[ That smile doesn't suit her. Marrs her face, actually. And he'd love nothing more than to wipe it off her face, because he can't stand it. It's not because he cares, really, it's just a pathetic expression—the kind that drive him up the wall.
But he says nothing, even though a multitude of words sit on his tongue, begging to be released into the air. An insult, a show of worry, commiseration—they gather at the back of his throat, heavy.
Instead, he moves next to her and begins to pull at the vines. His hands are not covered like hers but he doesn't mind the thorns. The scratches are nothing compared to what he's experienced in the past. ]
no subject
But he says nothing, even though a multitude of words sit on his tongue, begging to be released into the air. An insult, a show of worry, commiseration—they gather at the back of his throat, heavy.
Instead, he moves next to her and begins to pull at the vines. His hands are not covered like hers but he doesn't mind the thorns. The scratches are nothing compared to what he's experienced in the past. ]