french exit
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If you’re going to purposely kick my door on your way in, could you at least wipe your shoes first? Thanks.
And to drive home the message, there’s even a little frowny face drawn at the bottom of the page. The note isn’t signed, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it’s from. Chuuya snorts, glancing at his mud caked boots at the door.
It had rained yesterday, after all.
what to do when your next door neighbor won't stop playing liszt at 5:30 in the morning: a survival guide
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- Part 1 of french exit
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He’s lying on his back in the grass, watching sparrows fly overhead on a clear sky with the warmth of another body beside him, red wine warming his blood. Laughter bubbles from his lips, contained at first then crashing into him like an ocean wave, and Verlaine is laughing too. Arthur can feel the way the laughter shakes his ribs where their bodies are pressed together from hip to shoulder.
”What are we laughing about?” he asks, breathless.
”Life."
falling in love with the sun has its consequences
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- Part 2 of french exit