#omegabychoice

((I’m guessing burning inferno because there’s both bone and thin skin.))

                                                      { how many must die to achieve peace? }

     Brown peeks from where his face burrows against his folded arms, head rising languidly from its rest position. Fingers curl around the body of the mug, a ghost of a smile curving against the rim, "—thanks."

                                                         There's no use in lying.

[TEXT TO PERCY]; I'm not pretty, ugh. You're terrible.

[TEXT TO PERCY]; Not even then. I look at puppies all day, Perce.

[TEXT TO PERCY];  I'm not pretty, I'm handsome.

[TEXT TO PERCY]; If you do, you should graham crackers and chocolate. We can make smores.

     The car isn't in the driveway, a sign his mom isn't home.

                                                               [He can still feel fear lodging his throat, claws marring across hers still beneath closing lids. A ghost that kisses his thoughts while the key turns.]

     Wood creeks under his trudging weight, his bag dropping onto the floor as a mindless heap beside the closing door. Silence brings palms to rub against his eyes sockets, hoping to rid of the sharp talons of guilt and extrudes a sigh, shoulders slumping with fatigue. The sleep on the bus was only a few hours of restless irises flickering beneath lids he couldn't bring to open. He's pulled from his stupor when music reaches his ears, a thudding rhythm of beats that echo in the shadows of the house, limbs tightening in aware. It's from his room, he notes as stairs grunt with his movements and holds his breath, letting fingers turn the knob quietly before peeking through the widening gap.