M E M E : ａ ｓｎｏｗｆｌａｋｅ ｆｏｒ ａ ｋｉｓｓ
Their limbs pending securely, night engulfing shadows beneath.
Wolves desired to inhabit the top of the world, feel elated from mountainous heights. An empowerment from the edginess of others looking up to them, and them glaring right back from such pedestal. Wolves were conceited little creatures. Coyotes beat them to it, although.
Perhaps they could have been higher, at vertiginous height where the city was but a moving map. Where the slight changes are imperceptible, where, up there, you think your life could end in the next 0.73 seconds. Only if you shifted frontwards. It could be accidental. It would have to be accidental----- her mind a barrier she could not hurdle, a spectrum of utter survival paralyzing her bodice.
The higher you went, the colder it got.
His coat ended up blanketing her shoulders.
( Not like you think it happened, she totally ripped it off from his frame. Without requisitioning, or asking for permission. )
The higher you went, the colder it got.
But Liam was telling her the tales of how he thought he was a monstrosity before literally becoming one. And even though it sent fluttering shivers between rusty articulations, she felt strangely warm, the confession, it boiled her simple brains.
( Instinctively, her hand covered his, and it was just the right size, just the right squeeze. But she didn't look at him. Oh no. --- That would be embarrassing; she was already not acting like herself. And the coat was just weighting on her shoulders. Just because it was his. )
The higher you went, the colder it got.
But he warmed her up. She leaned, ever so.
Arrogance did not repel her, the way his plump lips tilted in a smirk, as if that was all he knew how to achieve with his mouth. There was a blurry limit between confidence and conceit, almost as vague as the fence between lovers and friends.
But Malia was easily the victim of that facet, as he playfully kicked one of her foot, an eerie chortle covering the fact he tried to be ready---- just in case he screwed up and she reacted too vividly, crossing the limit between solid ground and sickening naught.
Tempered, she did not remark that this was his mechanism to change subject, a whine protesting in the briskly air, and his coat floating far from graciously in its descent. Childish revenge, and claws causing a sharp pain, even though they retracted in the blink of an eye, him holding his palm and Malia profusely apologizing, a smile glistening of mischief still plastering her face.
With her wild hair, her dark skin, her torrid physique. She found herself assaulting his lips. Still not asking for permission. A fist settled on his rib cage, she felt it reverberating, a heart concurring the adrenalin. Malia couldn't help her urges, her impulses. It wasn't a direct need to kiss, but the longing to connect.
With his stupid, boyish, interrupted words, and his phrases all cut with his awkward laughter, she'd tasted a small, and bitter after-taste of solace. She could help him come to terms with it---- as she was more beast than human.
And she preferred the wilderness within her, just like she adored his imperfect, disgusting, flawed, and dripping of madness mind. She liked how he was all that, but had the looks of a pretty frightened man. She liked how he struggled---- how they both swam in the same direction.
She wanted to see him like this.
