( when she'd woken up in the frigid, still air of her apartment and a puddle of crimson stained beside her, when fisk had been behind bars, when she'd had nowhere to turn. how many times had she wanted to run? too many to name, lest she face the shame that comes with the thought. in the end, though, she stayed right here—right in the angry mouth of the city that'd many times over feasted upon her just to spit her back out.
when he looks at her she burns. if a look could find a way to suffice as a goodbye, if it could narrate their last page, this would be it; a thick swallow, that tender gleam in his eyes she knows are reserved for moments and hours like this, hidden in the night when he can be frank. )
You have people here that care about you. Not many people in this city can say that. ( the bodies in hell's kitchen were often just as twisted as the city itself. finding warmth was a shot in the dark, and her only source sits before her now.
it's evident the question is one she'd rather avoid. they were honest with one another, even in their lies. she looks out the pane window beside them, across the freckle of lights she can make out, the bridge in the distance. it seems she'd accepted the coffee more to warm her hands than anything else. )
Honestly? ( rhetoric, and pierce of blue meets his eyes again. ) I don't know. I've barely slept. Even when I do it's just... it's not rest. It's like I should be doing something, like I'm missing something, but I can't—I can't figure out what it is. ( as much as she harps on others speaking up, more often than not as of late, words escape her.
frank let her sleep on your chest, u are the cure
( when she'd woken up in the frigid, still air of her apartment and a puddle of crimson stained beside her, when fisk had been behind bars, when she'd had nowhere to turn. how many times had she wanted to run? too many to name, lest she face the shame that comes with the thought. in the end, though, she stayed right here—right in the angry mouth of the city that'd many times over feasted upon her just to spit her back out.
when he looks at her she burns. if a look could find a way to suffice as a goodbye, if it could narrate their last page, this would be it; a thick swallow, that tender gleam in his eyes she knows are reserved for moments and hours like this, hidden in the night when he can be frank. )
You have people here that care about you. Not many people in this city can say that. ( the bodies in hell's kitchen were often just as twisted as the city itself. finding warmth was a shot in the dark, and her only source sits before her now.
it's evident the question is one she'd rather avoid. they were honest with one another, even in their lies. she looks out the pane window beside them, across the freckle of lights she can make out, the bridge in the distance. it seems she'd accepted the coffee more to warm her hands than anything else. )
Honestly? ( rhetoric, and pierce of blue meets his eyes again. ) I don't know. I've barely slept. Even when I do it's just... it's not rest. It's like I should be doing something, like I'm missing something, but I can't—I can't figure out what it is. ( as much as she harps on others speaking up, more often than not as of late, words escape her.
a sad smile, a glaze over her stare. ) I'm tired.