AUGUST 26TH, EARLY MORNING NEAR THE OCEAN @paxbandersnatch
lashes flutter, hooding amber-golden irises for but the breath of a moment as he slides his arm upwards, the muddy grit of sand spilling from the dark of his skin—each languid motion brings forth another scatter of dampness—and he’s allowing pax to pull him towards them.
his name is sighed, again, and he’s curling cold fingers into the warmth of their palm, pressing forth and fitting himself against their arm, absently. “s’cold,” he admits, and maybe he’s trying, again and again and again, to forget that he, like everything else that’s alive, prefers burning. or. maybe, he’s realized that cold things didn’t need to run—focusing on pax’s breathing, focusing on the way they say his name—
(there is no space between k)
—and he blinks at them, the finely shaped curve of his mouth tipping into something of a question. “'m not dead yet,” he says, instead. he’s got half a mind to leap back into the ocean, but in order to keep himself in the moment,
(baby boy’s feet have never stopped moving)
he’s shaking his head like a dog, spraying sand and drops of water, clammy hands loosely clasped around pax’s own. distantly, he’s asking them, “how’s the run?” he hopes they’ve been okay.