he shifts gears rapidly. “I like you. I’ve liked you for awhile. And I guess I just want to get t’know you. I don’t care if you don’t think you’re good. You’re good to me, an’ ya always have been.”
He studies Cas’ face in the dark edge of the entry way of the restaurant on the street, finding something there like apprehension. He also can see the way the bartender seems to give in — no, he’s cracking. And Thorn wonders if it’s his glittering hands that have the power to take someone like him down.
But he’s a healer, and he might not be around King’s End that much longer, so he might as well shoot his shot now while he gets the most conversation he’s ever gotten from the bartender, even if it meant he had to corner him in a tight space.
He calls him bright. And it sinks somewhere deep in Thorn’s chest, warm and sweet. But then Cas’ explaining that it’s hard for him to trust that Thorn means well, and the muscles flare in his jaw as he works it for a second, trying to figure out just what he can say to get him to trust him. “Cas.. You can trust me. I—” he’s about to say he’s not going anywhere, but that might be a lie, so he shifts gears rapidly. “I like you. I’ve liked you for awhile. And I guess I just want to get t’know you. I don’t care if you don’t think you’re good. You’re good to me, an’ ya always have been.”
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
