you are wearing two hoodies because it is fucking freezing in this place she calls home; with her asphodel wood guitar and the moonlight glare of the gravestones at her back.

and the names on the graves speak of war heroes and villains. high cheek boned people with a low tolerance for weakness but she is a beauty in the night. sings of sin and the sun and all those things we left behind in the city. and the lightning...

She takes a look at your science notes, the messy ones that show how your mind is going a mile a minute and she gasps. It goes deep into her chest and you want to ask if she’s okay, but already her hands are clasped around your wrists.

“Tell me you dream of the stars,” she says, eyes alight with all those things she can’t quite reach because her mind has never wrapped around numbers and calculations the same way...