#meisner

You’d been warned about getting involved with Meisner. He’s mission oriented, dedicated to the cause, focused. There’s no room for anything else, for anybody else.

“You scratch an itch.” Sebastian had told you late one night when you were collating the intelligence reports. “He’ll never he able to love you.”

He’s right, you know he is because the name that Meisner calls when he’s fucking you it isn’t yours. It’s hers. The woman he’s fighting for, the one he’s mourning.

It’s why he slips from your sheets in the aftermath, why he won’t look at you, speak to you.

“You don’t realise how much you look like her.” Sebastian says as he drops down into the seat beside you and opens his wallet. The picture he pulls out is creased and faded, it comes from an old polaroid camera. It’s an image of the three of them, Sebastian, Meisner and her, Lyra, the woman he’d thought he was going to marry. “My sister was the love of his life, I’m sorry but he’s never gotten over her death.”

The two of you are similar, the eyes, the lips, the hair…

Yours is a little longer but the colouring is the same. He likes to run his fingers through it as he kisses you, tug it just a little at the height of climax because it makes you moan like a whore.

Now you know it’s not just something you like, she must have liked it as well.

His Lyra, the woman you can never replace.

You leave that night, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder as you slip the note underneath his door.

they’re so slay

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