Send me a ♚ and I will make an edit/gif set of our muses

To maintain connections to a dead self is a ridiculous predicament; yet, Erika had kept a few. A select few whom she’d sought for after the realisation that life’s not fucking easy without a few friends here and there. 

Pale fingers, fingers tainted with intransigent crimson, flecked across Moonbyul’s sleeping countenance, pushing the stray hairs from the delicate features carved in the seraphim’s likeness. Tenebrous lashes fluttered, as if being roused, and Erika pressed her lips to the corner of the rapper’s mouth in a moment of spontaneity. “Good morning.” 

They’d never be more than what they semi-were. And Erika enjoyed the dilute romance; again, if it could even be considered as such.