What if Mychael asked to braid your hair?
i would cave so hard, nonnie, u dont UNDERSTAMD !!!
i think his touch would be super light and gentle. mychael def would ask if you wanted to match his braid in his own hair, but not without being caught blue in the face.
his fingers definitely work nimbly yet slowly which just adds to the intimacy of the moment, and he'd prolly even hum while his tail sways peacefully and the flames in the fireplace crackle softly.
guhh... and if you ended up falling asleep under his touch and slumped against him in any form, he'd be too shy to move, stroking your hair gently with a smitten, blushy look on his face while he mutters a soft 'goodnight' to you.
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before the phoenix's rebirth
che la fenice more e poi rinasce
Pandora's box is set aflame.
Milo will come to know this searing warmth.
Rattled.
Pandora felt rattled. Agitated. Frustrated.
Though, none of these feelings were beyond understanding. Far from it.
These were emotions that she knew all too well, in which the worst iterations bore their teeth to bite at her from within. They presented as a sickeningly familiar discomfort in the face of Pandora's lowest moments—when all would be taken from her, she would at least find solace in the fires of their gaping maws, burning herself alive in its embrace. To give herself up and relinquish herself to the flames than to someone else's hands. From the ashes, she would renew herself.
Burn. Disintegrate. Rebuild.
He wants to think he's gotten used to the process. He's been doing it for years. He was shaky at first, having extinguished the fires with his very own tears before and left himself half-melted with no recourse. He knows better now, though. He should. There's no way he wouldn't.
Pandora steps out for air. The door slams behind her. Someone yells at her from behind it with not one kind word to spare, but she merely clicks her tongue and curses under her breath in response.
The fire was only beginning.
He needed to fan the flames to a bright red, or else he'd never quell his agonies. Being an adult, as hard as it seemed for him to feel like one at times, had its perks—he had more 'freedom' to do whatever he wished than he did as a child, so long as he ignores the breath down his neck and its suffocation. It mockingly dances in tandem with the smoke's rhythm, creating a melody of intoxicating resentment. It was rigid. Unyielding. Invariable. Stubbornly incompatible were the two—it was the will of others fighting over his own. There was no hope of reconciliation. Regardless, he had to do something.
Pandora slams her body into the driver's seat and closes the door. She feels like she's gonna explode any moment. Her head is on fire, too, but it's not enough yet.
Inhale. Exhale.
Fan the fire.
Keep it burning.
Even if it hurts.
It's all part of the process.
He thinks he wants a witness to all this. To really make it worth it. The flames might burn more brightly for a spectator's eyes, he surmises, but he's never invited anyone to watch such a display. After all, he's spent so long building up this image of himself—to back down now would render his efforts all for naught. Not to mention his overly pathetic and righteous sense of keeping others out of his problems.
And yet.
The fire's already making a mess of her head. It's the flames and the smoke that speak for her now, drunk off recklessness and asphyxiation. This rebellion against herself was a kind of freedom, too, but a bitter one. Before she's even aware of it, she's already dialed someone on her phone.
"Hey, Milo! I figured we could hang out today, so I wanted to ask if you were free," Pandora opens. He drums her fingers on the wheel. The response from the other end elicits a hum, off-kilter in the strained laugh hidden within: "Great!"
She takes a deep breath then, a preparation for her disclosure. It might very well be a eulogy of sorts. Vulnerability was a weapon against her pride, something she rarely indulged in out of a perverted, warped sense of self-preservation. Despite it all, she bites the bullet.
"Also, I'm just a bit off my game for today, so... I hope you don't mind. I can trust you to keep this a secret, right?"
There's a sound of questioning from the other, and for a second Pandora wonders if he's made a mistake in trusting him. It's his guilt that calls out to him now, because of course it always does, and threatens to extinguish his blaze—as if to say, "don't you dare bring someone else into this mess or you won't be the only one left scorched."
Then, after what seems like an agonizing eternity, she hears Milo's acceptance to her proposal. The flames roar at the eagerness of the other party's oath, crackling through the receiver. Pandora adjures their quietude for now—it's not yet time for them to consume her whole.
"Thanks, you're the best!" Pandora smiles, his joy seeping in his voice, he's sure. He puts the car in ignition, the engine starting up. The heat rises, building up to a crescendo.
"So, I was thinking we'll go to..."
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