I need your hand but I don't want to burn it
The weight of her thoughts reaches him like weather arriving all at once, not the warning pressure of clouds gathering at a distance but the full collapse of them overhead. Grief comes down hard enough to drown everything beneath it, sluicing through old memories and the raw foundations of what she’d lost until Vesper can feel the shape of the ranch as clearly as if he’d stood among its ruins himself. His jaw feathers beneath the downpour, teeth pressing together while each fresh realization finds somewhere new to land: how much the pegasus had meant, how thoroughly she’d mistaken the silence around it, how many days she’d spent cutting his absence into explanations sharp enough to survive.
When she sinks into the grass, he turns fully at last.
For a moment, Vesper only regards her from where he stands, uncertainty holding him where anger had failed. Part of him remains pointed toward camp, toward the clean escape of tents and other voices and the safety of having no room left for this conversation, but leaving her folded beneath the force of what he can feel would be crueller than walking away from her in the Grounds had ever been. He’d managed that once by turning care into a blade and convincing himself the wound would heal cleaner for it. Standing here now, with the damage still moving through her like thunder, there’s no pretending it worked.
His shoulders seem to tighten and sag at once, caught between the instinct to brace and the exhaustion of holding himself rigid for so long. He bites at the inside of his cheek until the sting gives him something smaller to manage. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath as a short breath slips between his teeth, and with it comes the quiet finality of a decision he’s spent too long refusing to make. Reaching into his coat, Vesper draws out a sprig of peppermint bark, the leaves dulled silver beneath the moon, and closes the distance between them. His long legs fold as he lowers himself into the grass nearby, leaving enough space that the choice to narrow it won’t belong to him.
The sprig turns between his fingers, stem rolling over knuckles that need the work more than he needs the peppermint. He watches it instead of her, his expression settling into something resigned as the words arrange themselves into the least damaging order he can find. "There’s somethin' I gotta tell you." His eyes cut cautiously toward her, taking in only as much as he can bear before returning to the leaves. His brows lift faintly, not with humour but with the troubled consideration of someone testing the edge of a truth he already knows will draw blood. "You won’t like it. Might hate me more for it, but..." Vesper exhales, shaking his head as the sprig makes another slow circuit through his fingers. "It’s the only way you’ll understand."
When she sinks into the grass, he turns fully at last.
For a moment, Vesper only regards her from where he stands, uncertainty holding him where anger had failed. Part of him remains pointed toward camp, toward the clean escape of tents and other voices and the safety of having no room left for this conversation, but leaving her folded beneath the force of what he can feel would be crueller than walking away from her in the Grounds had ever been. He’d managed that once by turning care into a blade and convincing himself the wound would heal cleaner for it. Standing here now, with the damage still moving through her like thunder, there’s no pretending it worked.
His shoulders seem to tighten and sag at once, caught between the instinct to brace and the exhaustion of holding himself rigid for so long. He bites at the inside of his cheek until the sting gives him something smaller to manage. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath as a short breath slips between his teeth, and with it comes the quiet finality of a decision he’s spent too long refusing to make. Reaching into his coat, Vesper draws out a sprig of peppermint bark, the leaves dulled silver beneath the moon, and closes the distance between them. His long legs fold as he lowers himself into the grass nearby, leaving enough space that the choice to narrow it won’t belong to him.
The sprig turns between his fingers, stem rolling over knuckles that need the work more than he needs the peppermint. He watches it instead of her, his expression settling into something resigned as the words arrange themselves into the least damaging order he can find. "There’s somethin' I gotta tell you." His eyes cut cautiously toward her, taking in only as much as he can bear before returning to the leaves. His brows lift faintly, not with humour but with the troubled consideration of someone testing the edge of a truth he already knows will draw blood. "You won’t like it. Might hate me more for it, but..." Vesper exhales, shaking his head as the sprig makes another slow circuit through his fingers. "It’s the only way you’ll understand."
No I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it
☆ 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.
