exsolutus:

          (  he’s barely awake when the contact begins, and even then, he doesn’t stir until a few moments later. pushing forward ever so slightly, a ghost of a smile curls at the corners of his cheeks, and he shuffles closer to her. scott’s never been so exhausted in his life.

                she’s probably going to have to jump on him to get him to wake up.  )

            ( she’s no real intentions of waking him up– yet, more than aware he deserves every goddamned second of sleep, and every goddamned moment of half-assed relaxation.

                        so, she’ll give it to him, the confirmation a wordless nuzzle into the vehemence of his neck. )

          ( with an exhale that loosens the tautness of muscles, she rolls onto her side to face him (because god only knew they hadn’t had each other like this in ages). and she lifts nimble digits to ghost along the murderous chisel of his jaw. )

          ( she doesn’t say a damn word. )

exsolutus:

                   that scent — he knows that scent anywhere.

         whether it be a thing of dreams, a memory, or a mechanism of coping in the worst of moments, scott knows that scent better than most things. nothing could come close to it — no words could describe exactly what it is. that doesn’t matter, though.

                                  nothing matters but getting downstairs. now.

           the door is carelessly thrown open, and the tense muscles in his shoulders relax; his expression softens into something of relief.

                      ❝ — Cora. ❞       it’s actually her. in the flesh.

           admittedly, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, or why she’s doing it. whatever happened between them (the bitterness, the anger, all that bloomed into something fresh out of a nicholas spark’s novel), was in the past. right? this wasn’t a wanton moment of romanticized double jeopardy.

                       then why  was her heart
                         the echoing thud of a war drum
                         in the depth of her chest?

           the convictions disappear almost as easily as they came once chestnut hues clash with the milk-chocolate of his own. a hitch of breath; a contortion of lips into the first genuine smile she’s offered in months; an ache to reach for him.

                                       ❝ – I never said good-bye. ❞