“Oh, my god, get up, get up, get up!” Ginny’s hissing, hitting him in the face with last night’s boxer briefs and a suspiciously stained black t-shirt. She’s already pulled on her own underwear, white cotton boy shorts covered in miniature pink strawberries, and is now struggling to untwist the straps of a dark purple bra. “Scabior!”
Scabior scrubs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Why,” he whines, lifting his hips to tug his boxers up and over his morning wood. He flops backwards when he’s done. “It’s so early.”
“It’s nine-thirty,” Ginny snaps, kind of judgmentally, even though Scabior knows for a fact that she’s a perpetual fucking trainwreck before noon. “And George called, my mom’s literally—”
There’s the telltale squeak of the front door unlocking, followed by the faint rustle of a plastic grocery bag being put down, and then a Southern-accented female voice is chirping, “Ginny! Ginny?”
Ginny goes almost comically still, eyes wide and mouth open and expression frozen in a weirdly endearing amalgam of dread, annoyance, and resignation—but then she’s scrambling for a pair of yoga pants and a wrinkled white undershirt that he’s pretty sure is his, quickly tying her hair up in a lumpy, slightly lopsided ponytail, and there are footsteps echoing from the hallway, brisk and efficient, and barely ten seconds have gone by, probably, but—
The bedroom door swings open.
A short, middle-aged woman with very familiar red hair and a Maryland sweatshirt appears.
When he smiles, for example, and his eyes grow a few
wrinkles at the edges as he claps his hands together and shows all his teeth. A
beach, that’s what she compares him with when he is happy, the warmth of his
deep voice pouring out of his lips resembles the sun. The touch of his hands
over her skin, trying to find the love that is always there is the sand…fleeting,
always present, a little bit ticklish too. The water are his eyes when he
finishes laughing and there are tears at the corner of his eyes, truthfully
enjoying himself over everything and once he finishes, he is kissing her lips
in between laughter, making it the warmest day in the world even if it was
snowing outside. Chanyeol’s happiness is the beach and she loves it dearly.
you carry stars in your pockets like you have stretched the universe tight around your soul. when i fall, they spill out of your pockets as you try to help me up and i spend years in my head trying to make constellations until my eyes hurt. when i close them, you are still there.
your touch is as soft as the feathers on my back; i sit on the bathroom counter and daydream even though it’s night. you tape the gaps in my wings, and i try to ignore the way your fingers burn.
you kiss me like you have forever and a day and i only have a few hours. i am a dripping candle and you the sun, so bright i can hardly bear to look at you, but you kiss me again and i forget every warning my father told me.
there is no happily ever after; there is only you, with fire in your veins and hands dusted with the ashes of what is left of me.