you are, after all, silver tongued. you are a talker. someone with charisma, someone charming and clever, someone who tells stories and enraptures people, someone with quick wits and quicker fingers. you have found your way into situations and found your way back out of them a thousand times, but this is different.
you sit at a festival, on a grassy hill. something about it isn't quite right, but to you, it's still warm, and it's still home, and seeing him there makes your heart ache, in a way that's too big for your chest, in a way that has made you fumble, over and over, since you met this person. this interesting, fascinating, incredible person.
the two of you have a conversation. it skirts around its main point. you give him something, and you play it cool. it's a meaningful gift, and you joke like you always do as you give it. you don't tell him that you're pouring your heart out alongside with it, that this is the biggest feeling that you've ever known and, childishly, you are absolutely terrified he won't like it -
- but he does.
he does, he really likes it, and he sniffs, and then he cracks a little joke and you think i am in love with you and then you just say it out loud.
it's so embarrassing that you think you might die, at first, that you might just melt into the floor as your tongue goes ahead of your brain and you feel as exposed as if you've just run naked down the street of a city. your face colors immediately, scarlet red, but you run with it and you keep running your mouth, to try and save it, again. you pull your hand back, embarrassed, as you finish, and decide to shut up while the shutting up is good.
he blinks at you, and then he laughs and ducks his head, clearly just as flustered, and where you let go, he reaches back out and slides his hand into yours again, and starts to talk.
... and as he's talking to you, you realize very quickly that though you're both idiots, that maybe you've fumbled your way successfully through this after all.
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AQUILA | cotton mouth.