mvrcutiosβ:
βNot many are ready to believe in ghosts.β Xandre replies in agreement, sighing. The disbelief is understandable, probably feeling like yet another excuse to the man who was actually charged with her death. Had Octavia not ever visited Lysander like she had the rest of them? Heβd call him lucky to not witness the gruesome image she now painted but β no one seemed to be the lucky party anymore. At the question of their staying he does smile, light snort of a laugh escaping before he glances down at Tal.Β βThere are many things iβd do for you tonight if you asked,Β β he begins, running a hand through his hair.Β β β but sleeping on a curb is not one of them. Never did it drunk, refuse to begin it sober. We can head home and come back tomorrow, grab a room at that inn down the road, couple of choices here. But no cement and cobblestone. I have limits.β Softened words, he shuts his eyes as his head tilts to the sky, content enough to wait Tal out until his mind has sorted itself to enough reason.
an empty nod and t is caught off guard by a breath of air xandre exhales. he is no fool. he recognizes that this is a laugh expressed at his suggestion of the curb, even as his mind smooths over other statements that make his heart still.Β β the bench? β he mumbles despite knowing it will go over as no better a suggestion than the last. however, he is glad it does not immediately affect alexandre. not with the moonlightβs dance along his features, the cityβs calming wind gently quaking the irreplaceable mess on xandreβs head. he does not understand how the preston can make silence seem so graceful or stasis so beautiful just for a second. it makes tal wish he knew how to sketch like winifred or write like theresa. all he might be able to do is describe it out loud, but he doesnβt think he could explain how he wants to trace the slope of xandreβs slim, pointy nose beneath his thumb without laughing at himself. his bruised face softens nonetheless. a mindless, dreaming lilt of his lips on a head thatβs tilted curiously. after a time, he speaks quietly though afraid he has fallen asleep even while his eyes have been open. β what are you dreaming about?Β β









