(but we don't have much room to live.)
UNBETA'D BRAIN VOMIT. I warn you.
and historical inaccuracies, probably.
And yeah, this is another work in progress and I really need to develop a coherent writing style and EFFING LEARN TO CAPITALIZE but whatever. :|
Basically: don't read this unless you're Priyanka.
he reminds you of a locked door sometimes.
"edward?" you've been knocking and calling his name for fifteen minutes now. "are you okay?" because the shower's been running for twenty minutes and he never takes that long, not that you time it or anything, it's something that you just know like he always braids his hair any time there's a chance he might see his father, like when he's dreaming and mutters apology after apology, they're never meant for you.
"edward?"
and there's no reply.
"edward, i'm coming in-" you turn the doorknob and peek inside, ready to slam the door and rush away, ashamed, if he - no, don't think about it, you promised you wouldn't, not after...
he looks like the ghost of a shipwrecked child is your first thought, golden eyes wide and lost and staring at through his hand like it's transparent, wet hair sticking to his face and neck and knees drawn up to his chest and he's almost shivering from the cold water, though it's barely fall-
"what are you doing?"
he turns his head the slightest bit to look at you, still with that same expression, the one he'd had when he first saw you that said i could swear i've seen your face before that always makes something in your chest ache with loneliness and wanting to tell him any lie just to see him smile.
he mutters something.
"what?"
"can't get attached." he curls himself even smaller, arms wrapping around his legs (his prosthetics- you think, only just remembering) - "i shouldn't even be here, not after i-"
"it wasn't your fault."
he'd started it, though, him and those expectant eyes and how he'd all but cornered you against the desk and you'd told him edward, i can't, no matter how much you wanted to kiss him at that moment, but he hadn't listened because he never did-
"i didn't ask for this to happen, you know."
"then-" stumbling and trying not to choke on your own words - "we'll pretend it didn't, i don't mind really-"
"but it did. and it shouldn't have."
and neither one of you had said anything close to i love you, there hadn't been time for anything but muttered sorrys and hold ons and later ohs and muffled moans and nothing you said would have erased that tired, betrayed look in his eyes as he pulled his shirt back on, anyway-
and that's when something breaks and the next thing you know your arms are around him and your shirt's probably getting soaked as well (this month's water bill will be hell to pay) and at first he's frozen and afraid and nervous and you kind of expected it anyway, but he leans against your shoulder and you could swear he's crying but he couldn't be, he never does.
it's all just water anyway.
and historical inaccuracies, probably.
And yeah, this is another work in progress and I really need to develop a coherent writing style and EFFING LEARN TO CAPITALIZE but whatever. :|
Basically: don't read this unless you're Priyanka.
he reminds you of a locked door sometimes.
"edward?" you've been knocking and calling his name for fifteen minutes now. "are you okay?" because the shower's been running for twenty minutes and he never takes that long, not that you time it or anything, it's something that you just know like he always braids his hair any time there's a chance he might see his father, like when he's dreaming and mutters apology after apology, they're never meant for you.
"edward?"
and there's no reply.
"edward, i'm coming in-" you turn the doorknob and peek inside, ready to slam the door and rush away, ashamed, if he - no, don't think about it, you promised you wouldn't, not after...
he looks like the ghost of a shipwrecked child is your first thought, golden eyes wide and lost and staring at through his hand like it's transparent, wet hair sticking to his face and neck and knees drawn up to his chest and he's almost shivering from the cold water, though it's barely fall-
"what are you doing?"
he turns his head the slightest bit to look at you, still with that same expression, the one he'd had when he first saw you that said i could swear i've seen your face before that always makes something in your chest ache with loneliness and wanting to tell him any lie just to see him smile.
he mutters something.
"what?"
"can't get attached." he curls himself even smaller, arms wrapping around his legs (his prosthetics- you think, only just remembering) - "i shouldn't even be here, not after i-"
"it wasn't your fault."
he'd started it, though, him and those expectant eyes and how he'd all but cornered you against the desk and you'd told him edward, i can't, no matter how much you wanted to kiss him at that moment, but he hadn't listened because he never did-
"i didn't ask for this to happen, you know."
"then-" stumbling and trying not to choke on your own words - "we'll pretend it didn't, i don't mind really-"
"but it did. and it shouldn't have."
and neither one of you had said anything close to i love you, there hadn't been time for anything but muttered sorrys and hold ons and later ohs and muffled moans and nothing you said would have erased that tired, betrayed look in his eyes as he pulled his shirt back on, anyway-
and that's when something breaks and the next thing you know your arms are around him and your shirt's probably getting soaked as well (this month's water bill will be hell to pay) and at first he's frozen and afraid and nervous and you kind of expected it anyway, but he leans against your shoulder and you could swear he's crying but he couldn't be, he never does.
it's all just water anyway.