He buries in her collar and breathes, taking solace in her scent, in her presence, in the sensation that she’s everywhere.
LINK BETWEEN WORLDS ZELDA SNEAKS OUT TUMBLR SKIN
He draws it aside with trembling hands, revealing a perfect collarbone and dip of pale skin beneath that glows in the moonlight. He tries to work his way down from the hollow of her throat, but the sheet wrapped around her shoulders is in the way. He closes the scant space between her skin and his lips again with a hiss, eager to replace it with the taste of her. He can hear the splash of the water tumbling over him, can still taste it in his mouth. He’s breathless when he tries to explain the terror churning in his head. He opens his mouth, tastes her skin, sucks softly where the flavor is most unmistakably hers, and her fingers knot in his hair. It’s feathering at the sides of his face. Her hair is chopped just above the shoulder. She lets him pull her into his lap and she holds him against her throat. He needs her everywhere, so he can never forget. “You didn’t have a face,” he murmurs against her mouth, using it like an anchor to keep himself here while he remembers. He kneads at it where he can feel her waist beneath, wishing it was gone. The cloth of the sheets under his fingers is colder. Her touch is cool as it spreads through his hair and around his neck. He pushes towards it, closes his eyes, lets himself be pliant and defenseless as his lips meet hers, so soft it startles him every time. He wants to fall headlong into the color of them and never resurface. Her eyes are green and glistening with moonlight. He’s afraid to tell her that he’s afraid. She does the same with her other hand, feeling up his jaw, to his cheeks. She nestles closer, pressing the back of her hand to the side of his neck, and it’s so cool against his heated skin that he sighs in relief. “No.” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and everything glows blue behind his eyelids. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. She touches his arm and he realizes he hasn’t taken a breath since she sat down. She waits, gives him a chance to speak, or to run. Her cheeks are pink where he dares glimpse at her profile. She has one of the sheets wrapped around her shoulders to blot out the cold. “You didn’t have to come out here,” he tells her. The girl from his bed sits next to him in the grass and he shudders. Afraid that the pond will be glowing the unholy azure of his dreams. He stops when he can breathe, his fingers digging into his hairline.
He sneaks out the front door and stumbles to the pond outside, reaching in and bringing handfuls to his eyes again and again. He needs a splash of cold water to the face, but he doesn’t want to risk waking her by filling the basin. He slips out from under the covers, careful not to jostle the girl sleeping beside him and too cowardly to check if there are features beyond the rise of her cheekbone. The pool is still filling, the water sloshing too high around his shoulders, his ears, the corners of his mouth, and he reaches for her. He gasps an awful breath, frantically trying to dig it out. And then its four sides fall open into a claw and it retracts, clamping him down to the shrine floor. He cranes his head down woozily, trying to make sense of it.
Then something plunges through his back, sharp and sudden, and his vision dapples white. He wants to beg her to let him die instead. He wants to tell her he’s terrified of losing himself in those waters, of not remembering. He wants to tell her he’s sorry he’s failed her. The lights above them gleam azure and the pool starts to fill. He wants to ask her why she’s putting him through this again. She’s laying him in the shrine again, but he doesn’t remember falling.
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