su_herald | Aug. 23rd, 2007

She sits up and reaches out to pet his knee absently to take the sting out of the words. He’s very still. Sometimes he wonders if they realize how warm they are, humans—mortals—the lightest touch searing even through cloth. He wonders how they stand it, all that heat. How he did, once upon a time. He can feel where each of her fingers imprinted against the skin.

~Beautiful Things (Encapsulate) by poisontaster Angel/Cordelia

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