#IM SOFRY IF THIS FOESNT MAKE ANY SENZE IM JUST

[tobenaii]

hholy shit i am. im gutted. thinking about this stupid fucking ship. im gonna ramble n its not going to make sense but i need. to get it OUT

'what use are my hands if not to hold yours?' they fit together so well, made for each other, from each other. their temperatures are so at odds but when together, they're warm, soothing, real. his hand is just that, a hand, but it becomes so much more when the boy with blue eyes and hair darker than night stares up at him like he hangs the stars, his face cupped safely between his palms like he belongs there.

and there's a hand-shaped hole in his chest now, aching and empty, because he wants him to belong there more than anything. the locks of hair between his fingers are soft, falling between like sand. his skin is warm, frighteningly so, and his palms lose their icy touch to mediate their differing temperatures. he's never been able to warm himself. he's also never felt so out of control, at the mercy of another just from a smile.

it's terrifying.