For the colour ask game #F38D68 #AAB9CF #3D2C2E
hi lovely! thank you for asking :D been a while since i did the color ask game but. i'm *always* down for it (& other prompts! i'm just. slow sometimes :p)
i started writing this and somehow it ended up in my dragon's blood universe! which is part of a long, messy daydream i've had goin' for a while. it's ridiculously self-indulgent, but! anyway. i hope you enjoy, nonny :)
also, u can read another short set in this universe over here :)
[ id: a screenshot of 3 colors. the first is an orange-y color, with the hex code #f38d68, and named dark salmon. the second is a light grey-blue, with the hex code #aab9cf and named light steel blue. the third is a dark reddish brown, with the hex code #3d2c2e, and named old burgundy. ]
dark salmon | light steel blue | old burgundy
There is an old burgundy sweater in the back of her closet. It's too large--the sleeves go down past her fingers, the shoulders drape oddly, the hem skims the middle of her thighs. There are cigarette burns on the wrists, and despite its long exile, it still smells like ash and nicotine.
Sometimes she takes it and breathes it in, just to... remind herself. That once upon a time, someone had worn it. She can't bring herself to do anything more than that, though. Can't bring herself to wear it, even though there are nights she desperately wants to. That, or use it like a pillowcase--clutch it close all night long, and hopes it chases the bad dreams away.
Today is one of those days. She brings the sleeve up to her face and squeezes her eyes shut. She breathes it in, sensitive nose catching the long-faded hints of smoke and ash and nicotine, and something else, beneath that. Something dark and smokey and---
And it's all in her imagination, she knows. It has to be. It's been two years.
But that doesn't make it feel less real.
A tear squeezes past her clenched eyelid, dripping down her cheek. She wipes it away, hastily. It's not that she's ashamed to cry. She's not. But she's just---
Tired. And lonely. And sick of both of those things. Sick of feeling sorry for herself, of missing a life that is never, ever going to come back to her no matter how hard she wishes.
She's interrupted from her sorrow by the sound of a knock at the door. It's soft. Tentative. She wouldn't have heard it at all, if she wasn't what she was. Didn't have the hearing that she does.
She wipes her face, despite the fact no other tears have fallen, and lets the sleeve slide from her fingers. She straightens, and pushes her hair back, and strides out of the bedroom and to the door. She peers through the peephole and sees...
Someone. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Their hair is dark and messy, but short cropped. She can't see their face. Their shoulders are hunched, face turned toward the floor, like they're trying to sink into their steel gray hoodie. She frowns to herself. She can hear their heartbeat. It sounds---
But no. She can't let herself think like that. Because if she does...
She turns the lock. Slides out the deadbolt. Opens the door.
Familiar brown eyes meet hers. Lips quirk up into a wry smile. "Hey, 'Nora. Long time no see."
There's a lump in her throat. "Jay." She has so many questions---how, where, when, why, what---but she swallows them all. They can wait. Instead, she steps forward, wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in his neck.
He smells like ash, and smoke, and nicotine--and something else, something dark and smokey, and...
"Jay," she says, and bursts into tears.
Later, there will be conversations. How did he survive? Where has he been? What has he been doing? When did he get back? Why come back now?
But for right now...
All she wants to is to rest in his arms and content herself with the knowledge that he's here, he's alive, and he's hers.
[ send me some hex codes & i'll write something based off of them! ]