Wearing down the treads, Gabe/William
Wearing down the treads by
airgiodslv, PG-13
“Shit,” Travis says. “You’re finally making a move.”
So, so good! I love them together.
Gabe is planning on making a grand entrance, but when he hears what sounds like Chislett reciting love poetry, he has to hang back for minute.
“Violets aren’t blue,” William explains patiently, as if they’ve been over this before. “They’re violet.”
“Violet blue,” Chislett insists. “Like, it’s a colour.”
“Violet isn’t blue, it’s purple,” William says, and Gabe can imagine the look on his face now, the tolerance of those less-intelligent mixed with disbelief that anyone can actually be that stupid. “It’s a colour. Violet. Ultra-violet.”
“I’m just saying, that’s how the poem goes,” Chislett defends. “Roses are red, violets are blue.”
“But violets aren’t blue,” William says again, the patience in his tone fraying. “And roses aren’t always red, you can’t just say ‘roses are red’, they’re not always red.”
airgiodslv, PG-13
“Shit,” Travis says. “You’re finally making a move.”
So, so good! I love them together.
Gabe is planning on making a grand entrance, but when he hears what sounds like Chislett reciting love poetry, he has to hang back for minute.
“Violets aren’t blue,” William explains patiently, as if they’ve been over this before. “They’re violet.”
“Violet blue,” Chislett insists. “Like, it’s a colour.”
“Violet isn’t blue, it’s purple,” William says, and Gabe can imagine the look on his face now, the tolerance of those less-intelligent mixed with disbelief that anyone can actually be that stupid. “It’s a colour. Violet. Ultra-violet.”
“I’m just saying, that’s how the poem goes,” Chislett defends. “Roses are red, violets are blue.”
“But violets aren’t blue,” William says again, the patience in his tone fraying. “And roses aren’t always red, you can’t just say ‘roses are red’, they’re not always red.”