( unpredictability is dangerous, although not like the uptick of crime in a small town. if he thought he was going to die, he wouldn’t be here. wouldn’t be trapped between a door and a hard place. without the comfort of distance, everything’s on display down to the swell of his lips, irritated from biting them and the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. )
I’m full of them. ( more of an exhale than a confession. he’s done for when his shoulder blades connect with wood.
he drops the mug, doesn’t sound like it busts into fragments but something breaks off. he needs that palm for the back of william’s neck like he needs to taste him. as badly as he wants to tear at him from being wound up for hours, he kisses him like it’s a puzzle he’s not sure he fits into. )
no subject
I’m full of them. ( more of an exhale than a confession. he’s done for when his shoulder blades connect with wood.
he drops the mug, doesn’t sound like it busts into fragments but something breaks off. he needs that palm for the back of william’s neck like he needs to taste him. as badly as he wants to tear at him from being wound up for hours, he kisses him like it’s a puzzle he’s not sure he fits into. )