mute | stenbrough AU

3

One thing people would never come to know about Stanley, is that with words that don't dare pass his lips. He makes up for in painting the most detailed potions in ink. Bill seemed nothing less than intriguing, enough so, to earn him an entry in stans journal. As the sun still shone in the sky, Stan began scribbling down his deepest thoughts about the boy just a little bit taller than him.

Tuesday,5:20pm
Bill is in the shop again, everything about him is like a new fresh page in an old worn book. His smile sends me into waves of euphoria, I want to be the shadows that hide every secret in the crevices of his face. Yet I envy the sunlight, for having such free roam on his skin. I often find myself jealous of those simply born with the freedom to open the velvet curtains of their lips and let the actors take their bows. However, it appears my theatre is long closed, the curtains doomed to themselves—

Stans writing was interrupted by the boy in question who stood in front of him with a paper in his hand. It read in chicken scratch graphite "hi do you mind if i sit ? " he then motioned to the empty leather chair across from stan, with only a wood table separating them. Bill had a pencil eagerly clutched in his pale hands, marking the first instances of their communication
Writing