a tired contraption Teetering. On the brink of few and many. He runs his hands along his jaw, and the boy in front of him blinks like he sees the world through molasses. "You're incredible," H says. D smirks, because that's just the type of thing he does. "Of course I'm fucking incredible. I'm with you, aren't I?" he asks, and H glows at the almost-compliment. Rain pours down the windows in tiny glass riverbeds, and D growls when H puts his mouth over his, because that's just the way they do things around here. << [heart] >> scribble me your heart