fic: playing in the rain is worth catching cold
Title: Playing In The Rain Is Worth Catching Cold
Author: savetomorrow
Pairing: Mark/Eduardo
Word Count: 3,325
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Warnings: What's plot, precious? What's plot, eh? Seriously, there is practically no plot whatsoever. Also too many figures of speech and an overdose of feelings.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the (lack of) plot. Title is from Michael Tolcher's song Sooner or Later.
Summary: It’s scary, the first time Eduardo realises Mark looks at him the same way he looks at Mark, because he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s deliriously happy and completely terrified at the same time. It’s like he has magic in his hands, all the possibilities it brings, but he’s not quite sure he wants to use it, because it could be beautiful, it could be fucking amazing, or it could make everything come crashing down.
Sometimes it’s worth the risk.
Everything is shades of grey. The only splash of colour is a narrow line of bright blue in the sky, making its way through the grey like a slowly spreading puddle of paint. It looks out of place, Eduardo thinks, almost like someone cut the clouds with a knife and now the blue is bleeding out.
Author: savetomorrow
Pairing: Mark/Eduardo
Word Count: 3,325
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Warnings: What's plot, precious? What's plot, eh? Seriously, there is practically no plot whatsoever. Also too many figures of speech and an overdose of feelings.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the (lack of) plot. Title is from Michael Tolcher's song Sooner or Later.
Summary: It’s scary, the first time Eduardo realises Mark looks at him the same way he looks at Mark, because he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s deliriously happy and completely terrified at the same time. It’s like he has magic in his hands, all the possibilities it brings, but he’s not quite sure he wants to use it, because it could be beautiful, it could be fucking amazing, or it could make everything come crashing down.
Sometimes it’s worth the risk.
Everything is shades of grey. The only splash of colour is a narrow line of bright blue in the sky, making its way through the grey like a slowly spreading puddle of paint. It looks out of place, Eduardo thinks, almost like someone cut the clouds with a knife and now the blue is bleeding out.