a coma might feel better than this

“You look nice, Edea,” Tiz murmured. His visible eye was focused on her dress, she noticed, and she gave a little sashay, posing to show off its form better and laughing when he turned pink. She supposed the neckline was pretty plunging, but she loved the cut–and besides, Tiz had always been a little shy with girls and more feminine things. It was her mission to get him used to them again so he could be forward with Agnès when the time was right! (Though, Magnolia was either going to desensitize him completely, or leave him traumatized. Edea was not yet sure which.) He was trying to go on, at least, his mouth working as he remarked: “It’s… fashionaaa…?”

…Awww, Tiz. “People don’t call it that anymore,” she said, flapping a hand at him. “That was a fad. It’s just ‘fashionable’ now.” Which he was obviously not a reliable judge of, if the clothes he for some reason insisted on continuing to wear hadn’t clued her in before, but she appreciated that he meant to compliment her.

Now he just looked annoyed, for as much of his expression as she could see under his mop of hair. “But you used to correct me on that all the time.”

“That’s what being fashionable means! You make the most of fads when they’re in, and you know when they’re out. Of course, there are some rules of fashion that never change, like…maintaining a sharp hairstyle…”

“Uh huh.”

Maybe it was better she couldn’t see his whole expression. The full force of his current apathy might have been enough to actually make her feel bad. “You could look very nice yourself, Tiz! All you’d need is a little…snip-snip-snip.” She reached up (higher than she’d liked to have needed, how Tiz had managed to grow taller while in a coma was a mystery to her) and took a bit of his absurdly long fringe between her index and middle fingers, miming a pair of scissors.

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City and Colour - Waiting

A coma might feel better than this,
attempting to discover where to begin.
You’re weighed down, you’re full of something.
Of sickness, and desertion.
You’re weighed down, you’re full of something,
you’re underneath it all.

So say goodbye to love,
and hold your head up high.
There’s no need to rush
we’re all just waiting, waiting to die.

Hoping a better place is all I need,
with moments of innocence and mystery.
Oh, it’s the little things you miss.
Like waking up all alone.
Oh, it’s the little things you miss,
when you’re underneath it all.

So say goodbye to love,
and hold your head up high.
There’s no need to rush
we’re all just waiting, waiting to die.

All your friends seem like enemies
when you’re broken down and empty.
All your friends seem like enemies
when you’re broken down and empty.

So say goodbye to love,
and hold your head up high.
There’s no need to rush
we’re all just waiting, waiting to die.
Watch on tellmewhatmyfistskeepwriting.tumblr.com

City and Colour - Waiting

A coma might feel better than this,
attempting to discover where to begin.
You’re weighed down, you’re full of something.
Of sickness, and desertion.
You’re weighed down, you’re full of something,
you’re underneath it all.

So say goodbye to love,
and hold your head up high.
There’s no need to rush
we’re all just waiting, waiting to die.

Hoping a better place is all I need,
with moments of innocence and mystery.
Oh, it’s the little things you miss.
Like waking up all alone.
Oh, it’s the little things you miss,
when you’re underneath it all.

So say goodbye to love,
and hold your head up high.
There’s no need to rush
we’re all just waiting, waiting to die.

All your friends seem like enemies
when you’re broken down and empty.
All your friends seem like enemies
when you’re broken down and empty.

So say goodbye to love,
and hold your head up high.
There’s no need to rush
we’re all just waiting, waiting to die.