Snow

32 | i hit him

❝pushin' me away so i give her space,
dealin' with a heart that i didn't break.
i'll be there for you, i will care for you.❞

❘❘

LOS SUEÑOS CAN'T COMPARE TO IT. Lost somewhere in a hot, hazy shadow of sleepwalking, fleeting consciousness and barely breathless secrets tangle la madrugada into una fantasía. Through a blurry lens, fogged by the fluttering morning film, ink and skin cut through the smoky room, and beneath that assault of a soft, simmering glow, there's never been anything más hermoso.

Every trace of light strokes his skin, caressing, kissing the tattoos along his throat and and his chest and his knuckles.

Those knuckles. I can still feel them on my lips, a featherlight beso to seal all the icy apologies.

An anchor ripples through the sheet, grounding me, tying me to him, capsizing any fragmented thought of leaving or... doing anything. Skin and smoke sift away from me, reaching for clothes and cigarettes and my keys.

I stay silent and still, riding out some sensual temptation to be the muse in his bed—the lazy lover left behind when the sun rises.

Though as I blink sleepily, savoring the sight of his bare skin, my heart stirs.

Rays of light fall through the glass in a veil—a misleading reverie of romanticized beauty. It shrouds us into a silent symphony of suffocation, but fuck, it barely hits me. I can't fucking care.

Because Julian Rivera looks divine—drowning in an intangible halo, singed in fearless fringes of fire, stripped down by a sultry sunrise, just... bathing in the morning light.

Almost fucking holy.

My breath hitches.

Maybe we can both be reborn; maybe we can both find a new beginning, if only for a moment, in the fierce, fleeting sensation of a new day. Maybe we can both be kind and pure and virtuous and beautiful and loving.

Maybe we really can be innocent, if only for a moment, in the trace of a half-hearted promise, in the hazy break of dawn.

After a night of endless sin, binding rapture and ruin into a shattering, self-destructive montage of cocaine kisses and things that feel right, but wrong, so fucking wrong that I know they're right.

As my thoughts spiral, I find myself breathing soft, my fingers sprawling to the edge of the bed, my lips parting for him.

"Are you..." My heart comes up my throat en un susurro. "Are you leaving me?"

Julian spins, blinking in surprise. As his gaze settles on me, no me muevo; I just wait and wish, watching his lips lilt into this dizzy smile, intoxicated, mesmerized, almost adoring.

"Sí, mami," he says quietly, as if he's afraid I might wake up from this fucked up fantasy and leave him. "Will you be okay here?"

Everything feels raw. My heart sinks, but I nod silently. It's dangerous and desperate, but still desirable—fucked up company is still company.

If Julian Rivera is what keeps me from breathing alone, I'll brace the summer storms and the raging tides and the harsh winters. I want him para siempre.

With that sleepy smile, he dips to the bed. As his lips brush my forehead, my eyes flutter closed. I sigh, swimming in the faint sensation, lulling and soothing, ghosting across my cheeks and my jaw until Julian captures my lips in a soft kiss.