Duck Lake montefitu

twitch had half a mind to snap at him, to roll her eyes, to scoff at his ridiculous bit. but—pah, who cares.

instead, she presses in, slow and steady, nose-first like some burrowing thing, like she’s not even aware she’s doing it. closer, closer, until her shoulder bumps his chest and her weight settles against him. she feels the warmth, solid and steady, and she longs for it.

his leg is there, lazy and draped, and she nudges under it without thinking, hooking it over her shoulder like it belongs there. like she belongs here. she does not, but it is fun to pretend. she is always pretending.

it’s new. new, but not bad. not wrong.

she huffs again, quiet, as if exhaling a million times will rid her of the excess body heat clawing up her body. “maybe,” she mutters, like it costs her something. “maybe not.”