SHE’S ALL STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM,  a flickering bout of divine sunshine in his cloudless existence, the pallor of her skin a lovely blush shade sure to put aphrodite’s chiselled alabaster statues to shame.  the spark of life beneath isaac’s lingering fingertips has him lit up like an exit sign flashing red, yellow, green – pass and go, collect $200.  

the thing is, he doesn’t want to flee the stage mid-program, because he’s never really been the selfless kind of guy.  that, and his present state of disbelief, is enough to keep him a fixture in a bed plush enough to be mistaken heaven’s cloud.

does that make his bed companion an angel?  wouldn’t surprise him.

it isn’t until she speaks that isaac’s hand snatches away like a child touching hotplate, burned.  embarrassment paints his throat – compliments the marks left an etching the night before.  were it not for the bruise-kissed skin and her bare ivory shoulders, he might’ve thought he’d imagined last night.

     ❛ – i’ve, uh… never done this before. did you– was i supposed to go? ❜

a shaky hand pushing through messy curls, he begins the slow process of reassembly, the messy bits and pieces of vulnerability returning to their proper compartments, worn leather chairs in the empty hallways of his heart.  again, he has to remind himself – he isn’t that person anymore, the one that shies away, flinching from inevitable rejection.  isaac ignores the shatterbeat of his chaotic pulse; instead, settles comfortably on his back, staring at the ceiling.

    ❛ well, too late now. ❜

       ❛ can i open my eyes yet? ❜ timbre of his voice carries an obnoxious undertone to it, akin to a child’s ‘ are we there yet? ‘ when patience dwindles. and boy, has his patience worn thin. he has no doubt her halloween make-up will look stupendous, but was it really worth the wait? it only reminded him that he was next to face the palette: meaning double the time he’d already waited, as well as incessant orders for him to stop fidgeting. sitting still was not his forte: he’d be sure to ask for a pee break once she’d finished painting her countenance. ❛ c’mon, jess, i’m sure you’re done every little detail by now — i’m dying to see. ❜ the drawl holds a playful sarcasm to it: but seriously. hurry up.

          it was over, wasn’t it? she was caught right in the act of ogling a cheerleader. it wasn’t often though that she found someone appealing to look at and she thought if she had her books out with her then she could be passing for studying . . . which she was. but there is this nervousness spreading inside her chest when the one she had been staring at approaches her. she already has an excuse on her tongue, ready to TRY and lie but perhaps her thought out response comes too quickly . . . falling off her lips too soon. 

                  IT DIDN’T BURN ;   in fact, he felt FROZEN , if anything.  BEING BURNED,  he could handle --- but it seemed like every nerve in his body was being rewired. He had willingly FLUNG  himself in front of the blue lightning , and when his shoulder hit the ground, he felt like he may as well have flung in front of a TRAIN . He couldn’t control his body --- he had taken the hit for Katara, and now he was being forced to watch her fight HIS battle. He tried  to get up --- he never stopped trying.  It’s part of who he’s always been, someone who didn’t give up --- but he physically can’t get up. 

Katara was right --- it was a trick. 

                                          Azula DIDN’T JUST LIE ; she didn’t play fair. 

                                    It was a truth that could just get them KILLED  tonight....

&   he thought that’s how it would end --- being forced to watch Katara be fried while he laid on the floor. He watched the blue fire, he watched her fight , and dread  was filling the hollows of his bones. NO.  It can’t end this way.....

i thought u were the sun bc ur hot af