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renovamen
(renewal, regeneration)
「dear iris.」
THE GLASS IS COOL TO THE TOUCH as she presses her palms up against the window, her breath condensing into little blurry clouds on the transparent boundary between her and the outside world. the moon winks down at [y/n] as if to say; 'hello, I'd love to chat with you tonight but there's someone else who's waiting for your time'.
hm? who's he?
a lone silhouette is flattened against the flickering glow of a street lamp, a caricature of a boy she's never seen before. a strange tuft of indigo jutts out from under a black hoodie, a stray paint streak drawing attention to this stranger in the dead of night. deep lavender eyes cast downwards, fixated on the telltale glow of a phone screen that illuminates dark eye bags carved out by numerous sleepless, wandering nights dictated by a broken internal body clock. but oh, his eyes! they seem to glow from under his hood, a deeper shade of the small iris flowers that sprouted upwards from her neighbor's yard.
then, just as she is about to draw her curtains closed (strange meetings with strangers at that strange suspended time between dawn and dusk, however much one imagines talking with them under a blanket of stars, is never a good idea) he seems to see her. lilac irises snap to meet her own, startled ones that widen—deer in headlights, a picture of frozen vulnerability—and disappear.
[y/n] scuttles backwards, terrified. her curtains snap shut, drowning her room in darkness and frenzied heartbeats.
did he see me?! oh god I don't feel like dying today!
