honey gaze scours the delicate clutter of tools. all foreign to her knowledge and oddly comforting, as if by some extension of who he was could quell pockets of unrest. the tightness in her chest loosened, just a little. she keeps so many horrors there, unearthed like a vandalized mausoleum. gloria follows the sound of his voice, leans back into the warmth of his presence behind her. her fingers hover over the spools before settling on one — a dusky blue, like the swirling sky of a storm.
❛ this one. ❜ she murmurs, voice low enough to keep it steady. gloria focused on the feel of it, every sensation of lips adorning skin and distracting racing thoughts. ❛ don't go too easy on me. ❜
@medicbled
"here, let me show you something." voice and touch are gentle yet firm as he ushers them to his work desk and tugs gloria down, wooden office chair squeaking in protest under their combined weight. before them stands a rotary vise fixed around a fishing hook and a collection of colorful threads, feathers, flash, and beads kept in organized chaos. there's a storm brewing in that head of hers and this method, distraction and redirection, has always been effective in quieting his own busy mind.
"we'll do an easy one," josef begins, reassurance offered in the form of a squeeze and pecks against the slope of her shoulder between sentences. "pick a thread."