how are you holding up ? @pittmade
her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the light filters in too softly for the weight in her chest. she stifles any wryness, any iteration that MIRRORS how he might stand in her position. though to her credit, she isn't standing. legs curled over railings, her hands are still, clasped in her lap like she’s holding something fragile there. a memory, maybe. or the version of herself she used to be before the uniform, before the field kits soaked in blood, before the nights that still wake her up sweating through the sheets.
the question lingers in the air, burning through her with guilt. he asks with that arc of militant sureness and grace, but she hears the worry beneath it. ❛ some nights are louder than others. ❜ she doesn't speak it outright, doesn’t mention the dream that clung to her ribs this morning, or the way she caught herself zoning out between rounds, replaying things she can’t fix. but he knows, he always does. the way he sees her— really sees her and doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to fix her. JUST STAYS. and as long as she's above ground, she'll do the same for him. new as it was between them, it wasn't by way of soul. a synchronicity extended by the universe to make amends for how much it worked them over.
❛ that young private on leave — ❜ it's coarse on her tongue from how it crawled up between serrated edges in her throat. her hand reached for jack, quietly and without rumination, like a reflex her body had already absorbed into its DNA. ❛ he reminded me of someone, felt like losing them all over again. ❜