#davearadia

Instead you reach out and pluck them from his face. Without his glasses he looks younger and older all at once, different. Vulnerability lurks in the shadows smeared fuzzily beneath his lashes, in the graceful, swooping lines of his eyebrows. Idly, you reach out and trace one of them with the pad of your thumb. This close you can see that he has freckles, strange little light brown spots spattered across his cheekbones. But his face is marred by bruises; blood is smeared around his mouth and his eyes rest half-open like the shutters of some long-abandoned house, vacant and unknowing.

i know im pretty megido face like mine could hang in the louvre and make the mona lisa herself cry because shell never look this good but time is dead kids so how bout you gimme back my shades and get moving kay

You just hum in reply, and your hand moves up to smooth his hair. There’s something almost tender in the gesture.