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Hesitancy clings to his throat; regret singes his lungs until the honest truth regurgitated up amidst hitched breaths.
“ You know the kind, I’m sure, those weird, Parisian film type? It’s funny, because as of late, you’ve begun starring in them——my dreams that is. ”
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Every frantic tug to reclaim her surrogate of choice only deepened his amusement. Bit by bit, however, that feigned apathy gave way. He might have laughed, had the burdens of his heart not snuffed what little joy lingers.
“ I’ve been having dreams again, believe that? ”
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Those onlooking eyes of his vainly search her own set for warmth “ Somehow, I find that hard to believe. ” he says, paying no mind to her rejection. Should he be forthcoming with the truth, though he hardly ever is, he finds her facade appealing.
“ May I borrow an ear? ”
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His amusement was, as always, his and his alone. She refused to share it. Her hand swat his away; a slowed reaction that wasn't built on malice, but exhaustion.
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⠀〝⠀I have a life outside of you, believe it or not. Just answer the question.⠀〞
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“ What’s out there that’s pulling you back so quick? Your vices shouldn’t keep you on such a tight string, baby. You got business I don't know about? ”
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A smile, as crooked as one might be, tugs at the furthest edges of his lips as though he had his own private joke——the likes of which had cast Jun as the unwilling jester. The hedonist is brought to subdued laughter, and in the same rasped breath, he extends a hand outward.
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The flirty message(s) sent weren't acknowledged. It wasn't the first time, nor the last. As much as Jun wanted to roll her eyes and ignore him, she couldn't. It aggravated her, and they both knew.
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⠀〝⠀What do you want? You only text me when you need something.⠀〞
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Just beneath the facsimile of a man lies an otherwise dormant storm, of which was freshly stirred to life… as was reflected in the cycling contents within ‘his’ wineglass.
“ You always had cheap taste, didn’t you? ” he addresses the disembodied footsteps encroaching.
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The ambient streetlights’ allure was sickeningly magnetic, and like a moth to a flame, the fatalist is caught adrift amidst its orbit. Tennouji habitually entertains defying it——though he’d always succumb; he is architect and the victim of his own undoing.
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Imagine riding round in a hellcat dropping SLs with Big Kwasi and Lil Ty and King Damon and smoking dope while holding
switches... dat shit a dream to me bro 💯 🥹