𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓⁰²ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ

ㅤㅤㅤ xvi ──to be buried by your serpent tongue

asari
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His voice remained to be made of honey even through the cut-outs of our phone call. And the rasp of it only accentuated the fact that neither crackles or bad connections could stain just how well he sounded. Then I wondered if he could sing.

We stayed on a call for exactly 41 minutes and 38 seconds - exactly until he pulled up right in front of me and smiled, said hello through the call even though I was right in front of him.

"Why's red your favourite colour?" I asked, hoping to buy myself some time to gather better questions unrelated to favourite colours or food - something not as shallow. But he always turned it around, always gave me something unexpected.

I'd expected something along the lines of "I don't know" or the typical "Well it has two meanings. Love and anger,". I'd heard both many times before.

"Well, why shouldn't it be?" He answered and he would've laughed at my raised brows. "I think it matches my personality quite nicely and plus, I look great in red," I laughed at that. I imagined he would look wonderful in red.

Nothing about it felt superficial and I wondered if he knew that, to say those exact words because he knew it didn't make him sound like some copy and paste answer.

"How exactly does it fit your personality?" I pressed as there were many sides to the colour.

"First of all, I'd look wonderful as a red head -"

"You wouldn't," I replied a little too quickly.

He gave me a glance of shock before his smile melted into a laugh, liquid and warm as he shook his head. "Second, it's a sexy colour. Very... eye catching, bold, attention seeking. And I'm a narcissist, so this is great business for me!" His tone had started to take on a more joking kind, making me smile stupidly as I continued examining his side profile.

"And why is it your favourite colour?" He asked in return.

I shrugged. "Uh, well, it's the colour of many of my favourite things," I responded truthfully, though unsure if it was the other way around - if I liked red because of the objects or that I liked the objects because of the colour. "I had this mood ring that didn't work and it was always red. My journal's colour is red, too. I had a red guitar before. Hmm..."

"You play guitar?" He asked, his tone more awake.

I gathered that he must've played or was interested in it. "Horribly. My fingers always end up hurting too bad. Why? Do you play?"

He chuckled, almost sounding like the character in a movie that'd mutter 'rookie' under his breath. "I, uh, I play a bit, yeah. What actually helps with stopping the pain in your fingers is if, and hear me out, you play more,"

I scoffed at the idea. "Okay. Now you're bullshitting me,"

"Nah, I swear, I'm not. Worked for me, why not for you?"

He had a point, and there was some sort of logic to it. If I played more despite my aching fingertips, I'd eventually grow callouses, which meant that I'd get to play without pain afterwards. I realised this but decided not to admit it. I stayed silent.

"A'ight then, I've made my point," He chuckled.

"Well, too late now anyway. I don't have a guitar," I shrugged, kicking a pebble with the toe of my shoe.