troubledMature

There was a smoothness to him that always went down easy; the way his skin absorbed the light and glowed with it, faintly, gently, softly.  He disturbed nothing, merely became part of it.  Her eyes traveled down the length of his jawline, studying the shadow of dark hair that sharpened the lines of his face.  There, she'd found it.  His pulse throbbed at the base of his jaw.  His smoothness rippled.

The silence between them held, steady and solid for as far as the eye could see.  A patient rhythm inhabited her chest, a mere murmur against the static noise of his soul.

Troubled was not the word for his expression, but she fumbled for the proper one - melancholy felt too strong but ponderous didn't show the depth to his eyes, the way the darkness of his thoughts could overcast the light in his irises and turn the virid pools into chaotic oceans of black.

The End

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