Jan 9, 2018
like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill
weecest, ~8k — chapter one of two
There’s a creature in the front seat with Dean.
Skin as pale as the snow clinging to the branches swooping outside the windows and limbs as thin as them too. Mouth like a cupid’s bow, except Cupid wouldn’t be so cruel, so just a bow then, long lines and curves so pink and full that it makes heads turn and eyes stare.
It makes Dean’s head turn and Dean’s eyes stare.
Except he shouldn’t be staring, not at him, this fragile flower wilting in the dusk of winter with a nose tipped in pink and hair that once shone so brightly in the summer sun, now dulled by the grey light of snowy days.
Except he still is.
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