the seven husbands of y/n l/n ✷ gi

in which the eyes are the window of the soul

THE CURTAINS FALL WHILE THE SCENE IS HUMBLE AND STILL.

Not a word is uttered as both peer into each other's eyes- tender for a split moment. Snow gently flutters to the ground in graceful clusters; ironically timing the moment with ease. 

"Um- Capitano?" mouthed Y/N breathlessly, her eyes- despite the urges to detest- remained adroitly fixated on his. 

"Oh- um yes." fumbled Capitano, who swiftly retracted his hands; allowing Y/N to pull herself up. 

Perhaps it was the sheer bitter spell of an eternal winter or the frost fogging her eyes, nevertheless, Y/N discerned a fervent blush of red creeping up on Capitano's cheeks now unfortunately tucked away by the collar of his coat. 

What she failed to discern, however, was that she too possessed a similar sightening. 

The two remain still, eyes darting past one another's in a mixture of evident embarrassment and another foreign sensation that cast a tune of dread and giddy repose. It was like stretching your arms up like the branches of a tree: attempting to grasp onto an instinct instead of an idea. The thrum of quickened heart rates and childish grins ushered in a newfound taste of simplicity: a flow which was only found natural in the books, for Y/N at least. 

Capitano was another tale, perhaps a separate genre entirely. 

"We should get going," instigated Capitano, whose tone now found itself steadfast and nonchalant anew, "You will be late for the play if we don't get moving."  

Y/N's bubble pops as she heaves a sigh, observing as her partner hoists himself up from the snow seemingly disregarding any prior moment. "Alright, help me up then," she calls with a tinge of edging disappointment. 

While the mere prospect of a play enamoured Y/N to her core, the star-lit notions of vehemence screen lines and witty motions instigated a different sensation: one that was neither longing nor thrill. Rather, a longing for another- what the another remained blank: like an artist itching to paint yet not quite knowing what. 

Capitano reaches for Y/N's arms thus hosting her up; brushing aside the remnants of both snow and a curt ecstasy. "You're not going to talk about what just happened...?" questioned Y/N gingerly, her voice edging off. 

"There is no need," Capitano replies a tad too swiftly, "It was only an accident." Capitano provides Y/N with a curt glance before gazing ahead in indifference. 

There is an abrupt pause before Y/N scoffs, clicking her tongue in disdain. So much for a gentleman...

Thus, the two amble back in strained silence- neither party adamant in regards to communicating- for separate reasons at least. 

The snow issued a satisfying crunch after each steadfast step while a pale breeze hustled in the opposite direction. Fastening her scarf around her neck, Y/N toyed with the insides of her cheek, eyes occasionally darting to Capitano's frozen demeanour: a bitter inkling of dread and disdain flourishing in the crevices of her rib cage like an unwanted and unwarranted weed. 

 Damn this... Remarked Y/N, blinking as another snowflake found itself in her eye. 

"Are you coming to watch the play?" Questioned Y/N, who held her tongue back in spite. 

"Mmh." 

Heaving another sigh, Y/N hastened her steps- further distancing herself from the man bearing a stranger's skin. 

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