He wanted to be clean when he walked into the world.
Sweet.
Pointless.
The world doesn’t deserve him.
I do.
His face holds the expression of someone afraid the sky might rain just to spite him.
If someone made him feel like that, I’ll pull their teeth out one by one and string them on a necklace.
Was it Oksana again?
She’s on thin fucking ice.
He pauses at the apples.
Glares at them like they personally insulted his babushka.
I want to press my mouth to the crease between his brows and whisper, “Let me ruin you instead.”
God, he’s adorable.
I love him.
I’m going to take such good care of him.
He sees me.
Stops.
Heart first, then feet.
Good.
He approaches slowly, like I’m something he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.
Darling. You’re not just allowed.
You’re mine.
He stops beside me.
So close I can smell him.
Sugar. Sweat. Warmth.
I don’t lean into him.
I don’t press my nose to his throat and breathe him in.
I don’t grab his hand and drag it between my thighs.
That deserves a fucking award.
Medal of honor for restraint.
