un : ender.
fingers sense her before she comes into view, bending themselves around the edge of the island his lower back’s rested against as if physically anchoring himself to the spot. guilt pools between intestines when a honey gaze finds hers, ears momentarily tuning out the voices that echo beside him, focus laid singularly on keeping the soles of his shoes flat against the kitchen’s laminate floorboards. control is a skill long buried in the bottom of a toolbox, rusting from a marriage of time and lack of use. fifteen slow seconds dribble around him before scuffed white vans finally let him go, easing through the crowd that hugs the living room, the hallway to the bathroom. a few faceless silhouettes linger near the bedroom door adjacent, but he thinks nothing of it. thinks of nothing at all when fingers find the door knob and the rest of him eagerly pushes forward.
the faux marble of the counter cools her thighs, ankles crossed in a thin veil of modesty with hands on her lap, fingers folded over one another to keep from picking at cuticles. nerves bound through her torso every time ; push firm against her rib cage, squishing her lungs into awkward shapes that make her breaths short and wispy, tail end tickles the top of her stomach something worse than butterflies. glances don’t have to be spared to know who entered the bathroom, soft click of the lock overlaying the thumping of her heartbeat — even if only for a moment. this scene could hold its own rerun spot on two in the morning television, saved for the insomnia doused teens and sixty something year olds that lazily run through channels because it happens so often, always the same : the subtle softening of her mouth’s corners, timid patter of his shoes closing the already small space, warm palms making home to the panel of his neck, fingertips settling between golden ringlets in silent prayer for more time tonight. always begging for more time this once.














