[There's something in the air, something in lying here, with the chill of the air and the smell of dying leaves and the coming winter. He breathes in the scent of his cologne, the faint whisper of old blood. He's not really thinking about it when he reaches out, bridging that thin space between them that crackles with livid chemistry.
He catches Roman's hand in his own, blues looking into greens as if unaware of the treachery of those quicksilver fingers that are so often faster than his brain. Palm to palm, awkwardly holding on. It means something. It means enough to keep him here.]
Good.
[There's something about tonight that for all the crisp open black skies, it feels like the walls are tightening around him and he needs something to push back against the ache in his chest. He will probably never say that he needs Roman too, but instead he holds onto his hand so tight his knuckles are white.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-11-03 12:47 am (UTC)He catches Roman's hand in his own, blues looking into greens as if unaware of the treachery of those quicksilver fingers that are so often faster than his brain. Palm to palm, awkwardly holding on. It means something. It means enough to keep him here.]
Good.
[There's something about tonight that for all the crisp open black skies, it feels like the walls are tightening around him and he needs something to push back against the ache in his chest. He will probably never say that he needs Roman too, but instead he holds onto his hand so tight his knuckles are white.]