[Midnight always hits hard, after a curse like this; it's ice-water unfamiliarity, a rush of vertiginous disorientation. If she hadn't shut her eyes as well, maybe she'd pull away; but she doesn't, just tenses slightly in his arms as the situation takes some sort of shape in her mind. He's familiar. Grounding. Here, he always has been; and even if she feels sometimes like she hardly knows him, right now she knows this. (How could she not?) She'd know him in the dark.
This is, she knows, not quite right (though she wishes it could be, will never say as much,) but it's a safe starting place to put the pieces together. Slowly, the fingers clutching his neck unfurl, permission to pull back from her if he needs to.
→ we are not what you think we are we are golden
This is, she knows, not quite right (though she wishes it could be, will never say as much,) but it's a safe starting place to put the pieces together. Slowly, the fingers clutching his neck unfurl, permission to pull back from her if he needs to.
They really, probably, ought to stop. She knows.]