It’s too damn hot.

It is hot— the new year has brought with it thick, oppressive air and sullen heat. Not that she likes the rain, but he’s starting to wish for it anyway. Anything to break this heatwave. Anything just to change this mood.Sweat glides down the groove of his spine. It’s really just too damn hot.

“It’s too hot,” she huffs, irritable, tired, but not quite pushing him away. And maybe she’s right. Their backs and necks are clammy hot with sweat; the salt of their skin tinges the air, unmistakeably, with that scent that he loves so much, that scent that is uniquely them. It is hot, maybe too hot for this, but he knows that isn’t what she means.

He’s exhausted to the point of shattering, in need of sleep that never comes; being here makes her toss and turn with nightmares that he doesn’t understand. She’s constantly on edge, waiting, anticipating, wary of those thoughts that haunt him, head always turned to keep watch over her shoulder.

But she’s not alone now anymore, and the risks she takes are his risks too. So, she runs though she hates it, through fucking suburbia that’s blistering hot like hell.

And when they run it’s like a fever breaking. Less oppression, more tension.

@4 weeks ago