pale october twilight

sgetober day twenty three and four: hort and favorite ship

Hort thinks he's in love, again.

But again, he could be feeling something else. He's been wrong before.

It all happened after they met. When they did, he (Ravan) was gruff and awkward and he had these dark all knowing eyes and a scowl, and his sweater cuffs were messed up and threaded loose. He had two little dots under his right eye. Hort didn't know why he noted that then, but he knows now. He's never forgotten.

He reminds Hort of the bittersweet memories of his adolescence, with the dark curtains, dusty books, piano lessons, chocolate cake, and comic book wrapping cover. He's tall and he has these quirky features to his face when he's loosened up. He plays soccer. It's awesome to watch. He likes his coffee with one sugar packet, and Hort can't count the times he's watched Ravan precisely pour the sugar crystals into his paper cup, with a sort of mesmerized awe. He's so articulate and smart. When he talks, it's amazing because he uses as little words as possible to make the meaning. His laugh implores Hort to make him laugh even more.

But he's not perfect, even though he may be closer than Hort is.

He's got shit taste in movies. He thought the Avatar remake was 'pretty good'. He liked the Marvel movies, and they get into fights about them when they're driving back from the theater. He debates the rules of board games like the fate of the world rests on it. And somehow, he's shit at CandyLand. Hort didn't think it was possible, but he is. Ravan always has a nasty comment dying to break free, and when it does, it's a battlefield, and Hort came holding nothing but a trumpet, music to Ravan's ears, always wanting to have the upper hand.

But Hort has a big nose, jagged hair, and a nervous grin and an abysmal fashion sense that has made even Sophie give up on him (no way he was letting go of those Nirvana tees). Everything about Hort screams chaotic mess with his mussed hair, denim and hands too big for the rest of his body, baggy jeans and skater tops and dirty converses, and all of it topped off by a trying- his best- which- is not- very- good aura. He drinks milk out of the bottle, scoops up jam with his fingers, and licks the plate no matter the company. They argue endlessly about this, because despite his lack of social grace, Ravan was raised with Morals and Etiquette. Hort, was not. ("My dad was visiting!" "What, so I'm supposed to let the sauce go tot waste?") But at least Hort can greet people and say hello without his pride getting in the way, unlike some people. Ravan has an unfaltering glare that makes him look closed off and unfriendly, and has to be reminded to wash his clothes.

Neither of them are beautiful to normal standards, but Hort thinks it's something they can live with. Yeah, he's stupid and Ravan's a bit of a bastard, but so what? Hort likes their flaws. Who wants to live in a world where everything is perfect, like robots? He'd rather have this sense of love. 

a/n: i forgot how therapeutic it is to write horavan . i don't know how wattpad, but if you liked it vote? is that how it works? i'm like an old woman lmao