astrid-joy:
SHE secretly indulged in the feeling of it being day one. Astrid vividly remembered their first day one– selfishly. Her eyes rolled back, fighting off a cheeky smile. ❛ Day one and a decade later, ❜ she huffed, taking a longer drag. She shamelessly wondered if his decade had been any better than hers, but, considering the circumstances, he seemed to be doing just fine. ❛ Do you think you can handle another sixty-five of pure coincidences? ❜ although, she wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t. He had his fair share of Astrid already.
She tapped the cigarette on the edge of the bench, lifting it up in offer to him. ❛ Oh– lighters come in handy for many, many things. They’re portable, they’re useful for office candles that I’m not supposed to have, they’d be great for any survival fires, and look, they even come in handy for your old smokes, ❜ Astrid looked down to observe her tweed outfit, grabbing the lighter again and burned off any straggling strings to prove a point. ❛ Number four: useful for fashion emergencies! ❜ she laughed, temporarily forgetting about any pressure that nagged her thoughts.
She looked over at him, nodding her head. ❛ I have to be, ❜ she mustered the conclusion of being a fighter long ago. Astrid rubbed her temple, sighing the remaining stress away as she heard him. They still had much in common, including the feeling of being defeated today. She couldn’t handle it.
❛ Oh, bollocks, I believe we both deserve to have a better day, ❜ she said, looking around the cheery park. People were laughing, enjoying, and she increasingly grew envious. She had a few ideas of how today could be better–– but she was committed to remaining sober. ❛ Are you up for making it a good day, Samar? ❜ the ‘with me’ part was silent. She just wanted to run away for a little and somehow she couldn’t think of anyone better to revel in.
His body became a vessel, filling with a cocktail made of bitters and honey, dashes akin to acid snaking down, trying to beat the run of a sweetness that had an equal shot of making him sick by the time it reached the pit of his stomach. A decade felt so extensive when spelled out, but all that time couldn't equal some days. He wondered if it ever could, even if a decade could be doubled, tripled, until there wasn't any sand left in the hourglass at all. Would it be better if there was a hand to reach out and flip it over sixty-five times, only to correct it after every one? He couldn't answer, clogging behind the corners of his jaw, making it shift, before he could finally voice something more important. "Could you?"
Who would have thought fire could smooth the waters? He watched the flame lap at the threads of her dress with a furrowed brow, an instinct to keep a close watch, but she had only her point to prove. "Nothing does get in your way," he told her, observation, maybe warning, maybe admiration. His hand tipped underneath her own, raising the lighter away from her. "Don't set yourself on fire because of it, yes?"
Gently, his thumb released her wrist last, returning to his side of the bench, if only in touch, letting the eyes do the rest. He could feel himself staring at her, letting her words sink in, weighing where he was, not just in the park but in life. If this was day one, they were entitled to a day, not minutes.
"Take a walk with me," he offered, already standing up, ready to venture on. "We're not far from somewhere you probably haven't gone in a long time." Perhaps in a whole decade.














