Words SNAP through the air like LIGHTNING – sharp, quick, and full of electricity. The metal circles in his eyes GLINT at the shadow of a girl. Quite a NERVE she has to exist right there — being able to witness all … t h a t. Her limbs must HUM from where his feet collided with her, yet she remains impassive.
Finishing his job of brushing grass off his dark clothes, his stare is FIXED on her possession of a lone flower. Again – o d d . Unsettling. Mildly entrancing. Right then, all she was was a rushed list.
Licking his lips, he huffs out a breath and fixes the silver strands of his bangs. His answer starts with a SCOWL and ends with him sitting down right beside her. The only thing that made sense about it was how he didn’t ask for ｐｅｒｍｉｓｓｉｏｎ from her to do it. Other than that, it was pure impulse — a desire to not walk in the night alone.
❛ You tell me. ❜ he tells her as he tugs his legs up and rests his hands on his shins for balance. When he sat down, it’s trying to make up for every piece of pride he shattered in his fall. It’s fitting — even after a fall, he’ll dust himself off just to fall on his own terms. Sitting beside her, forearms on his shins, elbows on his knees, and his posture bent, he tries to identify her. It’s hard in this light, though.
&. a brief display of emotion —- eyes suddenly averted, the sudden swallow of her smile, a sunken sun now submerged in water: silence is something that both belongs to her and does not, like a secret, like a reality. ( always this question: is she the girl who set the fire or the girl with the burn marks ? is it possible to be both ? is it possible to be neither ? ) she does not look at him, and yet without doing so, she does. she’s annoyed, she’s guilty, she’s silent.
——- the flower; discarded now, a mindless simpleness she denies. astoria shifts, uncomfortable with this situation, this boy. she looks up at the sky, fingers curling around grass now ( always pulling at something, always picking at something, her fingers are a constant source of idle destruction ) pulling random strands up, staining her fingers. the sky: stars that look like the random scattering of rice, nothing meaningful, a denial of sorts.
she needs, suddenly, kindness, tenderness. not a boy with sharp words aimed to leave bruises, not the comparison of battle wounds, of brutality. she needs: her sister, quietness, a stupid joke, a compliment, flowers in the spring. not this. never this. she sighs, putting her face in her hands, shoulders hunched. she’s in a unstable sort of mood, and he will only shake her foundations.
not unkind, not mean, simple words, slightly melancholic.
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