@grungebond.
there’s something here that feels wrong. or perhaps wrong isn’t the right word for it -- perhaps the word noah’s really wracking his brain for is different. this is different. this has been different since the very beginning, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing with it, but he does know that he can’t put it down. if he puts it down, then that would mean an ending, and he isn’t ready for it to end. he isn’t ready to kiss them, either. not like he wants to, and not like they clearly want him to, and not like every broken, rattled piece inside of him is begging him for. it wouldn’t be right, and he is no good, and he is going to leave, and he knows it too. it’s just that he hasn’t told them that.
they’re sitting too close for it to be anything but charged, and he’s got his hand on their knee, his very slightly uncertain expression the only thing that gives him away. there’s a slight inclination to his chin that wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for the outrageous pounding of his heart, and he can taste words on the tip of his tongue that are so sweet they’re cloying. for some reason, noah doesn’t want them to form. instead, he tries for something else.
“what do you think of when you think a about tomorrow? as a concept, not as an inevitability. where do you see yourself? where do you want to be?”
based on x.
