𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞 | ✔

ғᴏʀᴛʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Heyyyy tis been a while :)

without further adieu, here is the next chapter...

༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

DEVI BHATT

His hands clutch the curve of my waist when we sleep. His nose grazes my chest when we sleep. His breathing runs, refreshing like a waterfall, down my body, deep inside my nerves– it resounds soundfully in me, settling a strange tranquillity in my bones, willing me to sleep.

My hands clutch the soft strands of his hair softly when we sleep. My chest rises and falls under his cheek. My breathing trickles, gentle like petals falling in the beginning of autumn, down his cheek, through his lashes and smoothing out the deep lines of stress in his head he gets.

It feels like I've been with him for a millenia, and I could go a millenia more with him and still want him more than I wanted him in the first moment I laid my eyes upon him.

He waits for me to go to sleep first every night, he doesn't say it but I know, because his breathing always sounds a little deeper in the morning. He's not very good at pretending, which makes a smile touch my lips.

The soft music of silence envelopes us– the lucidity of it all, feeling like sweet surrender. There's a small gap in the black velvet curtains, consequently causing the light of the morning to shine out from between.

It's radiant. It feels tranquilising.

It falls on his cheek, making his skin glow and the shaved hairs on his jaw stand out. With the soft pads of my fingers, I trace his features, getting to memorise every inch of his structure.

The straightness of his nose, the way his top lip is equally as full as the bottom one. But when he sleeps, he sleeps with his lips slightly parted- it almost looks like a pout. It's cute. Regular sized ears with floppy little lobes, I unintentionally squeeze sometimes in the night.

He twists his head, burning his face into my chest so that I can feel the heavy warmth of his breath. His head on my chest makes my emotions swell with content- it makes me feel so comfortable and secure. In my times of vulnerability I want to be as close to him as possible and this makes me feel it, whilst maintaining control.

My heart is fluttering to an unusual beat.

"Mhm," his lips vibrate against me as twist strands of his hair.

He's waking up. In the first fifteen minutes of the day, Grisha has the softest grey eyes in existence- as if they were puffs of clouds you could fall effortlessly into. Then they snap back into reality with an unearthly sharpness.

He looks up, deeply locking eyes with mine. His gaze runs down my face, dazedly.

My breathing is strangely odd.

And my thoughts are clouded by the grey skies invading them.

I think, these are symptoms. Symptoms of what, you may ask?

Love sickness. I'm so unregrettably lovesick it might hurt.

"Hey," I whisper.

"Dobroye utro," he says all gruff and tired, his throat vibrating warmly against my chest as he says it. (good morning)

I've weirdly woken up incredibly early today, at seven fifty fucking am. Sometimes he's too tired and his mother tongue is only awake so I get a bit of Russian here and there. I can understand a fair bit which makes me feel proud, but whenever anyone speaks fast my brain gets completely and beyond frazzled. I feel myself losing a few brain cells too.