Something about the manner of his hands circling your wrists sends shivers rattling up your arms and you have to pull your sleeves over your fingers to conceal the fidgeting of your hands. It’s all so painfully casual and easy, all things platonic and Just That, everything thick with static of things left unsure, things left unsaid. He lifts his head and he stares at you, and like a child, you can’t help but smile when you see the startling blue of his eyes and the adolescence of his face. You know it’s all wrong, and your heart tilts unsteadily, you know that all the waving beats of your chest are all off center and unmatched, are all shaking and wavering. You feel your breathing hitch and staring at the barely-there hair of his jaw you have to hold yourself still so you don’t reach out and touch him, so you don’t spill yourself over with all the harbored, closed-off feelings, with all the shifting glances and all the words you’ve choked on.
— sky-talks (s)