so this chapter is in carl's point of view which, as a writer, was a very interesting take. i see carl as this very down to earth person but no one can deny the fact that he is still a raging hormonal teen boy. but there's a sort of underlying poetic nature about him. he's hard on the outside, he has to be, but i feel like he's got this insanely soft inner core that notices and emphasizes every minor detail. he's had struggles throughout his character arch but i think that's made him more appreciative of the things around him. while it's obvious he and eleanor are both maturing, he is much more in touch with his sexuality and what it means while eleanor is more oblivious to it. so, let's step into the mind of a poetically horny teenage boy.
edit: this is truly the most unhinged chappie yet lol at the time i like interrogated guys i knew to try and understand the male mind... which i discovered was really quite an insane place to be... but i was committed to serving y'all
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭-𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐬 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐
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H I M
I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine.
My first thought was Oh, shit and my second thought was Five more minutes.
Because Eleanor Maude Tanner was curled on her side, so close one of her tawny curls was caught between my lips. She looked so small, so soft, tucked under the quilt. Her eyelashes dusted across her cheeks, she slept peacefully and without fret.
It was a little strange. Waking up in the same bed as a girl.
It was the early hours of the morning, maybe just after dawn. The newly risen sun, shielded by clouds, sending fresh white light spilling over the room followed by soft motes of dust spiraling lazily through the undisturbed air. I could already tell it was going to be another wet day, already drizzly against the window pane I had arrived through earlier.
It was also strange how, despite all the time we spent together, her room smelt so different than mine. I guess she, herself, smelt different, too. Like sunshine, no matter the weather, a little bit of pine tree, maybe even vanilla. Clean, warm, sharp.
I noticed how the soft light fell over her face, illuminating her features, giving her an otherworldly glow. She looked healthy, which was fortunate. She had sort of become a sickly little thing for a worrisome while. The darkened hollows beneath her eyes remained, perhaps they always would, a reminder of everything she's endured. I supposed we all look a little haunted, though.
But still. Very pretty. Too pretty, even. Definitely a girl.
Each breath of hers was a captivating display, what with the thin white shirt she wore and the fact that I could easily see the outline of what was beneath.
