06-26-2018, 12:14 AM
AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT
The pounding of his heartbeat, aligning with hers for a split second before it skipped a beat and he forgot how to breathe, staring back at her rigidly as she looked at him. As honey melted into his bloodstream and he felt that golden warmth sink into his skin and everything hit him at once. The rush of her emotions sweeping through him, even more clearly than he picked out of her aura -- panic and fear and shock and pain and worthless worthless worthless and an exhaustion so heavy it weighed on his bones; the crackling wire of tension between them as something slotted into place; her eyes so close, looking right at him, straight through him. It was her, he realized, in that moment. Honey and cinnamon and vanilla, golden radiance, the echo of something warm filtering through the mist -- he remembered it now, now that he could feel her so vibrantly, remembered her presence acutely in that clearing, cutting strange through the darkness. He remembered her.
Another beat before he exhaled again, releasing the breath he'd been holding, and the panic and dread hit a beat later. Fuck -- he had no idea what he had just done but he'd done something and fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't supposed to touch her, let alone get any where near her fucking thoughts, and now he'd gone and-- and-- and done something, but maybe he should have just left it alone. Maybe he should have let Suite calm her down. Fucking hell, he knew how this went: she snapped out of it now that the worst of the tremors seemed to stop and she got angry and yelled and left him, again. The apology was already on the tip of his tongue as he braced himself for the heat of her anger.
And it never came. Just as his pulse accelerated too much for him to stand, as he was about to push her away himself and apologize and bolt, she was slumping forward. The warmth of her breath on his neck jolted him, and for a moment he was frozen, at a loss for what to do. He was so used to feeling dread and regret around Hazel, like he should be prepared for more fury and rejection, that he didn't know what to do with... this. The eerie stillness of her calm in the wake of the panic. Her staying. The peculiar lack of people yelling at him, for fucking once. God, he was so certain he'd fucked up again, and yet.
His grip around her relaxed, and he swallowed as he hesitantly shifted slightly. The warmth of her skin was so much and he felt like he should be releasing her, easing away, acknowledging that she wouldn't want him to be touching her -- but it was so warm and it soothed something panicked and chaotic in his chest and he didn't have it in him to let go, particularly not when he felt her start to shake slightly, felt the pang of her sorrow in the back of his throat.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, don't-- it's okay. Don't apologize," he found himself saying, quieter, uncertain if the aching was his own or feedback from her end of... whatever he'd forged between them. He swallowed, at a loss of how she was apologizing when he'd been the one to fuck up, here, and added, "You're safe. You're safe here. It's okay." Wasn't she? Something ate at him, insisting that maybe she wasn't if he was here, but he swallowed the doubt swirling in his thoughts and mumbled into her hair, "You're perfect, you're okay." He didn't seem to notice what he'd said.
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSAnother beat before he exhaled again, releasing the breath he'd been holding, and the panic and dread hit a beat later. Fuck -- he had no idea what he had just done but he'd done something and fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't supposed to touch her, let alone get any where near her fucking thoughts, and now he'd gone and-- and-- and done something, but maybe he should have just left it alone. Maybe he should have let Suite calm her down. Fucking hell, he knew how this went: she snapped out of it now that the worst of the tremors seemed to stop and she got angry and yelled and left him, again. The apology was already on the tip of his tongue as he braced himself for the heat of her anger.
And it never came. Just as his pulse accelerated too much for him to stand, as he was about to push her away himself and apologize and bolt, she was slumping forward. The warmth of her breath on his neck jolted him, and for a moment he was frozen, at a loss for what to do. He was so used to feeling dread and regret around Hazel, like he should be prepared for more fury and rejection, that he didn't know what to do with... this. The eerie stillness of her calm in the wake of the panic. Her staying. The peculiar lack of people yelling at him, for fucking once. God, he was so certain he'd fucked up again, and yet.
His grip around her relaxed, and he swallowed as he hesitantly shifted slightly. The warmth of her skin was so much and he felt like he should be releasing her, easing away, acknowledging that she wouldn't want him to be touching her -- but it was so warm and it soothed something panicked and chaotic in his chest and he didn't have it in him to let go, particularly not when he felt her start to shake slightly, felt the pang of her sorrow in the back of his throat.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, don't-- it's okay. Don't apologize," he found himself saying, quieter, uncertain if the aching was his own or feedback from her end of... whatever he'd forged between them. He swallowed, at a loss of how she was apologizing when he'd been the one to fuck up, here, and added, "You're safe. You're safe here. It's okay." Wasn't she? Something ate at him, insisting that maybe she wasn't if he was here, but he swallowed the doubt swirling in his thoughts and mumbled into her hair, "You're perfect, you're okay." He didn't seem to notice what he'd said.
Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword, Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door. [b][sup]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[/sup][/b]