#musing: drabble

🤗 - draws my muse in for a hug

“We’re okay, come here.” 

Pandora tugs on Castora’s arm, pulling her into her space and wraps her own arm around her shoulders. If this was any other situation, she would make a quip about the smeared blood between the two staining their shirts. The desire to protect Cas from what they went through overwhelms Pandora. Her other hand reaches for the gun in Castora’s hand, tossing it onto the nearest surface so the other woman wouldn’t have to worry about the weight in her hand. If she doesn’t see the weapon, she won’t be concerned with it. Their breathing is the only noise in the room, the other companion in the room has long since passed. She finally brings her other arm to her shoulder, hand instinctively going to the back of her neck to pull her closer. 

This was never supposed to happen. Their mission had been simple - it was given to them after all. The idea that Cas would have to step between her and a gun never crossed either of their minds. 

💆‍♂️ - brushes hair from my muse’s face

Pandora can feel something broad against her back. She can’t tell where she is or if this is some nightmare that she’ll have to wake herself from. There’s a pain in her chest but doesn’t have any time to think about it because she can feel something dragging her. Whatever type of dream this is had to be brought on by something drank - this is why she doesn’t drink. It only causes more issues than it solves. But, that’s something for tomorrow Pandora to remember and now she just wants to sleep. 

“Hey, listen to me.” A voice drags her back to the present and a groan escapes her lips. They’re too loud. Why can’t they let her sleep? “Pandora, stay with me.”

Finally, she opens her eyes and Henry’s face is the first thing she sees. His brows are knitted together with something that looks similar to concern written on his face. She can feel his hands pressing against her, hard and steady on her ribcage. 

That’s odd.

She notices his hair out of place and reaches up, fingers sticky with blood and sweat, to push it back into its correct spot. A trail of red stains his forehead and she frowns. She goes to wipe it away but one of his hands stops her, making her frown even more. “Henry, there’s something-”

😵 - pulls my muse down in a heap

They left the bar hours ago, but that didn’t stop either of them from opening another bottle of wine and another and another when they stumbled into Pandora’s apartment. They were celebrating something neither of them remembered nor cared about. By now, the only thing that mattered is that they were still having fun even if the sun was set to rise any moment and they would have to part. 

An idea forms in Pandora’s head as she watches the other woman stand up from the bed. “Valentina,” her name comes out in a low whisper. She doesn’t give Val more than a second before her hands wrap around her waist to pull her down to the bed, falling on top of her. Laughter fills the room regardless of the pain that came with bruises that are forming from the collision. 

“Really, Pandora?” The statement holds no real malice, not when there’s a smile on Val’s face that mirrors the one on Pan’s. She doesn’t move, which is enough confirmation for the one on Pan’s face to widen. 

🔷️ - tracing shapes on my muse’s skin

Escaping Verona for a weekend was easier said than done. But, when Tomas appeared outside of her apartment with promises of the Pesaro sun on her face and the sand beneath her feet she couldn’t resist. He barely gave her a moment to agree before rushing into the apartment, grabbing onto her hand to pack a bag for her. Tomas was a hurricane, having already decided what exactly she needed and simply throwing it in the closest bag he could find.

Their escape from the city is filled with genuine laughter from both of them, no longer strained from the tension that seems to only exist within the city walls. They spend the morning on the beach, stretched out on a towel with a picnic basket at the edge of the towel and an umbrella to shield their eyes. Her fingers drag along his arm, connecting one freckle to another and pointedly ignores any scars of her own making. The history between the two will soon be written over with memories that are not filled with pain or agony, but instead of tender happiness. She’ll make sure of it if it’s the last thing she does. 

“Grazie, Tomas.” She turns onto her side to face the man she’s sharing a towel with. “You never cease to know when I need you most.”

He faces her, thousand-watt smile plastered on his face as always. His own hand covers hers that continues to draws constellations on his skin. “Isn’t that what friends are for, Pan?”