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!!!! CURRENTLY UNDERGOING AESTHETIC CHANGES AND CONTENT EDITS !!!! I'm trying to edit my previous chapters before writing more! These chapters are cringe because I wrote them s...
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Self Healing For @Ravenclaw307 warnings: none
if you can, i recommend listening to the song while reading (: also i really enjoyed writing in this pov, i feel like it let me play with words more easily and was flexible enough to accommodate my voice/style of writing. i hope you like it (:
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"It's not your fault." Steve told her. She would not make eye contact with him, no matter how many times he told her to look at him.
"Don't just say that because you feel obligated to," She whispered. "I know that's why you said it."
"That's not true, y/n." He pleaded with her.
Pietro observed her carefully from her place in the seat across from his. Her body was present but her eyes contained nothing in them. He'd never seen anything of the sort when it came to her.
Her shoulders slumped, her clothes bloodied, nothing inhabited the vessel, for all she was to herself and to anyone who laid their eyes on her, a skeleton with worn skin pulled over it.
He noticed how her hands shook slightly, and whenever they started to shake too much, she'd gather her fingers to her palm to form a strained fist, which continued to shake. Her bottom lip would be pulled under her teeth and she'd bite down so hard, that when her lip was exposed from underneath her front teeth again, it was bright red, swollen, like a plump tomato; all to keep from crying in front of the people who'd seen exactly what lead to this slow form of self destruction.
He shook his head, running his hand through his silver hair. He did not know what to do. What could he do that would actually help? He wanted to go up to her, to say something to her, but his legs would not move and his throat would close up. But his heart would thud as if the force at which it was pounding against his ribcage at would be enough to force him out of his seat, and his feet itched to take the path to get to y/n.
He hated that he couldn't bring himself to get up. He liked her so much. He wanted to be able to hold her, kiss her whenever he wanted to, but how could he be deserving of that when he can't even offer her his presence.
If no words came out, that was fine, because sometimes being there means more than a mouthful of empty reassurances that are conjured for the sole purpose of stopping the flow of tears.
No one else on that jet spoke either. He knew silence was bad. It was bad for her, because it gave her room to think, and undo her fortress of self confidence. But still, he said not one word, because noise frustrates the mind but soothes the heart. He still had yet to figure out how to soothe both.
