I should have loved a thunderbird instead
at least when spring comes they roar back again
Aegean’s heart has never been a faithful thing, even to himself. For all of his own introverted nature, the way that he lives in his own head more than in the world around him, his heart is a wild thing. It has always loved too deeply, too freely. It has felt too much and felt it too quickly—and he has never been one to think that he should put a stop to it. He has never thought that perhaps it was too much, that he was too much. It was easier to just live without boundaries, without concerns for the consequences.
But even now, he knows that there is a difference.
The way that he feels for Pteron is not what he feels so easily for others. It is not the fleeting attraction or the mutual buzz of kindness. It is not anything shallow or quick. It is a seed that has been planted within him from the very first moment they met and he is still surprised by how it has blossomed. He is still so surprised to feel the roots that dig deep within him, that rise up and encircle his pale throat.
Pteron slows, pressing his head against his own, and he gives a sleepy smile when he tells him that he will give him slow—that he will give him this night. His eyes open though when his voice catches, when he continues with his words falling over one another like a waterfall. There is a brief moment of confusion, the expression flashing across his face, before his purple eyes go soft. He reaches over to brush his lips against Pteron’s forehead and smile, breathing him in before sighing. “I have loved you from the first.”
He pulls back so that he can hold the other’s gaze.
“I would take every sunrise and every sunset with you—every one that you would give me.”
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
