HTTP://Â YEARNING PROMPTS / ACCEPTINGÂ Â Â â Â when your eyes are on me, Â i feel like something worth seeing. Â â / @feybledââ Â - Â Johnny Silverhand
GOLDEN  HOUR  WAS  RIPE  FOR  SENTIMENTALITY  IT  SEEMED. It pools through the dusty windows of her truck and softens their sharp edges. His customary sunglasses are nowhere in sight, strange, especially now when he actually needed them. The deep brown of his eyes are molten as he stares at her. The sincerity she finds in them keeping her pinned like a moth to a board, wings flat and splayed for his perusal. It inspires a blush to spread across the apples of unscarred cheeks and she prays it isnât noticeable in the gilt sunlight. Even now she hates to be quite so affected, so open, like he hadnât swam through an ocean of her thoughts and fears a thousand times over. She can count the number of times theyâve been this candid with each other on one hand. They were both of them aloof, more so now than ever before. Neither knowing how to navigate their own thoughts now without expecting to bump into the other.
A coy smile tugs at the corners of her lips, instinct rising to defuse the unbearable weight that settled in the space between them âOh? Is that so, mister rockerboy with your legion of adoring fans that paid repulsive amounts of money to be in your presence. I somehow manage to make you feel all that?â She herself feels something expand in her chest as she teases him. It grows so big she fears her ribs might crack, that she might float from the truck or simply burst all together in the most terrible, wonderful way. Vasya never sought out greatness, didnât need to be important. She didnât need praise, approval, or love to exist. You couldnât miss what youâve never known, right?  She couldnât deny how euphoric it felt to be chosen and beloved by someone sought-after and desired by millions.Â
He doesnât laugh like she anticipates. No sharp comeback sliding off his equally sharp tongue to dish it right back like he usually would. Something softer graces worn features as he watches her. Itâs infuriating, not being able to reach out and pluck the thoughts from his head and name them herself. Worse still that she knows precisely what they are, though neither of them seem brave enough speak them aloud and grant them power. It must drive the others crazy, their poor adoptive family. Panam would roll her eyes and gag if she was with them. Mitch would give them a pitying smile and tell them to hurry up and sort their shit out. And Saul, God bless him, if he had lived he would have locked them in this very truck and thrown away the key until they died or caved, whichever came first. This would be the closest they came today. Maybe tomorrow theyâd find the right moment.
V reaches out, brand new fingers slipping through beams of sunlight until they find Johnnyâs face. Her palm cradles a bearded cheek, still expecting it to slip through his skin as he flickers in and out of focus. But heâs warm and solid and real beneath her palm and he leans into her touch like their stupid cat that slept soundly in the seat behind them. Her soft, new heart constricts painfully at the gesture, and again when his lips graze the uncalloused skin of her palms. âJohnny-â She starts, cut off when his hand drapes over the back of her own. It short-circuits something in her head and the merc can only sit there dumbly trying to remember how to piece together a single sentence âI feel the sameâ wasnât enough, didnât come close to the vortex of emotion heâd stirred up within her. It felt cheap in comparison, not that he would care. He seemed to collect all the kind words bestowed upon him. A rough thumb presses against her lips, halting her humiliating attempts at reciprocation with startling tenderness. She feels him pet over the space her scar had once been.
