the golden fire escape brigade ; cedric & ruby
Apr 22, 2024 11:06:41 GMT -5
Post by arx on Apr 22, 2024 11:06:41 GMT -5
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But, if you happen to, sayyy, care about my feelings? Well, th e n ,
please, y o uc a n c a l l m e
I have never climbed a tree before. And he made it look easy, not bothering how the bark tore at his already withering sweater or the way the contortion in his face was proof that what he was doing was in fact taking effort. But I watched him leap on stage, felt the way his muscles curled so sure of themselves when he pulled me after him, all toe to toe and face to face.
Maybe I don't mind—("No, absolutely not. You will get filthy. Look, see? You are better.")—imperfection for the night if it meant I got to take his hand again.
Besides, ("Imperfect spells, I'm perfect.")
His smile crinkles his skin into perfect staves around the notes his freckles make. There is a song in there somewhere, a melody hidden upon his flushed cheeks. I just need to get closer, take the hand and-
"Whoa! Wait- augh- I got it, okay I got it." My fingers don't like bark, my accessory, steel buttons catch funny on the branch as I use his arms to keep myself from falling back to the ground through imagined clouds. Maybe I still wished for perfect; I hate the way my voice sounds when I say, "Thank you."
But I eventually steady myself, blink at him through a few uncalculated huffs of adrenaline and embarrassment before balancing myself next to him with an ivory-knuckled grasp.
"They're seeds," I say, plucking them from where the clouds that had tried to plant themselves in his scalp. But I leave the bits clinging to the patches on his elbows- deem him my honeybee, all gold and striped with shadow, fuzzy at the edges, ready to fly away in a buzz as the leaves shift in the wind.
"The tree we're sitting in was engineered to be here," I hold up a seed and blow it into the breeze. "But these seeds are from the mountains."
"You're right, though," I make sure he knows I haven't looked anywhere but at him when I repeat his words.
And at that, I fish the kerosene lighter from my pocket, spinning the reusable match free and striking only twice before the wick holds flame.
"Alright," I say, holding the still lit match between us. He can see me, I can see him. "Ready?" And then I drop the flame to the ground and watch clouds burn.
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But, if you happen to, sayyy, care about my feelings? Well, th e n ,
please, y o uc a n c a l l m e
RUBY.
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"Looks even better from up here."
I have never climbed a tree before. And he made it look easy, not bothering how the bark tore at his already withering sweater or the way the contortion in his face was proof that what he was doing was in fact taking effort. But I watched him leap on stage, felt the way his muscles curled so sure of themselves when he pulled me after him, all toe to toe and face to face.
Maybe I don't mind—("No, absolutely not. You will get filthy. Look, see? You are better.")—imperfection for the night if it meant I got to take his hand again.
Besides, ("Imperfect spells, I'm perfect.")
("Correct? Ah, Aloo! Say it!")
His smile crinkles his skin into perfect staves around the notes his freckles make. There is a song in there somewhere, a melody hidden upon his flushed cheeks. I just need to get closer, take the hand and-
"If I said please?"
"Whoa! Wait- augh- I got it, okay I got it." My fingers don't like bark, my accessory, steel buttons catch funny on the branch as I use his arms to keep myself from falling back to the ground through imagined clouds. Maybe I still wished for perfect; I hate the way my voice sounds when I say, "Thank you."
But I eventually steady myself, blink at him through a few uncalculated huffs of adrenaline and embarrassment before balancing myself next to him with an ivory-knuckled grasp.
"They're seeds," I say, plucking them from where the clouds that had tried to plant themselves in his scalp. But I leave the bits clinging to the patches on his elbows- deem him my honeybee, all gold and striped with shadow, fuzzy at the edges, ready to fly away in a buzz as the leaves shift in the wind.
"The tree we're sitting in was engineered to be here," I hold up a seed and blow it into the breeze. "But these seeds are from the mountains."
"You're right, though," I make sure he knows I haven't looked anywhere but at him when I repeat his words.
"Looks even better from up here."
And at that, I fish the kerosene lighter from my pocket, spinning the reusable match free and striking only twice before the wick holds flame.
"Alright," I say, holding the still lit match between us. He can see me, I can see him. "Ready?" And then I drop the flame to the ground and watch clouds burn.