that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
She has nearly seen beneath the mask—has nearly seen him come undone—and it is an incredibly vulnerable feeling to be standing here now before her. He has done his very best to keep to himself over the years. To only engage in crowds when it was on his own terms and when he was confident that he could slip away undetected. When he could control the beginning and the end. When he knew that he would be nothing more than a handsome stranger who would not be remembered by the morning.
But she somehow sees right through it.
Leaves him open and vulnerable, and he wants to shake with the fear of it.
But instead he straightens a little and throws her a casual grin, wide and free as though he has never known a day of worry in his life. As though he did not spend his nights chased by death. As though he had never woken with the taste of ash in his mouth; as though he did not taste decay every night.
“A valid question,” he admits, but that’s it. He acknowledges it and then turns it over—not giving her any additional information or details about why he was not currently running and why he was here. Why she could find him in the middle of a common land when he had told her he was heading far away.
He just looks at her with a lazy glance, half-lidded and nearly sleepy.
His mouth opens as though to say something else but he closes it instead and just smiles.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried