Light Up, Light Up

KALT what if we rewrite the stars so you were made to be mine    A small, downturned smirk pressed onto his lips, as her memories were shared with him, and he lifted a brow, opening his eyes to glance at her for a moment out of the corner of his eye to where she rested her head against him. He released a slow breath through his nose, turning his gaze to the sketchbook, which he suddenly flipped closed with one finger.    “Nosy,” he mockingly scolded. “Not bored,” he said, “just...preoccupied.”    It was a lazy excuse, and he knew it. He also knew that he wasn’t going to put in the effort to come up with anything better. He liked to remind her every so often that great minds tended to have far more in their thoughts than just what they were doing.    “I’ll get back to it eventually.” Sometime that evening, but not at that second. He looked down to where Theea and Percy played, Kysma grazing with a lazy swish of her tail. The mare tended to be moody, and today was one of her lazy days, so Kalt just let her be instead of pushing for a ride.    His fingers continued at the strings of the guitar, strumming through the melody with mostly muscle memory as a guide, his own consciousness dipping in and out of the music, the art, their daughter’s laughter, and the feeling of Ashetta leaning against him.    “Art tells a story,” he said softly, looking out towards the setting sun. “Usually it’s a random - or not so random - piece in the middle. Sometimes it’s a beginning, and rarely it’s an end. I’m sketching a beginning, and no one can understand a start until it’s finished.”    He cast a grin towards her, almost waiting for her to call him out on bullshit. It was a talent he had developed from spending time with bluebloods, waxing philosophical notions when they had no idea what they were talking about.