#title from marina (prev marina & the diamonds) 'handmade heaven' and the vibe of her song and the vibe of this fic are v different but lmao

[iftari]

but in this handmade heaven, i come alive

an - dedicated to literally anyone who reads + shares it bc christ i love u for that. i swear it isn’t that long its all mostly just dialogue that stretches it out. also for @rayllum-week bc i found out exactly 4 minutes ago that that was a thing and this weirdly fits the last day so why note. i love u. 

++

“Your handwriting is getting worse,” she announces leaning against the doorway. Callum looks up from his spot on the bed to find her holding a stack of papers all of which that are out of order.

“My bad,” he sounds entirely unapologetic

She shakes her head, walking over to where he’s laying. “You’re meant to be working you know,”

“I am,” he says, still sprawled on the bed. His lying skills are getting far worse he thinks.

She scoffs, leaning against his legs now. He tries not to notice the added pressure, fails if his quickened heartbeat is of any indication, and turns to look at her. From his position, he can make out only her upper body, arms well-toned, luminescent skin. Her sleeves are torn off revealing still white-pink skin, despite how much she’s been in the sun with him, and all he wants to do is draw her arms. And then her hands. And her legs, and her chin and eyes. Her really - all he wants to do is just draw her in every light, from every angle, as she throws watermelon seeds at him.

“You know,” she says conversationally, breaking him out of his trance “you’re a terrible prince. You literally have one job to do today and it’s to write out these memos for Ez”

He sits up at that looking mildly dismayed. “I’m not a terrible prince - my writing isn’t even that bad,” he objects, despite his lackluster apology two seconds ago.

She juts her chin out holding up the stack of papers. “Caps Callum. You’re literally writing in caps now instead of normal”

“That doesn’t mean its bad” he protests, although he can see her point. The lines are all intertwining within themselves and he’s left little spaces between the actual words.

“You’re right it's revolting. Horrendous. The worst thing I’ve ever seen and that includes Bait’s throw-up”

“You can’t say that about Bait, he’ll be hurt”

Her lips twitch as she leans down to rest her chin against his knees. “I’ll live I think, he already doesn’t like me”

“Well you can’t blame him,” he says in mock seriousness. She lets out a breathy laugh and he lets himself look at her for as long as he can get away with it. Her horns are stark against her white hair, all twisted and purple. She once told him that all Moonshadow elves had them in order telepathically communicate with one another and he’d spent a week at Xadia paranoid at what the elves could have been saying.

“Hey,” she says, breaking him out of his thoughts again. “Give me your hand.” Without thinking he reaches out towards her and wonders if she’ll notice that his hands are too calloused. She turns them over, running her fingers lightly across the lines etched in his palms. He suddenly feels every nerve on high alert, keeping his eyes low to avoid hers.

“I can read palms you know,”

“Yeah?” he asks struggling to keep his heartbeat normal. He feels like a live wire, with her hands so close to his. If he wanted to he could close the small gap between them. If he wanted to, he could intertwine their fingers and rub his thumb against her knuckles.

“Yeah”

“What’s mine say?” he finally looks up and she is impossibly close. He’s given up on controlling his heartbeat; it’s at an impossibly fast rhythm now, banging against his ribs like a fist upon a door. He can’t decide where to look, his eyes darting from the top of her head, back to their hands, still dangerously close.

“I think this line has to do with your energy. It means that you’re bound to have a good head in the face of danger and that you should be looking for excitement in your life. Adventures with heroes and that you’ll have great tales about brave and kind elves”

He lets out a breathy laugh, pulling away from her. “It does not say that” he objects, feeling the loss of her hands. “You’re just making this up now to boost your own ego”

She grins back at him, all teeth in that way he’s learning girls do when they’re truly happy. He forces himself to swallow, feeling impossibly delirious being this close to her still. His eyes fall to the column of her neck and he’s struck with a sense of wanting.

“I am not making this up I swear,” she says holding her hand over her chest, in an attempt to seem honest. “This really is a Moonshadow ritual”

He doesn’t respond back, going over the way she said ritual less than two seconds ago. He’s been becoming more obsessed with her voice as of late, listening to the change of tone in certain letters, hanging on to every sound. It’s becoming more common for him to register her voice before he can even see her in the room. A part of him wonders if this is becoming a problem.

“You really can read palms?” he asks her, this time looking directly at her. Her eyelashes are longer than his he notices.

“Yes”

He huffs, pulling his hands out again, trying to ignore the quickening of his heart.

“So this line here” she starts again, this time biting her cheek to stop herself from laughing. She is close enough for him to see the scar by her left eyebrow and he is struck with another feeling of desperate want. “Its about your love life. You can find a happy love but you need to have the courage to say something”

His throat constricts tighter, eyes widening. She looks up at him, all traces of teasing laughter gone.

“Oh?”

“Yeah” she hums, “think you know what that’s about?”

His heart is hammering around his ribs, all loud and desperate to say something. He thinks he might feel lightheaded, if it wasn’t for her hands still holding onto his wrist, tethering him down. She looks so pretty across from him, all purple eyes and white eyebrows, her hair curling by her neck. Time is passing by hopelessly slow between them and distantly he thinks that this is his chance, this is his opening, with her standing just a bit away.

“About you,” he manages to say and she blinks up at him, startled. His own voice surprises him. He wasn’t even aware of his mouth moving until the words were out, unprocessed.

“What’d you say?” she is just staring back at him now, mouth slightly agape and oh this was a very bad idea he thinks. He forgot, for that split second of bravery, that people can hear him when he talks. That she can hear him when he confesses truths he wasn’t fully aware of.

“Ah,” he says, except it comes out more as a regretful hiss than a real word. “Nothing - I thought - well see - what I meant was - because - and so” he’s babbling now, just saying empty words to fill up the silence. This was a mistake he thinks and is trying to awkwardly reach out of her grasp to jump out the window.

“Callum,” she says, her hand reaching to touch his chin. He stills under her touch and looks at her to see a slight smirk on her face and Christ. She really is so pretty he thinks, his heart lodged in his throat now rather than his ribs. “Do you like me?”

He scoffs, trying to swallow. “Of course not. I hate you actually” he lies. It’s pointless because she can feel his heartbeat against his skin, and knows him well enough by now to figure out his tells. He thinks he might feel shame at his lying abilities if he wasn’t so busy feeling embarrassed over his unfiltered confession.

“Such a shame then,” she says and the smirk on her face is growing wider by the minute.

“What?” he finally asks trying to seem nonchalant, like he isn’t paying attention to her tongue running across her teeth.

“Because I really like you,” she says, voice certain, head tilted. Her smirk is fully grown by now and he truly cannot feel his heart anymore. He’s fairly certain it’s plummeted down somewhere into his stomach, dissolving in a pool of acid.

“Ah” and it comes out as another hiss, this time slightly less regretful. “Yeah, it is a shame then. On the record of my very much not liking you - hating you in fact”

“Good god,” she says and before he knows it she’s leaning into his space, even more, closing in the small gap between them. Her chest is pressed against his and it’s only then that he can hear his own heart again, realizes that it has yet to dissolve away into nothing.

She is so unbelievably present against him, grinning into his mouth victoriously, silver hair falling against his face.  He’s forgotten how to think now, except for the way she says really, her voice putting more tension on the second half of the word.