il peut, mais il ne veut pas

[niche]

Tuesday: He walks on the beach, and the sand is fine enough to grind his feet smooth without him hurting. He’s gone that many days without them bared to light; they’re always clenched up in boots so tight his nails are stubs. He is thinking. He makes a list. His nails smell like tobacco, palms like fruit skins, elbows like sand. Neck like the oily

Comments

[blufox_o7]

Hey. It feels a bit awkward to do this but this is the only way I can send you a message.

I've read your "Living Between the Karma" Shishido/Ohtori fic for more than ten times, maybe. I came across it in the Brand New Days archive. But yeah. I just want you to know that it was probably one of the nicest fictions I've read in that fandom. I clearly stopped being a fan of PoT but I do read fiction for that pair-- and clearly, what you did was beautiful.

I just want to acknowledge your work. It feels weird to do this, but I'd feel weirder if I didn't say anything.

Yeah. That's really all I wanted to say.

[niche]

thank you so much, really - and it really wasn't awkward at all.