[ he could hold her here forever, just as he often does in his actual dreams, longing and reaching for the chance they never had when she was alive. she's warm and beautiful and comforting, something born out of a simple first glance attraction to a passionate ache surging through him for decades. the tip of his nose tips against the paths of her skin, drawn in by scent that isn't crafted by fantasy, by the fervent pounding of her heart easy to his ears.
there's a longing to kiss her, lips brushing enough along the pulsing of her neck to nearly mimic the urgency, but he's scared that the moment he does, that's when the nightmare might come alive again, and just as she always does, she'd simply disappear.
yet she's already drawing away and the motion coaxes him to lift his head, to catch the stern focus of her eyes, his own heartbeat and hers still loud in his head.
the white hot room. is that what it's called? ]
I've been wherever you are. [ he raises his hand again, palm gentle to her jaw, careful. ] For you. [ always for you. ] But I couldn't stay.
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there's a longing to kiss her, lips brushing enough along the pulsing of her neck to nearly mimic the urgency, but he's scared that the moment he does, that's when the nightmare might come alive again, and just as she always does, she'd simply disappear.
yet she's already drawing away and the motion coaxes him to lift his head, to catch the stern focus of her eyes, his own heartbeat and hers still loud in his head.
the white hot room. is that what it's called? ]
I've been wherever you are. [ he raises his hand again, palm gentle to her jaw, careful. ] For you. [ always for you. ] But I couldn't stay.