Kiss + 12 - Nick
smorches // 𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 !
12 // …to thank them
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌, locking in place noisily and desperately, and he loosens the rope, swinging it down in a wide arc.
“𝖄ick–fucking–up here!”
𝕷ucids reach and grab like children, hissing false assurances and broken promises, but Nick kicks them off. Halfway up, Jude shoots out an arm and grabs Nick’s elbow, hauling with all his lithe strength. Not Sally strong, but it gets the job done. Nick’s jean catches on a jutting wire, ripping it open and spilling 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 at the knee.
𝕵ude grits his teeth and balances them both. He was built for stealth, not 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖘.
“𝖄ou good, man?”
𝖄ick warbles, and heaves, and with hands on Jude’s shoulders, 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖘 him.
𝕭elow them, lights flash, wide and acidic. The Lucids pause, sway, and dispel with the sweep of the spotlight. Lucid or not, they still operated like they were in a dream, and attention spans are as thin as air.
𝕵ude was already dipping away–easy, even, with two inches of height difference–as Nick locks his shoulders and makes his partings as well. Heat simmers off reddening skin, and words are muddled between mutual juvenile confusion. Young and afraid and full of energy. Jude huffs, and it begins to settle.
“𝖂hoa, hey, I get I’m totally irresistible, but let’s, uh, save the flirting for the train car, alright?”
𝕴t’s very easy to pretend that it was easy. His words don’t stammer like Nick’s, and he manages an uneven grin, indistinguishable in the hard darkness of the tunnel’s upper alcove. Grateful that nothing else on his face can be read. He moves his head, so Nick can only see the dark profile of ponytail and cheekbone.
“𝖄ou’re bleeding. C’mon, we should go.”
𝕿he cut was dribbling well and thick, and Jude knew they’d have to patch it up before they went back up to the surface. Jude had bandages, he can get it done.
𝕿hey’ll be past all of this in no time.
