@darlngsâ / closed.
the cigaretteâs been lit for a while now and he still hasnât taken a drag, the smoke curling in impossible shapes as it paints the small bedroom with muted grays. he gets lost in it as the angry-red embers continue to sigh at him, mind only on the hushed newsachor voices slipping from the livingroom tv. only when the cigarretteâs halfway gone, and just as the ashâs about to fall to the ground, does he tap it into the plastic tray next to him, and looks at her.
thereâs nothing new about the gesture and, much as he likes to believe the opposite -- it is not rare. as she knows him talkative and charming, she knows him when heâs not. when somethingâs weighting on him, and it comes out -- either in his explosive anger or his silence. sheâs familiar with these absences, but also the reasons behind them. and she knows not to pressure him, because heâll always tell her, in the end.
(because heâs very tired of keeping things to himself)
âyou remember when i told you about my time overseas, and how it ended?â he places the stick between his lips and tilts his head. itâs easier to start vague than with names, dates. âi told you about my accident.â he doesnât need to remind her any further, but part of him -- maybe all of him -- is seeking reassurance from her.









