Heliophilia
(n.) desire to stay in the sun; love of sunlight
To be loved is to be changed.
Arabella Dawson
Has never had anybody constant in her life. From parents always being away at work to one shitty friend, she doesn't know how to exist when...
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Latibule (n.) a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort
Eight ♡ Arabella
"Hi."
Flint stares down at his shoes. Nods his head slightly. His hood covering most of his face. Seems to almost wince.
Leaning against my open door I raise one eyebrow, frown a little. It's 2 in the morning, why's he here so early? Or is it late?
"Are you okay?" I tilt my head.
Flint seems to hesitate before raising his head. We make eye contact and I suck in the gasp that wants to escape.
He's bloody and bruised. Like usual. But this is different. This is fresh. More brutal.
His lips split open, jaw bruised and swelling, nose crooked and bleeding. His knuckles are covered in too much blood to make out any of the details.
Flint shrugs, winces at the pain. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."
My heart cracks and splits in two. And suddenly I feel like throwing up but also crying my eyes out.
I open the door wider, allow him to pass the threshold before taking his hand and practically dragging him to the bathroom.
"Sit." I direct him to sit on the toilet seat. I would've offered him the counter but I don't think I wouldn't been able to reach his face that way.
He's weirdly tall.
I pull out the first aid kit from under the sink, wash my hands before standing between his spread legs.
My hand raises to rub a cotton swap against his wounds before I remember how he snapped at me last time. "Do you want my help?"
Flint scrunches his brows, doesn't say anything, just subtly nods his head once.
Then I'm moving forward again. Taking care of him.
He winces a little and I apologise before continuing.
And the silence is deafening so I say the first thing that comes to mind. "You're not a very good fighter."
Flint scrunches his brows again, chuckles a little under his breath. "No?"
"You always seem to be the one who's hurt." I shrug a little, place one hand on his jaw to hold his face steady.
His skin is warm. Or maybe my hands are cold. Doesn't really matter. We both ignore the goosebumps that pass over me. I ignore the tingly feeling in my bones.
Flint shrugs, groans. "You should see the other guy."
My lips tilt into a frown. If Flint looks this bad I don't want to imagine what the other guy looks like.
