echoes, saltwater, lemon juice (or: a lesson in pressing bitterness into wounds): Kam
A/N: In which i give them the unhealthy relationship they deserve <3 Love these babies. Hi @pissy-victorian-vampire, Iām your secret santa! you said angst of any sort sooooā¦
Keefe leans forward, places his hands on either side of Tamās legs and presses their lips together, quick, warm. āIām sorry about that.ā Heās not.
āYouāre not,ā Tam says.
TW: kissing? thereās a brief mention of physical violence. also, death mention. and mental illness.
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āIt burns you sometimes, doesnāt it?ā Keefe twists his paper napkin so tightly it rips, shreds of the stained white scattering over his black pants. āThe memory, I mean.ā
He doesnāt have to ask what he means. āLike lemon juice. Like saltwater.ā
Keefeās fingers trace the grainy wood of the restaurant table with difficulty, the surface probably still sticky from the syrup-soaked pancakes heād finished less than five minutes previously. āLike echoes?ā
Tam stays silent. His hands are at his sides: heās never liked the cheap fast food places, preferring the clean-cut elegance of his own kitchen over screaming children and food he canāt trust. More than that, itās the effect of it all: the bright lights in his eyes, the under-flavored over-sugared food, the lack of privacy, the smack of chewing gum coupled with the constant thrumming of the kitchen fridge, the tacky orange booth seats that stick to his skin.
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