❝ DO YOU THINK MUCH ABOUT IT ? ❞ a hesitant breath , fingertips drawn in endless circles across his own palms * ( he mimics the motions that rory made the night before , trying to recreate the sensation of FEELING and COMFORT something he’d forgotten , something for him to never have again at least that’s what he’d thought , that it was what the FLAMES had wrought upon his skin . eyes caught somewhere between clear skies and lips that drip with honey / hues of home and freedom , a contradiction in existence hiding between each iris . he looks at the figure curiously , boots scuffing against the ground as he retains a different position he rests so that their knees press together , eager for the feeling with a touch feather light ( how are you so gentle , when your knuckles are scarred / and scarred / and scarred ? when you can still taste copper on your tongue and a fight drawn across your brow ? ) he brushes the hair from rory’s forehead , lets his hand fall only so their fingertips lay next to one another , an open invitation , a silent beckoning . ❝ how some of the gods are complete fucking assholes . ❞
( & @wntrsn
