→ ฬђєгє เร ๓ץ ๓เภ๔? → norman x reader

07. his eyes; her lies

♗ ♔ ♕ ♘

ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀᴅᴍɪʀᴇᴅ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀɴ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴅɪᴀᴍᴏɴᴅ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴇʏᴇꜱ, so bright and beautiful. His eyes communicated things that his mouth sometimes didn't. 

The side glance that says, 'Hi, just making sure you're okay.'

The squint that means, 'Oh, you...', whenever you tease him.

The way they silently observe you when you read together.

The way his eyes would rest right on yours, while yours shifted left, right, up, and down. Patient and endearing, watching you talk to him in your most expressive ways.

And always you knew when he was tired because his blinks were longer and his eyebrow would arch, as if trying to pull his eyelid open. This happened when he struggled to stay up with you. When you refused to go to sleep, he always tried to stay up with you. (Though he always fell asleep eventually)

You loved the color, and wonder how such vibrancy existed.

Maybe they would've been something resembling the ocean.

But when you saw him later today, his eyes were almost enough to make yours pour over and spill an ocean's worth of salty drops of guilt.

♗ ♔ ♕ ♘

You and Norman run side by side, "Stop following me, we're gonna get caught!", you whisper yell.

Norman continues to follow you, so you frown and sprint.

You run and run and run and run and-

'Huh, I ran all the way to the fence...'

You walk towards the short metal fence and put a hand on it, glaring at it. Angry that this is the line in the sand, that this is what you are never, ever supposed to cross, it feels so mocking.

You hear huffing and puffing behind you, so you turn around.

"Norman, I sprinted away for a fucking reason."

Norman visibly cringes at your curse, "I *huff* just wanted to talk to you *huff*, now that we are alone."

You fiddle with your hands, massaging your fingers and picking at your nails, "There's nothing to talk about," you turn back to the fence, staring off into the distance.

Norman walks to your side and glances at your hands, you were gripping at them quite hard...

That was your tell, Norman has always known that your hands communicate things that your mouth can never sometimes. 

They fiddle, they pinch, your nails dig into your skin at times, they tap and flex and flick, and pull.

Your hands are odd, they aren't like his, or Emma's, or Ray's. Theirs are soft, but yours are rough, yours feel calloused. 

And right now, your fiddling hands are telling Norman that you are lying.

You have been lying about a lot of things lately, telling very concerning lies, lies concerning your boots, your arrival, your obvious wariness of Isabella, your tests, your arms. 

Yes, Norman knows about the scars on your arms, one time, you were outside together and asleep, it was quite hot and he saw you sweating.

So he carefully rolled up your sleeve, so that maybe you could cool down.