Reblogged
It's a deep, cold winter night when, in the middle of telling Rich about the time he lost his first tooth during a baseball game—because Jimmy Cappellini couldn't fuckin' aim—Rich chuckles and rests his hand on Benny's knee. His laugh is a muffled sound because of lights out, but his palm is broad and warm, the warmest thing Benny's had in months. Hot like a match flame, but burning longer after he removes it and they stop for the night, and Benny crawls into bed and falls asleep. Still there, like a lighthouse beacon, like a flare. Red on the inside of his eyelids and on the inside of his chest. Vermilion as a P-51's tail.
demacon for steals week!! consider demacon for president today! 🫶 💗😘
