I know, I know, you're all probably like, wtf another? Why can't you just finish what you've started? But…this just…it needs to be written. It was inspired by my lovely Romano, and I couldn't help myself. Plus, I think this is possibly the most amazing thing I've ever written. …And I really don't like Irritably Similar…and I'm also waiting for my Notice Me plot bunnies to multiply, I have an idea, like, a really good idea, but no way to go through with it, unfortunately. Unfortunately, I find my plot lines and character perspectives all to be stupid. But enough of that, you clicked to read this.
Here's a little prologue for my newest piece of wonderful literature…
-TFP
It's dark. That was Lovino's last coherent thought before falling asleep, safely tucked into a soft body that should have been all points and angles by the look of it. It smelled heavily of beer, which he would usually find completely repulsive, but it was oddly comforting how it mixed with the warmth of the room. It should have been cold, with skin so pale it looked dead, other than the rising and falling of its chest as it breathed. It couldn't be breathing if it were dead. There was color, little color, but color all the same. It presented itself in shining crimson orbs that held so much, fire, blood, passion, it was all hidden there. They had always been interesting to Lovino, like a puzzle that he couldn't solve, he didn't even know where to start if he wanted to try and solve it. They had been staring down at him, the fire was dimmed, a warm red greeted him when he dared a look up, his heart swelled, and seemed to get caught in his throat. That was made apparent by the small croaking hiccup that escaped his lips. The other pair of lips curled upward in a sort of tired grin, he supposed it was supposed to be cocky, but it just looked amused and contented.
Maybe the dark wasn't the last thing on his mind as he drifted off into a contented sleep, maybe it was how wonderful the smell of beer seemed. It could have been how the light of the moon drifting through the sliver of window that remained through the curtains that had been drawn shut, exaggerated the dust particles floating through the air. It was possible that it was just the safe feeling that surrounded him and kept him from the stunning realization that would hit him as hard as the hangover he was bound to have in the morning when he woke.
His sleep was dreamless, and he barely moved, not that he had much leeway, being pressed up against another body restricted movement. He couldn't say that he minded that though, he fit so perfectly, snug, but still with room to breathe