"YOU AIN'T GOT TO," He says. "Freely given, freely taken."
He dips in his own fingers with the other hand and begins to smear out that white line. He doesn't mind. He just wanted that gesture returned, where all it could mean something.
And his is the darkest color, erasing the white.
Does he still feel like she could turn on him? Yes, he does. Truthfully, there is still an ever present tenseness in his muscle, fear rung in his bones. That all be still a thing. It's everything he wouldn't have wanted to do not so long ago. He's making an offer, accepting hers. He wouldn't dare say it was easy. Easy would've been just killing one another when they had the chance. A small part of him hates them all for it. But enough of him doesn't.
He wants something more to hold onto here, so in selfishness, he takes. He asks, "WHY DO YOU TAKE TO THE PICTURES AS ALL YOU DO? Why do you paint?"
no subject
"YOU AIN'T GOT TO," He says. "Freely given, freely taken."
He dips in his own fingers with the other hand and begins to smear out that white line. He doesn't mind. He just wanted that gesture returned, where all it could mean something.
And his is the darkest color, erasing the white.
Does he still feel like she could turn on him? Yes, he does. Truthfully, there is still an ever present tenseness in his muscle, fear rung in his bones. That all be still a thing. It's everything he wouldn't have wanted to do not so long ago. He's making an offer, accepting hers. He wouldn't dare say it was easy. Easy would've been just killing one another when they had the chance. A small part of him hates them all for it. But enough of him doesn't.
He wants something more to hold onto here, so in selfishness, he takes. He asks, "WHY DO YOU TAKE TO THE PICTURES AS ALL YOU DO? Why do you paint?"