[open] there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail; any

[rapt]

rapt

rapt.

I need you to be a monster
which is to say, I am trying not to love you

He feels the weight of her gaze first, a faint pricking of the skin, the sensation of being watched. He does not know it for what it is, not at first, he is too caught in the weight of old memories, dreams of monsters and stars and the wicked curve of horns.
Something intangible worms its way into his senses, makes him turn and face her a moment before she speaks. He takes her in, the youth of her, the dark gloss of her mane. She is quiet, when she speaks, and he wonders if she is for some reason frightened of him, or if it is simply her nature to be quiet, soft-spoken.
He smiles, steps slightly closer. His social skills are rusty, and most of Rapt’s interactions and relationships with others have been on the odd side – to put it lightly – but he pretends at normalcy, here with that smile on his gold lips, river water still dewy on his whiskers.

“Hi Dharma,” he says, “I’m Rapt.”
He pauses, then, scrabbling for something else, suddenly quite sick of the silence.
“Are you alone?”
Perhaps too loaded a question, that – but as we’ve said, Rapt is out of practice.

which is to say, I am still dreaming of kissing your claws

@Dharma