#nuks : SAMARA REYES .

[writesghosts]

" so what do you think ? " it's not often he does this . too wrapped up in his own work , the frantic pace and unyielding pressure of must and need came before seeking the opinion and approval of others . too scared of the criticism you know you will receive, so you hide and you write more and more and more until no one can bear it smudged pages , still warm from the printer and already marked with red correction ink , sit neatly stacked in her hands . he fights against the impulse to snatch them back . " it's not really my usual kind of work . " / @nuks

[ourpretender]

— local bookstore, present day. @nuks

it starts as a hobby, a familiar habit, a feeling stretched and malleable; a curious name hooked onto a curious life onto a curious set of skills, where oliver finds himself awake, attentive, caffeinated and energized by a flurry of pages; by a woman, by her story. it's a sprout that unfurls, leafy and green where the pieces fall into place, and the black and white portrait of samara reyes is colourized before his eyes. she is as pretty on the inside flap of her autobiography as she is in person. mitford's 'pursuit of love' and du maurier's 'rebecca' are held upon his hip, romantic classics tinged with tragedy and reflective in their sensitivity. it paints oliver tender, draws him sincerely curious and unbothered by gendered stereotype, by rigid social structure. his shoulders roll, arch back in brave posture, then rounding the corner — effectively stumbles into samara with a played shock. " — oh! — sorry, that — sorry, are you alright?" oliver shifts back onto a leather heel, wide-eyed blues tracing the knuckles of their collision before holding out a free hand. a small, calculating smile peeks into view. "the rows are narrow enough that this ought to happen more often."