#froideur

Les-portes-du-sud

Lei Feng

Henry de Montherlant (Les jeunes filles)

FROIDEUR | Wolf of Wall Street #froideur #wolfofwallstreet #wolf #wallart #wall #street #bigbull #chill #cheers🍻 #salestips #sales #wantsales #digitalmarketing #redbubbleshoppers #redbubbleshop #lovefortrading #leonardodicaprio #celebrity #spanish #usalady (at Jaipur, Rajasthan) https://www.instagram.com/p/CekqKttPwrS/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛.  how long had she been standing there,  stationary and staring,  she didn’t know.  breath hitches,  fright already settling like preemptive dust on her fried nerves.  with baited breath,  she turns on her spot,  and brown eyes momentarily fail to focus on he who now accompanies her.  when the figure becomes apparent,  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫,  a small inkling of relief whirs in her belly.  she’ll take the company of a stranger over whatever is brewing in the beckoning belly of the forest.

 ❝     𝐡𝐦 ?     ❞     𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞,  𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐲-𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬,  𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞.  pointed nose scrunches,  head of untamed blonde tresses offering a small shake of no.  their journey hadn’t exactly been a long one,  though the stress of the small and rushed flight over had certainly tired her some     ;     and yet,  she’d been restless all through the night,  tossing and turning before finally resigning to getting up and throwing together a drink to ease the night along.     ❝     ——–     not really.  i got a couple of hours when i first laid down     ;     been in n’ out of sleep since then.     ❞     palm presses defiantly into the socket of her eye,  forcing away any lingering remnants of sleep.  through the window,  paris in its earliest vision,  scarce of any initial bursts of light.  shadows,  black and blue in palette,  hang long over the city     ;     how she longs to journey out of their holed up state and into the fray.  dark eyes move to alek,  brimming with the obvious  (  and already heartily expressed  )  desire to explore the city.  she knows better than to argue the point again that they won’t be recognised,  certainly not at this hour,  but she senses this likely isn’t the most opportune moment,  and lets the debate slide.  brows knot as she raises from the small couch upon which she’d been curled,  tea in hand.     ❝     i’m surprised you’re awake.  thought you’d be used to travellin’ all over the place and sleeping no matter the timezone.     ❞     as she makes her way into the kitchen,  her arm briefly brushes against his.     ❝     ...  you want a brew ?     ❞

 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.  𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞,  𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦     ——–     𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭.  for she knows all too well that the smallest misstep will dismantle whatever tentative thing their relationship has unwittingly become.  a silence builds in the wake of his confessional words     ——–     unnatural for her,  unnatural for them.  a silence not for a lack of knowing what to say,  but for the fear that if she does speak the words desperate to leap from her tongue,  they can never be unsaid.  heavy breath parts pink lips     ;     between them,  only the expanse of her small kitchen,  though the distance feels to span lightyears.     ❝     ...  i’m an expert at feelin’ alive.     ❞     a slither of truth wrapped up in the trimmings of a grand lie.  she’s an expert at the illusion of feeling alive.  an expert in the best imitations of the sensation.     ❝     ...  i can try help you feel alive again.  if you want.     ❞     the words finally spoken,  unable to be revoked     ——–     and she’s unsure herself what it even is she’s offering him.  herself,  if he wants it.  everything and nothing all at once.  pink lips pinch to one side in the wake of her words,  and she turns her back to him,  pouring a sizable glass of white wine.  an attempt to play down the intensity of her words,  to shroud them in nonchalance.     ❝     ...  or,  we can drink until you feel better again.  your choice.     ❞