Description
[schlattbur] He was so gorgeous. His long curls were messy from the night of drinking, and they sat hastily pushed to one side from rough, calloused hands. One hand of which was still holding tightly onto his own, like if either of them parted then this moment would end, and they would have to return to normalcy. Was it even possible to return to that? To simple glances, untold feelings. Calls from across the ocean, never able to touch, to feel, to be. The return to 'did I fall asleep on call again? oh, that's so embarrassing, I didn't mean to lol' with the underlying subtext that only they knew meant 'I trust you with my life. take me where you wish, and I will follow without question'. I dont support Wilbur, dont ship people to their faces, dont like dont read etc im romanticising who they were in 2019 atp.
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