Leave a “Quite Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]
Yesterday, when you held him, you felt something in him tighten and threaten to snap— you wanted to whisper by his ear that you loved him, more than the world but your heart sunk to your knees at his, “Why did you do that?”
Today, his fingertips brushed your knee when you sat on the edge of the roof, sharing your cigarettes and silence. He didn’t apologize, but you’ve never needed words before. You’re learning how to love each other, it’s just taking time.
— — — —- — — — — — — — — — —
It happened again, the graze of her fingers against his bare wrist made him nearly jump out of his skin– Sylv winced at the way he seemed to act as though he wanted to kick out of it, to leave it crumpled in a pile like discarded linen. Her fingers curled back in, she withdrew, feeling suddenly as though she had dirtied him.
“Don’t.”
He snapped the words and she looked away, catching the tremble in his jaw. A twitch, something not unlike a machine in malfunction. She sighed, the exhalation falling between them before she caught the expression in his eyes. He was embarrassed, it showed in the skittishness, the storm that clouded a usually clear blue. They were both damaged pieces, it had been silly of her to think that together they would have formed something whole without effort.
To speak would be to betray his emotions, to point them out would shame him further. Had it been anyone else, Sylv would have tucked him into her arms– but for Victor, they were different. Instead, she reached in her pocket, freeing a crooked cigarette to offer him. The brunette’s chin moved in the direction of the stairs, to the rooftop, a quiet sanctuary to look at the stars.
“Okay,” she said lowly, but she hoped that he heard the words between her mundane phrases. I understand, we’re different. I know we need time. “It’s not cold tonight.”
