#hiswit

❝       bad    nights    can    happen .        things    would    be    a    bit    easier    if    they    didn’t    . .         ❝                he    hands    off    the    mug    of    tea ,    kiss    absentmindedly    pressed    against    his    knuckles .        a    damp    rag    is    brushed    against    his    knuckles    soon    after    to    wipe    away    the    blood ,    &.    he    peppers   his    hand    in    kisses    &.    it    trails    to    his    cheek    -    tender    &.    loving .        he    knows    better    to    not    ask    what    happened ,    &.    instead ,    he    comforts    the    other    :    cuddled    up    into    his    side    as    he    presses    another    gentle    kiss    on    his    cheek    as    his   fingers    trace    patterns    on    his    arm    absentmindedly ,    feeling       [  . . .  ]        safe    in    his    presence .        ZEE’S    voice    remains    gentle    &.    hushed .                ❝        what    can    i    do    to    make    your    night    easier?        i    came    as    soon    as    i    got    your    text    . . .        ❝

“ y'think i’d fuckin’ be here if i didn’t have to? ”  hands are thrown up to further his point to the other, face contorting into something of amusement and annoyance.  “ glad i’m not here for a damn tea party — your hostin’ skills are shit. ”

   𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙎𝙆𝙀𝙔 𝙎𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙎 𝙊𝙁 𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝘿,  starts to blot out some of reality’s crueller edges.  it’s her most favoured vice,  demonstrably so   ——–   yet she’s three,  four,  five tumblers deep into her session,  and still,  she has not fully satiated whatever it is that she’s trying to soothe.  the itch has not yet been scratched,  for memories written in ink are not so easily erased   ;   𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚜 that a bottle will be enough to relieve her of them for an evening.  such mercy has not been granted,  of course.  in spite of the drink,  in spite of her desperation,  the memories claw insistently at her consciousness   ;   her heart aches,  and she consciously wills away a tide of drunken tears.  she notices him staring,  of course  (  she’d liken his company to bottled lightning,  𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,  she struggles to ever ignore him.  )  her gaze isn’t on him directly,  but he lingers in her periphery,  slumped as is she is over the garrison’s bar as she sits on the wooden stool.  her initial urge is to swallow her sadness,  though she distantly knows it swallow her if she tries.  so rather than mask her misery,  𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙩,  offering her company a weak smile,  a raise of her glass.   ❝   ...  drink with me ?   ❞   although her tongue aims for the timbre of a question,  in her tone there is only pleading,  only lonesome desperation.

wordless prompts.

          ❛   oh,  bullshit.   ❜       shoshana’s never been able to keep her tongue tied even when she should ;  to tell a peaky blinder he’s talking shit could certainly mean a great deal of trouble for her, depending on how he takes it.  she waves her free hand almost dismissively as she takes a long drag from her cigarette.   ❛   don’t be a  martyr,  michael.  it doesn’t   suit   you.   ❜   she says on the exhale, an unmistakable edge to her voice.   (  neither does the cold set of her eyes fit her otherwise soft-boned and angelic face, but there’s little she can do about  that  except be, in earnest,   herself.   )   maybe she isn’t cut out for the world that  he  inhabits, such as it is, but she was at least forged from something stronger than most expect  -  and for as willing as she is to make use of her ingenue appearance until her manner betrays her, she’s equally willing to say exactly what she thinks, even at moments which may seem   inopportune.   ❛   that isn’t for you to decide for other people.  all you can do is be every unapologetic inch  yourself  and let them choose to either stay or not.  I’ve chased away plenty of people that way and we’re all better off for it.  if they can’t handle me at my worst,  well  ...   ❜   unceremoniously, she stubs her cigarette out in the ashtray on the bar top in front of her.   ❛   but to actively try to push people away like that?  you’re protecting   yourself.   not them.  and there’s nothing wrong with that, but don’t  lie  to yourself about it and don’t  lie  to me, either, I haven’t got the time for that.   ❜