──/ 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 ;
Sometimes, it’s difficult to pinpoint when the ache inside of him became so vast- from a pinhole in the side of a balloon that which the air slowly whistled through, to a canyon, a vertical drop that sometimes it feels like if he takes another step, he’ll plunge off the edge.
But then, these are also useless thoughts. Buzzing flies over the corpse of reason, and if he doesn’t reanimate it, he’s in for a long night of scouring over his sensibilities. And truthfully, that just doesn’t sound like a good time. So he shakes his head and like magic, like an erase over a board, they’re cleared for now. Just the weak impression that they were ever there, too much for one motion to wipe away. But it’s enough, for now.
His eyes pin on the panel of door before him, a sigh, the box in his hand feels heavy and clammy in his grasp. Or maybe that’s just his palms. It’s all indistinct, and he decides on a dime, like a foot on the brake, that he’s an entire adult, in control of his own life, actions and future. Not the past. So letting it effect him like this is foolish.
His knock is so sharp and purposeful, that it turns into a banging quicker than he means. An angry rhythm that gives off vibrations in the frame, parallel to his stable, flat expression, still and cold.
@vcnami will be home, the only person he knows that he feels comfortable seeing right now. He can sense her in there, the life of her, a soul wafting through his nostrils, beautiful and familiar. And annoying, he thinks fondly. But at least, her brand of annoying is eons better than his own personal thoughts.
“Open up,” he mutters through the wood, impatient with himself her, cake clutched in hand. She’ll help. He’s sure of it. It’s not a mistake to be here. It’s a decision he won’t regret to show this side of himself to her.
