👤 who: open to anyone. 📍 where: by the firepit. ⌛ time: 8:15 pm.
there was something about the old stories that made nicasio feel settled; a sense of belonging that was engraved into his bones like a crooning love song… if he ignored the scent of the vampires nearby— he held his breath and focused on the warmth of the fire, the hush of waves; he could almost pretend he still felt that way. almost. but almost wasn’t that feeling, almost was a shadow, pale and aching, hungry for something that may never come to be. but, almost was more than nothing and he’d take what he could get.
getting lost in the stories, it wasn’t until he heard someone settling beside him that he returned to himself and realized the marshmallows he’d been roasting had turned to nearly complete char. “fuck” he pulled it out, thought about it for maybe five seconds before popping one of them into his mouth anyways. “thanks for the warnin'.” he spoke through his chews with a half-smile, “you want one? if it’s still gooey, it's good.” he loves marshmallows.