pain is weakness leaving the body, or so it’s said || accepting
—
It’s a new venture, but perhaps not one he should’ve gone looking for: stomach’s going to bruise smartly, and less prettily than a galaxy, and his face is already red-purple blooming at the jaw, closed-fist-shaped. His own hands ache like he’s been punching granite. Might as well have been, for all the effect he’s had on the guy who’d started it.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he promises, smiling up at Sam with a wince – oooh, that’s gonna ache like a fucker. “It’s just special effects. Dramatics, y’know?”
The panicky fight-or-flight flutter screwing up knots behind his ribcage still hasn’t left, not even after telling himself that he’s safe now, and no-one’s chasing him for an encore. Honestly, all he wanted was to see if he could get served. Sadly, he doesn’t pass for of age, and… well, he was buzzed by that time, and got mouthy, and someone else got mouthy. Ah, the domino effect. What a bastard of a thing.
“You’re shaking.” Firm. Concerned. Sam.
“So?”
She sighs, tired of it. He should just keep his mouth shut.
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pain is weakness leaving the body, or so it’s said || accepting
—
Unusually burning hot – he’s not got a fever, has he? No, he’s checked his temperature. But everything makes him overheated, and he can’t sleep. So he steps out of the guest bedroom in nothing more than a vest and stripy shorts, and boy, the chill of the the snow on bare skin is a shock, earning a tired peep. He takes a few steps into the cold, the lodge still looming over him, and takes a seat. Stares into the trees, all blurry without his glasses.
He’s not sure about the time, but the moon’s shifted out of his line of sight, now, when he hears the door creak open. He doesn’t move his head when Hannah calls his name, confused and groggy and tired, but he replies: “Hey. Moon looks nice tonight. I think.” He gulps past cottonmouth, his head tilting to the side. “I feel dizzy…? I think?”
Snow crunches under sensible boots: Hannah, suited and booted for cold Canadian weather in cold Canadian months. Good! Even without his glasses, her silhouette is… she looks pretty. Hair falling about her shoulders. All incoherent thoughts buzzing in his head, fluttering. She offers him his coat. He only takes it as a courtesy, body still burning.
“Thanks. … I’m gonna go to bed.”
—
HOW YOU FIND HIM: 17 – out in the cold without warm clothes
Send 💗 to kiss my muse tenderly without explanation
“Chris...” The name came out soft against his lips, maybe a small prayer or praise, but either way in awe. Seriously, Chris was such a perfect boyfriend, even if his dumb, sexy beard made kisses itchy, or if he constantly wanted to grab his butt. Perfect boyfriend, and he was so lucky.
Phichit held onto his shoulders and stood on his tip toes, European genes be damned, and he pressed a kiss back on Chris’s lips, as gentle as the first one. He sighed softly into the kiss, taking the time to slide their lips together as he smiled against Chris’s mouth, satisfied. He could sit for hours doing just this, tenderly making out with Chris. He could do that right now.
“Okay...” he breathed out, barely pulling away. “What brought this out? Valentine’s is way over.”
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