and-proof-that-i-can't-write

Summary: Matt likes to think Neil is done saying things that will get himself killed. Andrew disagrees.

Relationships: Matt & Neil, established Andrew/Neil

Warning: This is very pointless and the proof that I can write fluff and crack of anything. 

Word Count: 1474

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a/n: not sure what this is, where it came from, where it’s going, or if there’ll be more but ! here you go :-) tell me how you feel etc

He’s nervous. He knows nervousness. It’s high on the spectrum of human emotion he knows so well he can spot it miles away. He see’s it in the jitters of fans as they mumble hellos and ask for hugs, he sees it in his bandmates nightly, their anxious energy bouncing off the walls of dressing rooms, and he sees it in himself, right now, standing in front of you with his mouth parted and ready to speak.

“You look,” he sighs, searching for a word that fits it best. Perfect is his first choice but he doesn’t know if that’s too much - too strong. “Incredible.” He settles and you beam back at him, the light in your eyes challenged only by the sun itself.

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tour!5sos blurb night! tag me in your blurbs yay!

The first few weeks in an empty home without Luke were hard in their own way; you’d seen him come and go from tour before and every time it took you a few days to adjust to only pulling out one mug every morning and only cooking enough dinner for one person every night, but those little habits quickly faded quickly along with heavy sighs.

It took a little longer to get used to half of your bed staying cold and being able to shuffle in your sleep without the dead weight of his lengthy arm thrown over your torso; for the cotton of his pillow to let go of the smell of his cologne and the remnants of his shampoo. That one was the hardest; when you couldn’t surround yourself with his smell anymore so you spent nights rummaging through his side of the closet to find something you hadn’t yet cleaned, the laundry detergent lasted three times as long when he was away with you reluctant to clean his essence from anything.

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The act of calculating a spinning subject matter.

I am not yet old enough to curse time.

The world follows the same pattern of motion every day. 

The sun remains steadfast,

           aching to touch humanity.

                                             I have the burns to prove it.

The freckles, the tan lines,

                   proof that something reached for me today.

Today, 

           I am one season away from the growth of flowers.

Today,

          I am two seasons away from lifted question marks, abstract answers, new questions.

Today,

          I am awake and holding coffee,

                believing the motion of sunlight leaking through my curtains 

                 are the tips of his fingers

                             – the promise of

                                              motion.