⌜ @wolfstillhasclaws asked :
Five times something reminded him of his mother
ﾟ 〢 ✕ // 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 ⸻ // ⌜ accepting ⌟
‘ what do you think this is ? ’
she had a moon – like touch, voice as rich as the eclipse, eyes a heliacal rising. she unceasingly held him so close. the soft beats of her heart in one ear & a hand over the other, where all he could hear was her presence. always so quiet . maybe they had to be. when she hummed, or sang—he felt that too. ripples of vibration that carry into him like bone – deep embrace. the closest he ever hears are the shuffles of distant feet against his pillow, waking up half – forgetting how many years have truly passed. ( 𝐈. midnight steps , ) are the death of him. he always avoids sleeping on his side.
‘ what do you think this is ? ’
she pries once more, slower this time. words hitting new notes. but her child was still pondering : a stout, tiny index reaching to pinch it between his thumb. his eyes gave a jump at how fast it melted.
‘ can I eat it ? ’ he asks.
there’s a different resonation in how she laughs. quick hits of temporary joy / soft shakes in her belly, holding him close. ‘ yes. ’ she says. and so he does ; bringing the square up to his lips and letting it break between his teeth. she watches sweet as he experiences the bitter hit, latching back on the sugary glaze. he feels a buzz at the root of his skull & finds a peculiar individuality in its flavour, ( 𝐈𝐈. that rich cocoa. )
he considers the question, eyes on the floor and tongue lapping about through closed lips. ‘ tastes funny. ’ is what he finally decides on. ‘ means it’s sweet. ’ she tells him.
‘ … sweet. ’ he then mimics.
‘ do you like sweet things, levi ? ’
( 𝐈𝐈𝐈. every time, with that question. )
‘ little bit … ’
she laughs at her son’s honesty, caressing his hair. he lets her bring him into her hold, fingers playing with the folds of her shirt. use – ridden patterns / the rims were always curled a certain way ; the excess fabric making way for ( 𝐈𝐕. those particular pleats. ) just as their home was always veiled with a certain dust. some things grew inevitable, but she made it shine wherever she could. levi swallows at the building saliva in his throat, hating the speed at which the piece he had was already gone. a treat is only that : the threat of this ghostly feeling . somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it’s easier for her not to spoil him with whatever fineries she so pleases. so he clutches at the white fabric, nose nuzzling in closer to her heat.
‘ … i like your ( 𝐕. tea ) more , though … ’
