06-29-2018, 10:16 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ I NEVER HAD NOBODY TOUCH ME LIKE I’M G L A S S WITH A MOON BIRD KISS
It hadn’t been that long since her panic attack, but Hazel liked to think that she had gotten a better grip on the bond than when they first started out. She wasn’t great about keeping her emotions a total secret, but she had a way of limiting them to some degree so it wasn’t like she was bombing Bastille with random mood swings twenty-four-seven.
Of course, that was before he had just about overdosed. Things were slightly muted for her, but damn, that boy went through serious pain. Hazel had doubled over in the middle of the hallway, pain rolling through her stomach and misery slamming into her nervous system. She’d nearly passed out from it, honestly. After that, she’d stayed in his room for a long while, finding that the suffering eased when she was near him. Whether or not that came from her side of the bond, she didn’t know, but she was too tired to question it.
Then came the withdrawal — the need — and it sank into her bones, made her teeth itch, made her tail twitch and her fur feel out of place. It wasn’t direct; just aftershocks. She could feel how jittery he was, how on edge. Hazel wished she could help him, but for a couple hours after his meltdown, she could hardly move, fighting away the exhaustion and the symptoms and the girl in her head. It was all she could do to stay awake.
Today was better. Today she could walk without one of her legs randomly giving out in the middle of the hallway. She was attempting to occupy herself with bracelets when Bastille reached out to her, his thoughts pulling her in his direction whether she liked it or not. She had jumped at first, startled, because she wasn’t aware this was akin to telepathy, but. Whatever. Her brain decided to follow his call heedlessly, and when she found him, it was...certainly a sight.
Something bubbled up in her — something a little out of place. Amusement, laughter, a bit of happiness. Call it what you will, but it wasn’t anything she’d felt since Margy died. Bastille looked...legitimately, innocently lost at his task, and Hazel actually had to hold back a smile, the corners of her mouth canting downwards with her effort. “That’s quite the...” She paused, golden gaze flickering across the array of colors. “...that’s quite the art project you have going on there.” Still trying not to laugh, Hazel let her gaze fall to the boy, her tail swinging. “Would you like some...help?”
Of course, that was before he had just about overdosed. Things were slightly muted for her, but damn, that boy went through serious pain. Hazel had doubled over in the middle of the hallway, pain rolling through her stomach and misery slamming into her nervous system. She’d nearly passed out from it, honestly. After that, she’d stayed in his room for a long while, finding that the suffering eased when she was near him. Whether or not that came from her side of the bond, she didn’t know, but she was too tired to question it.
Then came the withdrawal — the need — and it sank into her bones, made her teeth itch, made her tail twitch and her fur feel out of place. It wasn’t direct; just aftershocks. She could feel how jittery he was, how on edge. Hazel wished she could help him, but for a couple hours after his meltdown, she could hardly move, fighting away the exhaustion and the symptoms and the girl in her head. It was all she could do to stay awake.
Today was better. Today she could walk without one of her legs randomly giving out in the middle of the hallway. She was attempting to occupy herself with bracelets when Bastille reached out to her, his thoughts pulling her in his direction whether she liked it or not. She had jumped at first, startled, because she wasn’t aware this was akin to telepathy, but. Whatever. Her brain decided to follow his call heedlessly, and when she found him, it was...certainly a sight.
Something bubbled up in her — something a little out of place. Amusement, laughter, a bit of happiness. Call it what you will, but it wasn’t anything she’d felt since Margy died. Bastille looked...legitimately, innocently lost at his task, and Hazel actually had to hold back a smile, the corners of her mouth canting downwards with her effort. “That’s quite the...” She paused, golden gaze flickering across the array of colors. “...that’s quite the art project you have going on there.” Still trying not to laugh, Hazel let her gaze fall to the boy, her tail swinging. “Would you like some...help?”
★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better