#& ryan.

[yaenas]

Sometimes when they are together, just the two of them, like this, she does not even speak; she just listens to him; she just stares. Laying here on top of her car parked somewhere away from the center of the city, some ill-lit corner under the trees, well after midnight, eyes closed and the cold moon silver light on her eyelids, she could be anywhere. He says something about an assumption she had just made about a younger version of him, laughs a little, and she pries her eyes open, reaches over to trace his lower lip with soft, tender fingertips. “I’d like to have seen you at sixteen. Here's another guess: You were like the walking embodiment of a golden boy. Looks, money, and a brain. Mr. Popular. I can picture you right over there,” she says, pointing to the cracked bleachers somewhere near the park they have pulled over into, dark and thick with willows and damp from the rain that have fallen earlier. “Outdrinking everyone... Breaking hearts.” she laughs a little at the thought, voice soft as she moves a little closer, dark curls spilling over her shoulders as she stares at him.

@caddel

[drreamgirls]

[ text @ Ryan] guess who's thoroughly fiendishly breathlessly frantically missing you?

[ text @ Ryan] this girl of yours you've spurned

after he hasn't texted back in an hour

[ text @ Ryan] wow, ok, I see how it is... I hope you have a nice life

[ text @ Ryan] actually, no. changed my mind. I'll HAUNT you in horrific ways to your LAST breath.

another twenty minutes later

[ text @ Ryan] will now be googling how to change the faucets...how to change light fixtures... will we ever love each other again

[ text @ Ryan] you better not be burning to death btw

@caddel

[drreamgirls]

She's obsessed with him, feverishly, frantically, thoroughly obsessed. That's the word for it. She's all over him the moment he walks in through the door, kissing him constantly, unwilling to let him finish his sentences, cutting him off with a kiss, to his mouth, his jaw, his neck, licking his cheek, his throat, coy, flirtatious laughter tickling his skin, saying sorry, tell me; I was, in fact, listening mister distraction (and she was, she always does, but God, her knees can't bear what he does to her, they're shot, they crumble, even the air is flushing deeply: the entire summer is pressing itself against the places where their bodies meet; his hands are fire. ) Obsession. She's consumed by him. It is tongue and teeth and lust. It is what her mouth was made for, kissing him again, and again and again. Desperate, frantic caresses, bird pecks, nose touches, long, slow tongue-filled kisses that stop her breath. She can't explain it, has never felt this furiously smitten with anyone ever before, but God himself couldn't pull her away.

It's a little past midnight now, and she's quite behaving. They're laying on her couch, with him sitting with his nose in some book, and her laying back with her legs draped over his thighs. Billie Holiday is crooning from the turntable in her bedroom, and sometimes she softly pushes at his knee with her foot, just to provoke him, make him look her way. She's been supposed to be reading, too, had claimed she had a poetry collection to finish for her book club meeting tomorrow, but all she's done is stare at him over the pages. God. Even the way he breathes fascinates her; the way the light spills over his skin, so very taut and rippling with muscle when he moves. Isabelle wonders if anyone could truly feel so much longing for someone so close. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, hard, and readjusts the strap of her bralette ( that's all she's wearing; lace shorts and a bralette, his shirt thrown over it, unbuttoned. White lace socks and the silver chain around her neck. ) With another playful shove, Isabelle reaches over for an old Polaroid camera somewhere on the floor on top of a pile of books near her, and quickly snaps a picture of him. And then, another. “ not half bad, Caddel...” she teases, “ — very debonair and brooding. ”

@caddel