[Tate's familiar with the darkness, but for the most part, he puts himself there. she lays her palm over his eyes and her hand is a weight over the bridge of his nose, her fingers at his temple like an iron shackle. he takes a breath, and when he exhales it's like his chest is sinking.]
[ he goes still. not quite soft, but that'll come after. when his breathing goes slack and he surrenders. he hollows himself out, or hayley carve him. it doesn't really matter, either way. hayley watches his face- mostly obscured by her palm, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
her opposite hand lifts, and one fingernail pushes into his shoulder. drags down his collar and leaves a raised, red welt in it's wake. ]
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When it hurts.
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her opposite hand lifts, and one fingernail pushes into his shoulder. drags down his collar and leaves a raised, red welt in it's wake. ]
Then I guess you aren't dreaming.