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I was looking through my random jumble of paper for a notebook (which I still haven't found, oh woe) and I came across this snippet. I can't for the life of me remember what it was attached to, but it almost stands alone.
By Association
The smell of just baked bread is like a memory of summer, decades old, when Charles and Erik had lain beside each other on the roof of an apartment building and watched the clouds drift slowly across the sky.
Erik moved a finger lazily, and a discarded nail bounced towards them. “Copper,” he said, “is like dropping a stone in water and listening for the ripples.”
“Hmm,” said Charles. A light in the building across from them flickered a few times, and he said, “What about electricity?”
“It’s like trying to taste something bright.” There was a moment of silence, and then Erik turned towards him. “Come now, Charles. You have to play too. What does happiness smell like?” He smiled at Charles with sharp blue amusement and desire like the press of fingertips against a cooling stoveplate on a warm day.
“It’s different for everyone,” Charles said. “I might as well say that kissing you is like someone else’s memory of strawberry muffins.”
The blue fell into a purple. “It’s not, I hope.”
Charles shifted, resting his head against Erik’s arm. “Well,” he said. “I suppose it depends on how much they enjoy muffins.”
By Association
The smell of just baked bread is like a memory of summer, decades old, when Charles and Erik had lain beside each other on the roof of an apartment building and watched the clouds drift slowly across the sky.
Erik moved a finger lazily, and a discarded nail bounced towards them. “Copper,” he said, “is like dropping a stone in water and listening for the ripples.”
“Hmm,” said Charles. A light in the building across from them flickered a few times, and he said, “What about electricity?”
“It’s like trying to taste something bright.” There was a moment of silence, and then Erik turned towards him. “Come now, Charles. You have to play too. What does happiness smell like?” He smiled at Charles with sharp blue amusement and desire like the press of fingertips against a cooling stoveplate on a warm day.
“It’s different for everyone,” Charles said. “I might as well say that kissing you is like someone else’s memory of strawberry muffins.”
The blue fell into a purple. “It’s not, I hope.”
Charles shifted, resting his head against Erik’s arm. “Well,” he said. “I suppose it depends on how much they enjoy muffins.”
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(If you don't mind me asking, how did you come across it? I'm curious.)
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::loves on you::
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Not very often, I'm afraid, but aren't they cute? *pats them on the head*
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