“its an old scar.”
i feel the heat on my cheeks & my tracing immediately stops cold. i hadn’t even realized i was running my fingers along the scar on his ribcage.
i look at him to study his expression. i decide that i like how his features sit when he’s relaxed. he shifts his gaze from the wall to me. each eye is like a small vast ocean & i feel very seen. almost too seen, as he flips through every secret, every darkened corner of my interior. i don’t shy away, though. it’s inviting, his intensity, and part of me wants to match it. i want to smile, but something tells me i shouldn’t. i don’t know what kind of story the scar has to tell. and yet his eyes tell me he’s not upset.
i shouldn’t have been so careless. he just has a way of coaxing my guards down. not that i’d ever let him know. he most likely already does. i’ve never been good at acting.
the warmth in my cheeks burns but i don’t remove myself from the round of his shoulder. i feel overwhelmed that i’m pressed so close to him. that his arm is around me. but i don’t move. it’s a nice kind of overwhelming. i think.
the sheets are tangled at our feet.
“you can talk about it,” i say. “i’m not really good at making people feel better, though.” // @boottheorys
meme: florence & the machine’s lyric starters. || accepting!
