i wasnt gonna include a note on this one but this one has been through a lot. for reference i started writing it on valentines day lmfao.
cingulomania
(n.) a strong desire to hold a person in your arms.
—
It starts as nothing.
Chest pain isn't.. nothing, per se, but when you're out on the curb smoking every twenty minutes, it gets glossed over. You try not to think about it.
Some things, though, you just can't ignore.
Like exhaustion- it's well past midnight, and all Ivan can do is.. lie there. The pain's been worse today, so he cuts back on the cigarettes a bit. It'll fade, and then he can snap right back into routine.
He mindlessly scrolls through his phone, tapping ashes off the last smoke he'll let himself have 'til morning.
Some shitty articles he doesn't care about, meaningless words to fill the time until he gets to bed. Maybe a few glances towards the dog curled up on the floor.
It's too bad she's decided to sleep soundly tonight, instead of running around fucking up the whole place- the distraction would've been nice.
The sudden buzzing from his phone makes him jump, though he quickly tries to forget it happened and see who in their right mind is bothering him this late.
Dante
Goodnight
you better be asleep
lord knows you need it
..Oh.
Now that he thinks about it, that's.. one of maybe three people it could've been. No one else is awake, or that annoying. It's.. kind of surprising, though, that he's even thinking about him.
He rolls his eyes, carefully sinking under the covers to reply.
how'd you know I was awake?
well i didn't, but now i do -_-
sleep
Fair enough. ..Maybe. It does put a bit of a smile on his face, though, he can't deny that. He reaches over and puts his cigarette out, grinding its glow out in the ashtray.
Only to avoid your nagging
you're so mean to me
but sweet dreams
Goodnight
His phone settles nicely against the chilled wood nightstand, and it's nice to let all the tension run out of his shoulders as he really lies down.
In complete silence now, the constant ache in his chest and his stupid wreck of a brain are far too prominent.
..Dante was thinking of him this fucking late. The guy who barely makes it to ten o'clock most nights. I mean, sure, it was something stupid, and it's annoying to be reminded to go to sleep like some kind of ten year old. ..And it definitely doesn't matter.
But for some reason, he can't stop thinking about it. Like it was important whatsoever, like it wasn't the most irrelevant thing to happen these past few weeks.
He lets out a heavy sigh, rolling over and burying himself in the covers as a subtle 'fuck you' to that train of thought.
Karma hasn't ever been in his favor, that he knows, but the immediate sharp pain in his chest after he tries to think of something else is like a joke.
