three days later, dylan and zenith were in her house, and they were reading.
dylan was learning a lot faster. zenith noticed one weird thing, and that was how at first when they met, he told her not to erase the pencil sentence. how could he have read it?
so today, she asked him.
"to be honest," he started.
"honest." she replied.
"my life, and the dyslexia and neorosis and all seem like little pieces of paper, and someone's turned a fan on and they're just scattered - scattering everywhere, but with you, it feels like someone's turned the fan off for a bit, like my life's staying put. that was what happened- that's why you help. you're my treatment, zenith catton."
then they were kissing.
his lips were warm and only a little chapped. she became aware of her own lips; if they were dry and peeling. there was no tongue, no teeth between that kiss, it was the simplicity of lips against lips, nose against nose, and dylan's fingers holding zenith's waist while her fingers were pressed up against the back of his head, not pushing or tugging, just staying.
she opened her mouth just a bit, to breathe out a little, nearly unfeelable exhale, and her spicy nutmeg and cinnamon scent tainted the inside of his mouth.
they pulled away and zenith kept her eyes closed.
"zenith."
blackness.
-
Oooo it happened
