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——— ( 📚 meme. )

@leonoverton

″ You’re not REALLY afraid of heights are you ? ″

@leonoverton

Cosima stood on the roof of Emmett’s home, cigarette smoke dancing slowly from her fingertips. She was calmed, almost, each drag settling her nerves back to a bearable state, loosening the tension in her shoulders. At which she wondered, why anyone ever chastised her for smoking in the first place: far from when she had begun as an act of rebellion, the smoke in her lungs was now a sliver of peace amid wartime affairs, trudging her down from the fire and rage for moments lasting as long as her breath could hold. Looking down on the street below for which only two bodies traveled---weightless shadows on top the stones---she tried to figure how many more cigarettes she would need to sacrifice so to be kept on the roof until morning.

Above her head, the sky wore a piercing black veil, strips of twilight evading only along the horizon. Not on the brink of exhaustion just yet, sleep had seemed a futile task to th Silk, and one she had abandoned hours before, impossibly irritated by her own tossing and turning over the sheets. She might have asked Emmett to a game of chess to busy herself, but he looked to have returned to the palace for some reason, room emptied. And so it was that she retired to the rooftop, alone with the night, hoping exhaustion came before boredom, or before thoughts of the things she really didn't want to think about.

Then, the door to the roof opened, and Cosima turned her head only a fraction before being assured who it was by the weight and pattern of his steps, his breath, his presence. “Can’t sleep?” She asked without kindness or malice in her tone.

#leonoverton #( ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇs ᴜs﹐ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ sᴇᴛs ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏɴᴇs﹐ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ | leon )#hope this is alright!!#if the setting doesn't work for you just let me know and I'll rewrite!#im... not good at titles so im #..... just not going to put one :~)

The dart flew from his fingers with precision, the balloon in the center of the target giving a satisfying ‘POP’ on impact. He picked up a second dart listlessly, rolling it between his index finger and thumb as if to examine the weight of it before allowing it to leave his grasp. This time, however, there was no pop, only a hand on his shoulder to shock him out of concentration.

“I fuckin’ had that, man,” Noah shot out accusingly as he turned to face the culprit. He could practically smell the familiar metallic rust from the older man’s arm. “Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging this shit? ‘S like target practice, only I get a prize for kicking ass,” he said, holding his hand out to snatch the odd toy from the vendor. He held it up, demonstrating it to Leon. “See this shit? It’s called POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT.”