losing. [ past ]
“you’re f -- you’re crazy!”
song yixing isn’t prone to angry outbursts. in fact, he isn’t prone to outbursts at all, much less raising his voice. he prefers the calm and cool approach to things, even towards those who piss him off. but lucille is something else, and not entirely in a good way half the time. most of the time, yixing finds himself caught in lucille’s -- whatever kind of charm it is -- and the rest feels like an awakening, head out of the water and into the fire.
he tells himself this is love at fifth year, says that he adores her at every turn, fists raised at anyone who dares tell him otherwise.
he says: opening up is commitment. or some kind of it. a hand reaching out, fingers brushing, ribcage forced open by his own hands as if the shadows there will ward away any kind of damning abyss. he lets lucille reach around and scramble him up until he’s forgotten that it was dark in the first place. but times like these --
“i’m dating you,” he tells her, hand snapping from his temple to the space between them. a gesture: are you even thinking straight? “does that mean i shouldn’t hang out with anyone else? c’mon,” he calms down, trying not to raise his voice further, as if he’s begging. song yixing hasn’t begged for anyone’s approval in a long, long time. “you know me better than that. i’m not a bad guy.”
@puffleri