Porcupine Ridge redbull

when she trails off, his voice cuts through the quiet, low and rough, with no patience for coyness.

you don’t know? he repeats, not unkind. you know. you just don’t want to say it out loud.

he exhales, his breath clouding faintly in the icy air. he leans in slightly. and you won’t be happy. not here, not anywhere, until you figure out what the hell it is you actually want. his voice softens, but only slightly, the gravel still scraping in his tone. so, envy. what is it? what’s the thing you’re afraid to admit you need?

he waits, his eyes steady, giving her the space to answer or not.