'cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart

[selfie_centered]

♦️🌹

and in the sea that's painted black
creatures lurk below the deck
but you're a queen and I'm a lionheart

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[crimsontyrant]

[ His heart doesn't race like the other nights they spent alone together. It's a different feeling, the one that's sinking against his chest. It's melancholy. A feeling deeper than a sympathetic sadness. Where it comes from, he's unsure. Specifying would be impossible, at this moment.

If he had to guess? It probably came from seeing someone he cares so deeply about in a state of discomfort like this. Or, it's his own feelings, about those thoughts that were keeping him up.

When he sees those fingers itching closer, he isn't sure if he saw it right. From the corner of his eye, anything could be possible. So, maybe... maybe he lets his own hand fall further to the ground, subtly moving it closer to Cater's. More easily reachable.

His own fingers inch forward, hand sliding across the ground until the tips of their fingers brush against each other. ]

Have to and want to are two separate things. I don't have to, yes. But I want to.

[ Tucking his chin back in towards his own chest, he adds on, ]

I'm glad I'm here, too.

[ His hand reaches slightly further, fingertips pressing closer. They're not holding hands, like this. No, they just happen to have them set at spots that are close together. Too close, that they have to touch.

With a careful shift, he's leaning slightly closer, sparing another glance towards Cater. ]

...

[ And a glance to their hands, as if he somehow hadn't noticed. What were they doing...? He. He should pull his hand back.

He starts to, beginning to sit up more properly - just to asset that Cater has space. That they have space between them, if Cater wants that. If Riddle wants that.

What do they want? ]

[selfie_centered]

[their fingers touch, and it's like the only thing Cater can see. Riddle looks at him, but Cater can't look away from their hands. their pinkies brush together and in his mind he remembers their little pinky promises, the way Riddle's hand contrasts with his.

he starts to lift his hand when Riddle does, coincidentally, but with a different intent— and the space gives Cater the room to grasp Riddle's hand before he can stop himself.

seven, if he lets go, he'll book it. he wishes he was the copy, that he'd disappear into a fluster of diamonds.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ oh


For a few seconds, seconds that feel like minutes, Riddle pauses, in his motion to pull back. His hand had been taken, and that warmth from Cater's hand was a lovely reminder.

He'd planned to pull back completely, to let Cater have more space. Not. This. Not the way their hands are clasped together, clumsily, shakily, as if this were their first times holding hands with anyone.

Then, Riddle adjusts his hand's position. He squeezes Cater's hand just slightly, confirms this moment is read. For himself more so than Cater. Oh how his heart beats so quickly in his chest, a distraction from most of his other thoughts.

... Why is this so much weirder and more intimate than having sex???? ]

...

[ His fingers, his hand, look so small still compared to Cater's. His hand squeezes down again, this time as if... ]

Don't let go yet.

[ as if he was scared to lose it. ]

[selfie_centered]

[who is he to deny Riddle? Riddle's demand is stronger than Cater's doubt, always. at first it was just an over-accommodation. he'd just conceded to keep his life easy, to get by in the best way possible. but lately, it'd become like a lifeline instead.

he'd wanted so badly to be something Riddle could rely on, but wasn't he the weak one, clinging to a crutch like that? it isn't the time to suddenly get stronger, though. he curls his hand tighter around Riddle's, too.

something in his chest burns. he wants to let go, wants to run, but Riddle grounds him, anchors him. his touch doesn't soothe the churning in Cater's stomach, the way his eyes start to sting, but it keeps him here. it makes the feeling easier to bear through.]

Yeah. I gotcha.

[Cater takes a deep breath in, lets it out. he's supposed to be put together, damnit.]

Sorry. I'm— cool, I promise.

[who's he trying to convince?]