“ i just need to sit down for a minute ” (from Shawn, for whomever feels it)
answering @rubrumori
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she can smell blood like a shark. someone slices their finger on a paper in a coffee shop and her temple throbs, alerting her mouth to create saliva. hospitals are dangerous for her, the scent all around her like a cloud. it’s horrible that it smells like wine, an alluring aroma that never fails to draw her in. she wishes her blood smells like that, instead, hers smells of gasoline and something rotten. maybe to angels it smells of white chocolate.
“yeah, and you might need an ambulance,” she says with a frown, “what happened?” she wants to reach out, skim her fingertips on the wound and will it to patch itself up, but she doesn’t know him. can she even trust him?















