cidwbilwaeial
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You looked tired. You were tired. The overall air around you echoed it, screamed it. The man could feel your tensed joints and ligaments. Coiled and ready for the drop of a pin. The earlier expedition’s toll is still buzzing in your veins like venom. Tattered clothes, bandaged limbs, and restless hands. Yet your eyes fixed solemnly to the far horizon beyond the glass. They felt all-consuming. The clouds, the storm, the streets and the whole nest held in these vacuous orbs. They held his breath captive too. Anticipating the moment they turned to him with the weight of a world in their reflection. Waiting for the moment it collapses and buries him under.
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The proud captain’s temperament has become the perfect fuel to a small kindle that flickered tirelessly within you. His eccentric demeanor and overall air, his well-formed visage, even the lousy voice that slurred syllables in a specific way. It all scratched a certain, persistent itch.
An itch that stung when the obnoxiously drunk voice rambled melodiously into your ears. Blistered whenever his ambered gaze lingered a little too long. Throbbed with every inch of proximity between your shoulders and his.
You tried to deny it. You truly did.