#sleuthside

            “What do you want? If you’ve come to steal from me I’m afraid you are out of luck.”

           ❝  ha - !  ❞ arms are crossed over his chest ; a defensive , isolating posture , the laugh that escapes him too large  and  too  dry  for  his mouth . self - satisfied edge to the ever - present grin has been replaced by a trembling imposter ; vulnerable and too weak to withstand the strain it lets the curl crack and fall - lips forming a tight line as teeth meet skin . it’s not a taunt , the words more genuine than anything that’s ever been directed at him , but praise tastes like stolen sweets in the back of his mouth - undeserved and not meant for him , and it’s an awfully familiar sensation . restless feet shuffle against the dirt , fidgety hands occupying themselves with flattening the sides of well - groomed dark hair ,  ❝  i give myself plenty a’credit  ❞ something quakes in accented voice , but it’s gone by the time he speaks again , ❝ but if y’wanna wax poetry ‘bout me i ain’t stoppin’ ya . ❞