 VEE @banksilla
no rizz, just seductive eyes, a pretty face and multiple personalities
 KEI @keiotic.mats
The funniest thing about haters is that they’re still technically fans. Just very committed ones.
 VICKY @vic.torious
I’ve been described as a ‘heartless villain’ and a 'little shit’, but I prefer… 'has alternative ways of having fun’
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— my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 13.03.2026 19:36von Milane Lióra Giordiano •
| 204 Beiträge
| on a break | Nicht angegeben |
| charactersong | ⋆ paint by numbers by harry styles |
This time was somehow different from all the others before: the panic did not creep in slowly. This time it crashed over the native Italian woman like a wave far too high and far too heavy for her to fight against. At first there was only that pitifully familiar pull in her chest, and then the feeling as if the air in the room suddenly became thinner — or perhaps so thick that it no longer fit into her lungs at all. She felt how gradually her entire body began to tremble: first her fingers, then her arms, and before she knew it she was nothing but a tightly wound bundle of nerves. In a fraction of a second she found herself sitting on the edge of her sinfully expensive designer couch, her shoulders painfully tense, her hands practically digging into the soft flesh of her bare thighs while she tried to regulate her breathing again. Just breathe, Milane. Remember what it feels like to breathe. But no matter how often she tried to remember, she knew this. She knew it far too well. Again and again she murmured softly to herself, trying to find a way out of this endless downward spiral, but it remained unsuccessful. Normally by now she knew what to do, how she had to behave, what skills she could use. But now? Now even the best strategy failed. Normally she would have gotten herself a glass of water, distracted herself, and simply waited until it passed. If nothing else had helped, she would have called her best friend, who had already endured this torture with her more than once. But today of all days, precisely now, Evaine was not in the city. And the blonde knew that she could always call her better half, no matter what time it was, no matter what was on the schedule tomorrow. But Millie also knew how important the next few days were for her best friend. And she would be damned — yes, she would rather die — than burden Evaine with worries right now. Burden her with herself as a worry — and yet the thought of being alone tightened around her throat. But that was what she was: alone. Or was she?
Her gaze wandered helplessly through the apartment, hoping to catch sight of something that would bring her peace. Something that would let her breathe again. And finally, in the midst of the turmoil in her mind, she saw that small, almost inconspicuous key box. It was really nothing special: a small wooden box, painted in her favorite colors with a few hooks inside. And yet… suddenly it felt as if it were looking at her. Was she going crazy now too? Milane stared at the little box. Her heart was pounding as wildly as if she had just run a marathon, and that was only from walking over to it. Her fingers were still trembling uncontrollably as she opened the box. Several keys lay before her, but suddenly one key — one that had always only hung there without much thought — became more present than ever before. One of them belonged to him. The small metal keychain glimmered faintly in the light of the nearby lamp as her thoughts began spinning on a new carousel. Should she? Or should she not? Wouldn’t it be strange? After all, it was the middle of the night, and reasonable people did not simply show up like that — especially not without announcing themselves first. Although technically you didn’t have to announce yourself if you had a key.. right? Don’t be crazy, Milane. He’s probably already asleep. But hadn’t he given it to her exactly for situations like this? It was surprising, but that thought alone made something wonderfully warm rise up in her chest amidst all the trembling and panic. She remembered that moment exactly — that moment of trust. Of closeness. Of that rather strange, deep connection that had developed between them. It was almost ironic, really.. at least if you considered that at the very beginning — at the very, very beginning — the two of them had actually thought they were going to seriously date. It had simply felt so logical. They understood each other, they liked each other, and although they were careful, they were definitely ready to go further. To open up. And yes, perhaps even to make themselves vulnerable. And yet it had turned into something completely different: something much quieter, much more honest. Something far more intimate in a way that had nothing to do with romance. A kind of closeness that Milane had hardly ever allowed in her life before. After leaving for Seattle, she had been far too afraid of having to give up control again. Of not noticing how she might once more start living only for others instead of for herself. And yet, whenever she thought of him and his familiar face appeared so naturally before her inner eye, she knew that Blake would not want her to sit here alone and torment herself through the night. She knew it — and yet she hesitated. Was she really ready to let him see behind her facade like that? Was she ready to truly place that much trust in him? And then she looked at the key again. Sometimes you simply have to dare things in order to learn. In order to live. In order to breathe.
And so her decision came almost suddenly: not even ten minutes later she had already thrown something on, changed her pajamas for a simple pair of jeans and a blouse, slipped into her shoes, put the key in her handbag, and closed the door of her small studio apartment behind her. The entire Uber ride to Blake felt both far too short and, above all, far too long. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her phone the whole time, still secretly hoping that some call would come and magically make the panic disappear — and yet she knew better. Even though she had already lived in Seattle for several years, the city passing by outside the window did not only seem quiet but also strangely unfamiliar. And when the car finally stopped, her heart began pounding faster again. She was here. She had really done it. Here she stood now, in front of his door. The keys rustled softly in her trembling hand, but suddenly they felt heavier. You can still leave. You can still call Evaine. But she gave that thought no more space. Instead, she slid the key into the lock, turned it carefully as if it might snap under too much pressure, and then the door opened with a quiet click. “Blake?” she called carefully into the darkness. No answer. God, what was she doing here?
The apartment lay silent and dark before her, and yet suddenly she found new courage that made her slip inside and quietly pull the door shut behind her. With careful steps — almost soundless — she moved through the apartment as if she were walking through foreign territory. Like a cat that did not want to be discovered or caught. And yet her trembling legs carried her all the way to the bedroom. There she stopped & what she saw caught her off guard. But then again — what had she expected when she showed up here in the middle of the night? And yet something inside her relaxed simply from the sight of him, as if her body only now truly realized that she was not alone. She could hear his calm breathing with its strangely soothing steadiness, and as if guided by remote control she slowly stepped closer. As if something inside her were saying: that is where you belong. That is where you will find your peace. Suddenly she noticed that she could breathe more freely again.
She was just about to carefully lie down beside him when her gaze caught on her own clothes. She really couldn’t do that like this. Quietly she looked around the room and finally spotted one of his shirts hanging carelessly over a chair. Hesitantly she took it and pulled it over herself.
The fabric was far too big — but above all it smelled like him. The thought actually made her smile briefly, even if a little embarrassed, a little confused. It felt somehow… strange. And yet.. familiar. As if she had wrapped herself in something safe that promised her protection. Wasn’t it crazy what the scent of a special person could do?
Carefully she lifted the blanket a little and lay down beside him — and, as expected, she immediately felt the warmth of his body. It settled around her like a gentle veil, noticeably taking some of the cold and tension with it. And yet.. sleep was denied to her. Instead, the night passed quietly and slowly. The young Italian woman lay awake, her gaze fixed into the darkness. Although her breathing had gradually calmed down, the concert inside her head did not grow quiet. And yet there was something unusual: as if her body had decided on its own what it needed, she moved a little closer to him. And a little more. And then a little more again, until she finally hid her face in the crook of his neck. And if she had thought before that the smell of his shirt had calmed her, she now realized — by breathing in his scent directly and feeling his immediate body warmth — that her own body suddenly felt much lighter. From the outside, this scene would surely give quite a different impression: her long, wood-blonde hair seemed to have come loose and now lay not only messily between them but somehow also across his face. Milane had become so used to his breathing during the last hours of the night — or perhaps already the early morning — that she had practically studied it. And so she noticed the change immediately. And that could mean only one thing: He was awake. F u c k.
Panic flooded through her body at first, and the tension returned. But when she looked up at him and met his sleepy gaze, she relaxed again. She couldn’t stop the blush from immediately rising to her cheeks, and her eyes turned slightly embarrassed — almost shy. But still, the corners of her mouth lifted into her characteristic gentle smile. “Good morning, cuore mio,” she said softly. Her voice was cautious, almost tentative. “I..“ she began, lowering her gaze briefly. “I just couldn’t handle being alone anymore last night.” Her fingers nervously played with the hem of the shirt. “I’m sorry that I just showed up like this.”
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 14.03.2026 20:45von Blake Mitchell (gelöscht)
Blake stirred somewhere between sleep and the edges of a dream. The world around him was soft, blurred, a haze of color and warmth that felt almost familiar, almost safe. His mind clung to the remnants of a fading dream, fragments of voices and shapes that refused to settle. And then.. something moved against his neck. A light, hesitant tickle, the faint brush of hair, soft and warm. He flinched, blinked, and for a moment thought it was part of the dream still lingering. But it wasn’t. The scent hit him first. Familiar, impossible, grounding: a mixture of soap, something faintly sweet, a trace of lavender. His chest tightened, not with panic, but with recognition. Slowly, almost involuntarily, he turned his head, careful not to startle. There she was. Milane. Her hair falling in loose, untamed strands, draped over his shoulder, tickling his cheek with every subtle movement. Carefully, he shifted his head, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light filtering through the window. The pale glow of a streetlamp spilled across the room in long, quiet stripes, brushing over the bed and catching faintly in strands of her hair. For a second he simply watched the soft outline of her in that muted light. And somewhere in the back of his mind another thought surfaced slowly: the darkness outside wasn’t quite as deep anymore. The faintest grey had begun to creep into the sky beyond the glass. Dawn wasn’t far away. Confusion knotted in his stomach. What - why - how had she gotten in here? Panic surged suddenly, irrational and sharp: had he… drunk too much last night? Ended up… here with her? No. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t how things worked. His mind raced. And then it clicked. The faint metallic glint in his memory. The key. He had given her one. For emergencies. And just like that, the panic thinned, retreating into embarrassment tinged with relief. He thought, not for the first time, how this wasn’t entirely new. Back when nightmares of the murder night crept in, Lily had sometimes slept in his bed. Not to cross boundaries, not in any romantic way, but just to be there, to make the darkness less sharp, the dreams less suffocating. The familiarity of someone he trusted lying beside him had been enough to calm the storm of memory. And now… Milane’s presence echoed that same quiet safety, though in a very different way. Blake exhaled slowly, still staring at her. His chest loosened, and for a heartbeat he just let himself register the sight of her. The reality of it, not the projection of some nightmarish scenario. “This is… new.”, he murmured softly, his voice low, thick with sleep and the remnants of grogginess. His eyes didn’t leave hers. There was a flicker of something he rarely let surface - vulnerability, unguarded, unsure. “And… for a tiny second.”, he admitted, shifting slightly. “I thought.. for a second.. we… maybe crossed a line. But… we didn’t. Phew.” The confession lingered in the quiet room, delicate as the brush of her hair against his neck. He stayed still, letting her presence settle over him, letting the weird, calm intimacy of the moment stretch just long enough that it didn’t feel uncomfortable. And then he exhaled again, quieter this time, a hint of reluctant amusement threading through the tension. Blake’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer, and for the first time he really looked. The faint shadows beneath her eyes, the tired curve of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together for a fraction too long, they didn’t escape him. Dark lines carved by sleepless nights and hidden burdens, the kind no filter could hide. He hadn’t noticed it before, or maybe he had, but now it struck him with quiet force.Her words from just moments ago came back to him, sharper this time that he could no longer ignore: I just couldn’t handle being alone anymore last night. The weight of them settled in his chest, making the light in the room feel heavier. He swallowed, something tightening in his throat. No jokes now. No soft deflection. This wasn’t about misreading a situation or teasing her about showing up in the middle of the night. This was real. And it deserved his attention. Slowly, carefully, Blake pushed himself upright. The blankets shifted, rustling softly under him as he moved. He kept his gaze fixed on her, taking in the way her hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, the tiny tremor in her fingers, the faint hesitance in her stance. “What… what’s going on?” His voice was low, steady, but there was no mistaking the concern threading through it. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, softened as he studied her. “Talk to me… seriously.” For a long moment, the apartment held only the quiet hum of the fading night, the faint whisper of their breathing while the first pale hint of morning slowly crept in through the window. He waited, giving her space to decide how much to reveal, but his presence was a subtle anchor, firm and patient. He didn’t reach out, didn’t close the distance too quickly, he just let her know, without words, that she wasn’t alone now.
@Milane Lióra Giordiano
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 15.03.2026 00:37von Milane Lióra Giordiano •
| 204 Beiträge
| on a break | Nicht angegeben |
| charactersong | ⋆ paint by numbers by harry styles |
Her fingertips were still wrapped around the hem of his shirt, whose oversized fit allowed her to hide inside it. By now it had become an almost subconscious decision to mostly wear wider clothing, so that people could only guess what was underneath. And not in any sexual sense — because if someone truly saw what it looked like beneath it, they would probably rather run away. And yet.. whenever Millie looked in the mirror she could still hear her mother’s voice: The world doesn’t forget, my child; It becomes harder to lose the weight when you get older; Do you really want to eat that, Milane? Think about your figure; That dress used to fit you more loosely. That memory alone forced her to pull the fabric farther away from her body almost reflexively so it would fall looser, making sure no contours of her body could show underneath. The movement had long since settled into her muscle memory, so that most of the time she hardly noticed it — but now it was intentional. Now it wasn’t habit speaking, but a very clear form of protection. And still, it was more than embarrassing for her. As a result, she lowered her gaze for a moment, as if she first had to organize the chaotic words in her head so she wouldn’t immediately reveal everything. But how did you explain something you still didn’t understand yourself after all these years? Even his brief but rather amused — though worried — comment about whether something had happened between them that shouldn’t have didn’t bring her usual little smile this time. The previous night still clung far too heavily to her bones and mind. And so she began to speak quietly, still trembling, as if she were examining each word before allowing it to leave her mouth. "It was.." — yes, what, Millie?! — “..nothing specific.” Oh wow. Great explanation. Nothing specific and that’s why you’re lying in his bed now? Carefully, as if she needed to bridge the secretive silence somehow, she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand lingered for a moment at her temple, as if she needed to make sure she still had a pulse. "Sometimes it just happens." Wonderful, your explanations keep getting better, she thought to herself. Pull yourself together, Millie. Can’t you see the concern in his eyes? And that’s all your fault.
She felt her chest tightening more and more and could no longer hold his gaze. That was exactly why her eyes drifted to the window, where the pale light of early morning was slowly growing stronger. In moments like these, Seattle always seemed a little gentler; almost quiet, further away from all the chaos in her head. "Sometimes.. I just wake up and suddenly it feels like everything is..” — she paused briefly and swallowed — “..getting tighter. As if the walls were slowly moving closer." She swallowed again, and her fingers tightened slightly in the fabric of his shirt. For a brief moment her thoughts drifted back to her own apartment; how she had been sitting on the edge of her designer couch, how it had felt as if the room itself had no air left to breathe. That sensation as if someone had stolen all the oxygen from the apartment. "It always feels like someone has made the air thinner." The sentence sounded almost casual, as if it were nothing serious. Something ordinary, something familiar. And yet a faint, apologetic smile slipped onto her face, as if she wanted to demonstrate that the worry reflected in his eyes wasn’t necessary. "It’s really nothing new, Blake. No reason to worry." Carefully, as if testing whether he was truly still sitting beside her or whether she had perhaps imagined it after all (wouldnt be surprised if she ever turned crazy tho), she lifted her pale eyes to his familiar face. The few rays of light that were already flooding through the windows were caught in her usually open and lively eyes — but this time they didn’t shine back the way they normally did. She looked visibly exhausted, even though she tried to hide it as she always did. But the mere fact that he was sitting there — not moving even a centimeter away, simply staying — stirred something strange inside her: a mixture of warmth and nervousness that was almost unbearable. The way he looked at her was both balm and pressure at the same time (even if she created the latter entirely by herself).
"I was raised to believe that the first priority is always how I present myself to the outside world. And that very early on made me feel like I had to endure everything on my own.” The confession weighed more than she wanted to admit. But for a moment her gaze grew steadier, and something clearly broke through within it. A memory deeper than any crack in her soul. Familiar contours appeared before her inner eye, a laugh that touched not only her heart but her entire nervous system. It was him; her father’s face. Sometimes it was simply like that. It appeared without warning and without invitation. After more than ten years one would think the blonde had come to terms with the loss, but in some moments it still felt as if the world had stopped turning back then. Not rarely were her panic attacks rooted exactly in that. She swallowed lightly, closed her eyes for a moment, and forced herself to focus on Blake’s scent. On the sound of their breathing filling the room almost in sync. As if he were the metronome setting the rhythm for her heartbeat. "You just get used to not saying things out loud. To always be the perfect picture everyone expect you to be." She knew she was consciously circling around the real topic. What she only noticed now was that she had unconsciously leaned slightly away from him. Not much — just a few centimeters — as if her body had instinctively sought distance while her heart longed for exactly the opposite. "I didn’t want to call Evaine. She already has enough on her plate.” & there it was again, that small apologetic smile on her lips. "And then.. somehow I remembered the key.” For a moment her voice grew even quieter than before, almost as if she were afraid of his answer or reaction. " wasn’t even sure if you really meant it that way when you gave it to me. I mean.. for situations like this.” What kind of situation, Millie? You being a freaking mess? Then you should move in right away.
A faint blush colored her cheeks, embarrassment showing through her still slightly trembling posture. "But if I had stayed home alone, I would have spent the whole night just fighting against my own breathing.” —and probably would have fallen asleep on my bathroom tiles again, with a burning esophagus. But that was the part she only thought. She shrugged lightly, almost as if it were nothing important. “So.. I took the risk and just came here.” For a few seconds she said nothing more. Instead, her fingers continued to glide over the fabric of his shirt. Only after several quiet heartbeats did she lift her gaze back to him. And even though the exhaustion was clearly written across her face, there was now something honest in her eyes — almost something hopeful. “I’m sorry if you feel ambushed or if I crossed a boundary. I really didn’t mean to intrude. I can leave right away if this is too much for you.” With those words she demonstratively pushed the blanket back — but she didn’t really move away from him. Because even though she would leave if he asked her to, one message was unmistakably reflected in her gaze: Please don’t leave me alone right now.
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 16.03.2026 09:31von Blake Mitchell (gelöscht)
Blake didn’t interrupt her. Not once. He sat there quietly, shoulders slightly hunched forward, elbows resting loosely on his knees as he listened. His gaze stayed on her face at first, attentive, steady, but as the words began to stumble out of her, circling around the real thing she was trying to explain, his eyes softened. He knew that kind of talking. The kind where someone kept orbiting the truth because saying it directly felt too heavy. Because once it was said out loud, it became real in a way that couldn’t be taken back. His eyes flicked briefly to her hands when they tightened around the hem of his shirt. The oversized fabric shifted with the movement, and he noticed - without staring - how deliberately she pulled it away from her body. A small detail. But it told him more than she probably realized. He had noticed before, in passing moments over the past months, that she was built small, slender, almost delicate in a way that made people assume fragility. The kind of frame that seemed easy to overlook in crowded rooms and yet somehow stood out once you paid attention. But Blake had never thought much about it beyond that. It simply registered somewhere in the quiet, observational part of his mind and stayed there, filed away like countless other small things he noticed about people without ever questioning them. And now, watching the way she adjusted the fabric, the motion carried a different meaning. Still, he didn’t comment on it. Didn’t even react outwardly. His gaze simply returned to her face as if it hadn’t happened at all.
When she finally described the feeling - the walls closing in, the air growing thin -something in his expression changed. Not surprise. Recognition. He leaned back slightly against the headboard, one hand rubbing slowly over the back of his neck as he let her words settle between them. “Yeah.”, he said quietly after a moment. His voice was rough with sleep, but steady. “I know that one.” His green eyes drifted toward the window where the pale light of early morning had started to creep across the floorboards. Seattle looked washed out in that hour before sunrise...quiet, almost gentle. The kind of soft grey light that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. For a moment he just watched the light shift. Then his gaze returned to her. “You call it ‘nothing specific.’”, he murmured. “But that’s exactly how it starts.” He tapped his chest lightly with two fingers. “Everything just… tightens.” His hand lingered there a moment longer before dropping back to his knee. “It feels like your lungs forgot how to work.”, he continued quietly. “Like the air’s still there, but your body won’t take it. Like something inside you just decided breathing is optional now.” A faint breath escaped him, somewhere between humor and something darker. “First time it happened to me I thought I was having a heart attack.” He didn’t look embarrassed admitting that. If anything, the memory seemed distant now, something that had long since settled into the quiet archive of things he had survived. “It was in... prison.”, he added after a moment. The words came almost easily. Just fact, right? “Middle of the night. Cell felt like it had shrunk three sizes. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t slow my heart down. Thought I was dying on a shitty metal bunk.” His jaw shifted slightly as he spoke, not from discomfort with the memory, but from the lingering physical recollection of it. “No one tells you that panic attacks can actually hurt.”, he said. “Chest, ribs, throat… whole body feels like it’s locking up.” For a second his eyes drifted away again, toward the slowly brightening window. “They got easier to recognize after a while.”. he continued. “Not better. Just… familiar.” The young Mitchell shrugged faintly. “Even now they still show up sometimes.” His gaze returned to her then, steady and calm. “Usually when I wake up from certain dreams.” He didn’t elaborate on that. He didn’t have to. The silence between them held enough shared understanding. When she mentioned Evaine, he gave a small nod. “Yeah.”, he said quietly. “I figured that...” His eyes moved back to her when she spoke about the key. About remembering it. About not being sure if he had meant it like that. For a brief second something flickered across his face, something softer, almost hurt, though it disappeared quickly. “I meant it.”, he said simply. “If I give someone a key, it’s not decoration.” His fingers drummed once lightly against his knee before going still again. “That means you’re allowed to use it.”
When she pushed the blanket aside and mentioned leaving, Blake’s brow creased slightly. Not in anger. In disbelief. For a moment he just looked at her like the idea genuinely didn’t make sense to him. Then he reached out. Not urgently. Just enough to catch the edge of the blanket and pull it lightly back over her legs before she could actually get up. “Hey.” The word was quiet but firm. “You’re not getting kicked out of my bed at six in the morning because you had a panic attack.” A faint exhale left him as he leaned back again, running a hand briefly through his messy hair. “If anything.”, he added dryly. “This is probably the most reasonable reason someone’s ever shown up here unannounced.” His eyes found hers again. “You didn’t cross a boundary.” He paused., then added quietly, “You used the one I gave you.” For a moment he just watched her, measuring the tension still sitting in her shoulders. The way she held herself slightly pulled inward, like someone bracing for impact even when there was none coming. Then, more gently: “Next time the air gets thin like that… you don’t have to fight it alone in your apartment.” A small shrug followed. That’s literally why you have the key.” His gaze drifted briefly to the window again where the sky had grown a shade lighter, the first hints of morning painting soft lines across the wall. “Besides.”, he murmured, voice softer now. “You already survived the hard part of the night.” For a moment neither of them moved. Then he shifted slightly on the mattress, leaning his shoulder back against the headboard again, giving her space but staying close enough that his presence was unmistakably there. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “Panic’s a liar, you know...It tells you you’re alone. That you’re suffocating. That no one can help.” A faint breath left him. “Most of the time it’s wrong.” Another small pause followed before a trace of tired humor touched the corner of his mouth. “And if you’re still worried about boundaries…” he said lightly, glancing down at the oversized shirt she was wearing. “The only crime you committed was stealing my shirt.” Blake lifted one eyebrow faintly. “And honestly?” A faint smirk appeared. “It looks better on you anyway.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before drifting away, giving her a little room to breathe again. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore.. just quiet, like the soft hour of morning slowly unfolding outside the window. The mechanic ran a hand over his face, rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes before glancing toward the faint glow creeping through the room. “Looks like we made it to morning.” For a second he just listened to the distant hum of the waking city. Somewhere far below a car passed through wet streets, tires hissing softly against the pavement. Then he shifted slightly, one hand pushing through his hair again as if trying to decide what the next normal step of this moment should be. “Alright.”, he said after a beat, glancing back at her. “Important question.” His head tilted faintly toward the hallway, toward the kitchen beyond. “You want coffee?” A faint, almost apologetic smirk appeared on his face. “Fair warning though… Rusty’s not exactly a luxury model.” He nodded vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “Old coffee machine. Makes something that legally qualifies as coffee, but that’s about where the compliments end.” His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “But he’s loyal.”, Blake added dryly. “Never let me down yet.” For a moment his gaze softened again as it returned to her face, quietly measuring the exhaustion still written there. “Or.”, he continued a little more gently. “You could just stay here and steal another hour of sleep... pretty sure your body could use it.”
@Milane Lióra Giordiano
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 16.03.2026 23:59von Milane Lióra Giordiano •
| 204 Beiträge
| on a break | Nicht angegeben |
| charactersong | ⋆ paint by numbers by harry styles |
For a brief second she simply watched him, the faint crease between her brows deepening as the image formed in her mind without invitation. A narrow cell: too little air, too much silence. A body trying to breathe while the world refused to make room for it. Her freakin’ heart twisted. And when he finished speaking, when that faint tired humor brushed his voice again, she lowered her gaze for a moment as if she needed to steady something inside herself before answering. “I’m.. really sorry that happened to you. I can’t believe anyone had ever believed you‘d be able to do something like.. that.“ Her voice came softer now than before, stripped of the careful distance she had tried to keep earlier. Her fingertips moved slightly against the sleeve she was still holding, absentmindedly smoothing the fabric as if grounding herself in the motion. “No one deserves to feel like that.” She nodded, simply showing affection. „But especially not you.“ She hesitated, her lashes lowering briefly as her thoughts searched for more right words — something that wouldn’t sound hollow or rehearsed. Because the truth was painfully simple: there were no perfect sentences for things like that.
So instead she looked around once again: The morning light had grown stronger by now, faint gold lines catching in the unruly strands of his hair and along the quiet seriousness in his face. And for a moment she simply looked at him as if she were seeing something others might have overlooked. “You know..“ she said quietly, her voice thoughtful now, almost careful. “What people decide about someone.. the things they place on them.. the labels, the past, the mistakes..“ Her fingers tightened faintly in the shirt. “That’s not the whole person.” That was what she tried to tell herself in endless sleepless nights. A faint breath left her as she shook her head slightly, a small stubbornness flickering behind the exhaustion in her eyes. “You are more than whatever people decided you were. And more than whatever you had to survive.” The words were gentle, but there was a quiet certainty in them that didn’t waver. For a second the room fell silent again, though it no longer felt like the heavy kind of silence that had filled it earlier. Something had shifted. Something softer. And when she spoke again, her voice had lowered even further. “I don’t say this lightly..“ she admitted, her cheeks warming slightly as the honesty of the thought made itself known. “But I don’t think I’ve felt this safe next to someone in a very long time.” The confession lingered in the air between them — fragile, but real. And even that was the truth, it made her vulnerable. And she hated to open up, because she knew how much the price would hurt. Millie’s gaze drifted briefly toward the window where the pale Seattle morning continued to unfold beyond the glass. The city still looked quiet, as if it too had not fully woken yet. And strangely enough, the chaos inside her chest had begun to loosen its grip. Not entirely, of course, but enough that breathing didn’t feel like a battle anymore. Her attention returned to him when he mentioned the coffee.
For the first time since the night had unraveled, the faintest hint of amusement touched the corner of her lips. “In Italy,” she murmured, brushing another loose strand of hair behind her ear, “we actually drink cappuccino almost exclusively in the morning. It’s practically a national rule.“ A small, sheepish smile appeared as she glanced down at the sleeve she was still holding. “But I would be more than honored to be introduced to the creation of your loyal companion.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the hallway that led to the kitchen as if acknowledging the mysterious machine he had described. “The famous Rusty.” The quiet humor of the moment seemed to ease something in her shoulders, the tension slowly dissolving like fog under the rising light. For a brief second she almost felt.. normal again. At least almost.
Because when he shifted beside her — the subtle movement that suggested he might actually stand up — something inside her reacted before her thoughts had time to catch up. Her hand moved instinctively and her fingers closed around his wrist. Not tightly, for sure. Not enough to hurt — but yet, enough to stop him. The realization of what she had just done hit her almost immediately. Millie froze, even forgot how to breathe again. Color rushed to her cheeks so quickly it almost burned, and she released a shaky breath as her eyes dropped to where her hand still rested against his skin. For a second she seemed unsure whether to pull it away immediately or pretend the movement had never happened. “Oh— I’m.. sorry.“ Embarrassment flooded her voice as she quickly loosened her grip, though her hand lingered there for a moment longer than intended. “That was— I didn’t mean to..“ God, Milane. Her gaze lifted again, apologetic and slightly panicked all at once. “Could you maybe.. just wait a moment?” The request came quieter now, almost hesitant, as if she hated herself a little for asking it. She swallowed lightly, her fingers retreating back into the fabric of the oversized shirt as if seeking cover again. “It’s just..“ Her eyelids fluttered briefly, fatigue finally beginning to seep through the thin threads of adrenaline that had kept her upright all night. The room felt warmer now, even softer. The kind of warmth that made sleep creep in when you weren’t paying attention. And that, strangely enough, frightened her more than the panic had. “I think if I fall asleep right now..“ she admitted quietly, the words slow and heavy with exhaustion, “..my brain might try to convince me you were never actually here.” A faint, embarrassed exhale followed, which sounded ridiculous. Even to her.
Her gaze drifted to the blanket for a second before returning to him again, softer now. “I know you’d come back,” she added quickly, almost as if correcting herself. “I do.” And the truth was — she believed that. At least, somewhere deep down she really did. “But my head is a little.. unreliable when I’m this tired.” The corner of her mouth twitched faintly, half apology, half self-awareness. For a moment she hesitated again before adding quietly, “So maybe just.. stay for another minute?” Her shoulders relaxed slightly against the pillows then, exhaustion finally beginning to win the slow battle with her stubborn attempts to remain awake. And despite the lingering embarrassment still coloring her cheeks, there was something calmer in her expression now. Because the strange, quiet certainty remained: She wasn’t alone in the room. And for once, the silence didn’t feel like something she had to survive.
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 23.03.2026 16:05von Blake Mitchell (gelöscht)
Blake didn’t pull his wrist away. Not when her fingers closed around it. Not when she froze, clearly realizing what she’d just done. He just… stilled. For a brief second his gaze dropped to where her hand rested against his skin, the contact light but deliberate. Unexpected. Not uncomfortable, just… real in a way that made something quiet settle low in his chest. Something steady. Something he didn’t immediately feel the need to question or push away. Then his eyes lifted back to her face. He saw it immediately, the embarrassment, the way her breath hitched, the way she tried to retreat back into herself like she’d crossed a line that only existed in her own head. Like she was already bracing for rejection that hadn’t come. “Hey.” His voice was low. Calm. “It's okay. You’re okay.” He didn’t move his wrist right away, even as her grip loosened. Let the moment exist without rushing it away, without turning it into something heavier than it needed to be. Just… letting it be what it was. Only when her hand fully retreated did he shift slightly, resting his arm back against his knee, fingers loosely interlaced like nothing about it had been strange at all. Her words followed, quiet and hesitant.. fragile in that way honesty always was when it wasn’t practiced and Blake listened the same way he had before. Fully. No interruption or fixing. No pressure to make it cleaner or easier to understand. Just that steady, patient presence and when she finished, when that last small request lingered between them, something in his expression softened again. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand once through his hair before letting it fall back against his neck. “…You think I’d just disappear?”, he murmured. There was no edge to it. No disbelief meant to shame her. Just a quiet kind of curiosity, like he was trying to understand how her mind got there. A small pause followed. “After you literally broke into my apartment and stole my shirt?” The faintest hint of dry humor returned, brushing the edges of his voice like something familiar he could fall back on. But it didn’t undercut what came next. “I’m not going anywhere.” Simple words, ut they settled in the room anyway. He meant them.
The dark-haired shifted slightly on the mattress, not getting up this time. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard again, shoulders settling into it as if making a quiet decision to stay exactly where he was. Close enough that his presence didn’t waver, didn’t drift, but without crowding her space, without forcing proximity she hadn’t explicitly asked for. “Minute’s fine.”, he added after a second, glancing at her again. “You can have five if you want.” His tone was quiet, almost absent-minded. Like the number didn’t really matter... because, honestly, it didn’t. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, taking in the exhaustion that had finally started to catch up with her. The way her shoulders had dropped just slightly, the tension loosening in small, almost invisible increments. The way her eyelids seemed heavier now, slower. Then, without making a thing out of it, he reached over and adjusted the blanket a little higher around her again. A small, practical movement. Familiar in a way that didn’t ask for attention. “Sleep if you need to. Rusty can wait.”, he said, voice softer now. “I’ll still be here when you wake up and if your brain tries to tell you otherwise…” His brow lifted faintly. “We’ll argue about it when you’re conscious again.” There it was again, that quiet steadiness. The young Mitchell leaned his head back against the wall, eyes drifting for a moment toward the window where the light had grown stronger, pale gold slowly replacing the last traces of night. The city outside had started to wake, distant and muted, like it belonged to a different world entirely. For a second, he just listened to the quiet, to her breathing, to the absence of that sharp, suffocating tension that had filled the room before. Morning had arrived and for once, it didn’t feel like something that needed to be endured. His gaze flicked back to her again, lingering this time, more deliberate. He hesitated. Just for a second. Then, almost unconsciously, he shifted again. One arm moved first, then the other. His shoulders loosened slightly as he adjusted his posture, arms coming to rest open against the mattress on either side of him. An unspoken offer. A quiet, slightly awkward invitation that didn’t quite know how to exist anymore. It showed, too..in the subtle hesitation of the movement, in the way his fingers flexed once against the sheets like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them. Like the muscle memory of this kind of closeness had dulled over time, worn down by years where touch had meant something else entirely. Something harsher. This, this was different. And he wasn’t entirely used to it. But he didn’t take it back. Didn’t close himself off again. Just let the space remain open. Easy to ignore. Just as easy to step into. “…if that helps.”, he added quietly, almost like an afterthought. Another small pause settled in after that. Then, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to ask to stay, you know.” His gaze softened slightly as it rested on her again. “That wasn’t… a limited-time offer.” He let his head rest back again, eyes half-lidded now but still aware, still present. One of his hands shifted slightly against the mattress, fingers relaxing into the fabric as his breathing evened out again. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t pull her in, but he stayed exactly where he was open and there in a way that didn’t ask anything from her except what she was already giving. And if she chose to close that small distance. He wouldn’t pull away.
@Milane Lióra Giordiano
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 23.03.2026 22:52von Milane Lióra Giordiano •
| 204 Beiträge
| on a break | Nicht angegeben |
| charactersong | ⋆ paint by numbers by harry styles |
Careful and gentle, as if she were consciously aware of every inch of distance she dared to close. And also as if she wanted to keep the option open to flee at any moment. But she didn’t.. no, instead she sank down close to him — hesitantly, almost tentatively, as if the first touch might break her. But when her shoulder lightly brushed against his and she remained like that for a fraction of a second, she realized that she neither broke nor did it feel wrong in the slightest. And then she did something she hadn’t expected herself, something she hadn’t planned at all: she carefully nestled against his side, neither hastily nor naturally. Her movements were marked by pure caution, while the warmth emanating from his body immediately created space for a sense of ease. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, she lifted one hand and gently placed it against his chest, very lightly, almost uncertain. But she needed to feel that contact beneath her fingertips to make sure he was really there, that this was real. That out of all the people in the world, it was him of all people whose closeness she could allow, for whatever reason. Wasn’t that crazy? God, of course it was crazy.. and yet she simply stayed there. Even though she appeared calm on the outside, a battle raged within her, because she knew that too much closeness, too much touch, would also reveal what she was actually trying to hide. So while she leaned her shoulder and her head into the crook of his neck, she tried to keep the rest of her body slightly apart, to conceal the fragile frame beneath. Her fingers tensed slightly at the thought, but when she focused on her hand, she noticed how faintly she could feel his breathing beneath her fingertips — calm, steady, and.. real. A quiet exhale escaped her chest, barely audible, and yet in that moment part of the tension slipped away from her. Not completely, but enough that she no longer felt like she had to fight against something invisible. Though from the very beginning it had been clear that she was only fighting herself. And for a moment, she internalized the rhythm of his breathing. That simple inhale and exhale. Yes, for a brief, dangerously still moment, she almost felt.. lost in it. But not in that typical panicked way, more as if she had found something she hadn’t been looking for — and didn’t know whether she was allowed to keep. And accordingly, her grip tightened just a touch. At least until she noticed and relaxed her fingers again. The silence that arose between them and filled the room, which was slowly being colored by the early morning light, was anything but heavy or oppressive. In fact, it was simply there. And even though the moment seemed deceptively calm, her thoughts were not. Should it have been any different? Again and again, she recalled his words. That “You don’t have to go,” that offer to stay. And for a moment — a very, very small moment — she even allowed herself to think about it. To think about what it would be like to simply not leave. To simply not be alone. Not to have to return to that emptiness that was always waiting for her.. and that thought alone made her breath falter almost imperceptibly.
But then something clearer and harsher followed: realization. It was almost sobering, and to be honest, somehow sad. What had happened that she, in her mid-twenties, was lying in a bed that wasn’t hers, wondering whether she was even capable of being alone without panic settling into her bones again? Could that even be called being an adult? And yet being alone had always been a part of her character. She turned her gaze back toward the window, through which Seattle was slowly waking up. “Thank you for the offer,” she finally said quietly, her voice soft and sincere. Absentmindedly, her fingers moved slightly against his chest as her breathing adjusted to his. “But I shouldn’t push my luck too far. Otherwise you’ll end up with a new roommate and only a third of your bed left.” There was a hint of warmth in her words; it wasn’t a rejection, no, rather something gentle, even if it didn’t fully feel that way yet. “At some point, I really do have to learn to manage on my own..,” a small, barely audible exhale followed before she continued, “..and if not, you might wake up tomorrow to find blonde hair in your face again. Who knows.” A faint trace of humor accompanied her words, while her lips carried a soft, almost apologetic smile. For the next moment, she grew quiet, her gaze slightly lowered while her fingers still followed the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Do you think you can learn it again?” Her voice was quiet, almost distant and thoughtful. “I mean.. believing in people, after everything that’s happened to you.” She tried not to be too intrusive — although, could she even claim that anymore? After all, it was worth noting: she had shown up here in the middle of the night, helped herself to his shirt, his bed, and was now also taking his time and attention. For someone who claimed not to ask for much, that was quite a lot. And that thought alone was enough for a sense of guilt to creep back into her bones. And yet, it was telling how.. awkwardly comfortable she felt with him. “Or to believe that you somehow.. deserve something good.” Her fingers paused for a moment, subtly tense — because the answer was obvious, wasn’t it? At least to herself. Quietly, though her voice remained soft, she continued: “As for me, I find it quite difficult to believe that after everything, something good is still meant for me.” And she meant that. Nothing in her life had been accidental; everything had unfolded along the thread her mother had laid out — except for her breaking away and moving to Seattle. But even here, the ghosts of the past caught up with her. “And yet I dare,” she went on, “to believe that I must have done something right, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be here now.” She let the words linger in the room — her own way of saying thank you, even if she didn’t say it directly. “It’s crazy to think about what I would have missed if we had just.. ended it.” And she meant that too — yes, at the thought of their first, truly awkward encounters, she even let out a quiet laugh, though the exhaustion still lingered in her voice.
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 24.03.2026 18:43von Blake Mitchell (gelöscht)
Blake felt the shift the second it happened. Not just physically, not just the faint brush of her shoulder against his, but something quieter beneath it. The kind of change that didn’t announce itself loudly, that didn’t demand attention, but settled into the space between two people like a decision finally made. He didn’t move when she leaned closer. Didn’t tense or pulled away. For a brief moment, his body reacted on instinct alone, a flicker of hesitation buried deep in muscle memory that hadn’t quite caught up to the present yet. Years had a way of rewiring things like that. Touch had meant different things for too long, carried weight it wasn’t supposed to, turned into something to brace for instead of something to lean into. But this wasn’t that.. and he knew it. So instead of retreating, he stayed exactly where he was, letting the moment settle, letting her set the pace without interruption. His arms remained where they had been, still slightly open, the quiet invitation unchanged. Not pressing, not guiding, just there. Available in a way that felt unfamiliar even to him.
When she finally rested against him, careful and hesitant like she expected the world to correct her for it, something in his chest loosened. Not in a way that demanded to be acknowledged... just enough. Her weight was light, almost uncertain, like she hadn’t fully decided she was allowed to be there yet. He could feel the restraint in the way she held herself, the subtle distance she tried to keep even while leaning into him, as if some part of her was still ready to pull back at the first sign of rejection. It didn’t come. Instead, Blake shifted almost imperceptibly, just enough to make the position easier for her, more stable, more natural. His shoulder relaxed under her weight, his breathing evening out into something slow and steady, something she could follow if she needed to.
When her hand came to rest against his chest, he stilled again. Millies touch was light, barely there, but he felt it anyway. The warmth of her palm through the thin fabric, the faint pressure of her fingers as they tested the reality of him, like she needed confirmation that he wasn’t just something her mind had created to get through the night. For a moment, he let his gaze drift downward, watching the small, careful placement of her hand, the way her fingers adjusted ever so slightly as if calibrating to the rhythm beneath them. Then he looked away again. To give it space. His breathing stayed steady under her touch, deliberate in a way that wasn’t forced, just present enough to be grounding. Inhale. Exhale. A rhythm simple enough to hold onto when everything else got too loud. He felt the slight change when she adjusted against him, the way her head settled closer, the way her grip tightened for just a fraction of a second before easing again. It told him more than words would have. The quiet push and pull of someone who wanted closeness but didn’t quite trust it yet. He didn’t comment on it. Didn’t point it out. He just stayed and maybe that was the most unfamiliar part of all. Because there had been a time when stillness like this wouldn’t have existed for him. When proximity meant expectation, or tension, or something waiting to go wrong. When silence wasn’t calm, but loaded, like something was about to break it, and not gently. This wasn’t that either. Her voice broke the silence eventually, soft and thoughtful, carrying that careful distance again even though she hadn’t moved away. He listened without interrupting, the same way he had before, letting her words come at their own pace, uneven and honest in a way that didn’t need polishing.
When she thanked him, when she spoke about not pushing her luck, about needing to learn how to be alone again, his jaw shifted slightly. The dark-haired had told himself the same thing more than once. That being alone meant being safe. That relying on no one meant no one could take anything from you, twist it, or use it against you later. It had been easier to believe that than to question it. Easier to shrink the world down to something manageable than to risk letting it expand again. His hand moved before he fully thought it through. Slow, deliberate, giving her enough time to notice, enough time to pull away if she wanted to. He rested it lightly against her upper arm, not holding, not restraining, just there. A quiet counterpoint to her words. Not to stop her from leaving, not to anchor her in place, just to make sure she knew she didn’t have to brace herself. “You already know how to be alone.” he said, voice low. There was no argument in it. Just fact. “You wouldn’t have made it this far if you didn’t.” His thumb shifted slightly against the fabric of the shirt, a small, absent motion, grounding more than anything else. “That’s not the hard part.” A brief pause followed, his gaze drifting toward the window for a second before returning to her. “The hard part is letting someone stay when you don’t have to.” The words settled between them, but this time, something in him didn’t let them just sit there. His gaze dropped again, not to avoid her, but because this part didn’t come as easily. “I don’t know if I’m… good at that either.”, he admitted after a moment, quieter now. There was no dramatic weight to it. Just honesty, stripped down to something simple. His jaw shifted faintly, like he was working through something he usually kept filed away, something that didn’t get much light unless it had to. “There are people…” he started, then paused briefly, adjusting the thought before continuing. “There are still people who look at me a little too long. Or not at all.” A faint breath left him, almost soundless. “You hear it sometimes. Conversations that stop when you walk past. Or don’t quite stop, just get quieter.” His fingers stilled against her arm. “It sticks. Even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.” And it did. In ways that weren’t loud, weren’t immediate, but lingered in the background of everything. The extra second someone’s gaze held. The way a room shifted just slightly when he entered it. The unspoken assumptions that followed him like a shadow he couldn’t quite step out of. A small pause followed, heavier than the others, but not suffocating. “My stepfather made sure of that long before prison ever did.” The words came flat, not detached, but controlled. “Taught me early that trust usually comes with a cost.” Not always a visible one, but it was there. Somewhere. Waiting. His gaze drifted briefly toward the window again, the light stronger now, clearer, leaving fewer places to hide in the room. “And prison doesn’t exactly fix that.”, he added, quieter. If anything, it confirmed it. Reinforced it. Turned suspicion into instinct, into something that settled into his bones and stayed there, long after the bars were gone. He didn’t say all of that out loud. Didn’t need to. For a moment, he said nothing else. Just let the truth exist between them without trying to soften it or explain it away. No attempt to make it easier to hear. No attempt to make himself easier to understand. Then his eyes moved back to her. “But…”, he exhaled slowly, like it had taken more effort than the rest. His thumb shifted once more, a small, grounding motion against her arm. “There’s still a part of me that wants to.” It wasn’t loud or certain, but it was there. Buried under habit, under caution, under years of learning to expect the worst and prepare for it before it had a chance to happen. “That part’s just… a lot more careful now.” His gaze held hers for a second longer, something unspoken lingering there before he let it ease again. Because careful didn’t mean gone. It didn’t mean closed off beyond repair. It just meant slower. More deliberate. Measured in a way it hadn’t been before. He didn’t trust easily. Didn’t even know if he fully could, not in the way people meant when they said it like it was simple, like it was a switch you could flip back on once it had been broken, but he stayed. He didn’t pull away from her hand. And maybe that was the closest thing to an answer he had right now. Not words. Not certainty. Just this. The quiet decision to remain exactly where he was, even with everything in him that had once learned not to and for the first time in a long while, that felt like something worth noticing. “So yeah, I think you can learn it again... somehow. Once it’s been broken, it doesn’t really go back to… easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone. It just takes longer.”
@Milane Lióra Giordiano
RE: — my feet; they led me to you { blake & milane }
in ARCHIVE 27.03.2026 23:48von Milane Lióra Giordiano •
| 204 Beiträge
| on a break | Nicht angegeben |
| charactersong | ⋆ paint by numbers by harry styles |
Shortly after, her gaze lowered again slightly, as if she herself had reached something she hadn’t entirely planned. And maybe that was exactly the point, wasn’t it? “But when it comes to letting people in.. I don’t think I ever really got to decide that myself. It was predetermined from the very beginning who would enter my life, and who would leave. Except for the death of my da—,” she swallowed, immediately feeling the lump in her throat, the ache in her chest. She blinked away the few tears that threatened to overwhelm her. “Sorry, one night without sleep and suddenly you seem more emotional than usual,” she tried to brush it off, pushing away any thoughts of her father. And what helped better than the thought of her.. well, mother? Instantly, her body tensed, and her fingers froze in their movement. “Even Evaine was somehow arranged through family duties, even if that’s the most genuine connection I’ve ever experienced. But my mother always scheduled everything the way she imagined it to be ideal. And I..” a slight shrug followed, “..I just functioned. The way people expected Allegra Giordiano’s daughter to.”She let out a quiet sigh, and that honesty loosened something inside her—something she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding onto. That miserable existence that had never truly been hers, but rather a construct of her mother’s design. But she didn’t want to cast shadows over this moment, so she forced herself to let in some light. “And that’s why..” she paused briefly, as if she had to finish the thought before saying it out loud, “..this is probably the first thing in a long time that I’ve actually decided for myself. At least right after leaving Milan, even though Seattle wasn’t exactly a chosen destination either.. more like following Evaine.” Her gaze lifted a little more, enough to at least look at his face, armed only with a careful, gentle smile. “And strangely enough, I don’t feel like I’m going to regret it.” The words were quiet, almost cautiously spoken—but they stood. Without qualification. They could be translated into I know I am not gonna regret letting you in and she would just nod to it. And maybe that was exactly the moment when something inside her shifted a little further. Because without making a big deal out of it, she let the remaining tension in her body ease just a bit. The distance she had held so deliberately before slowly dissolved. Her body sank a little heavier against his, no longer just cautiously leaning, but.. actually leaning.
Her head found a more comfortable position at his neck on its own, and her hand lost that careful hesitation. She simply let it rest there, feeling his breathing without constantly needing to check it. A soft breath escaped her, more relaxed this time. And then—a barely suppressed yawn. She blinked, as if catching herself in the act, and a faint, slightly embarrassed smile slipped onto her lips “Okay..“ she murmured quietly, her voice now noticeably more tired, but with a gentle hint of humor. “I think.. coffee is slowly becoming a necessity for survival.” A small, barely audible laugh followed. “Otherwise I’ll just fall asleep here.. and then you’ll have the problem of my hair in your face and not being able to move sooner than you’d like.”
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currently available
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SONG OF THE MONTH
Audrey: How could you two possibly get into this much trouble in one day?
QUOTE OF THE MONTH
Romeo and Verity, looking at each other and answer in sync: It didn’t take us the whole day, don't play dumb. |
emeralds on the run
Brooklyn Jung, Verity Jean Banks
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