[ this just in (again): marcos diaz is very comfortable to lean on. very solid, very warm, like a cozy tree whose branches have curled around her waist. she nestles against him like she's done it a hundred times, blonde curls a soft contrast on the dark fabric of his shirt, and focuses on the scent of the cotton rather than the gentle thump of his heartbeat so close.
she tries to focus, anyway. mostly, her brain just scatters in a million directions; when marcos asks if she wants to know anything else, it lands on one with reckless abandon. ]
What's your blood type?
[ a super weird thing to ask someone, honestly, even if you didn't want to eat them. ]
no subject
she tries to focus, anyway. mostly, her brain just scatters in a million directions; when marcos asks if she wants to know anything else, it lands on one with reckless abandon. ]
What's your blood type?
[ a super weird thing to ask someone, honestly, even if you didn't want to eat them. ]