about his magic
I meant his magic
“I can’t…” February sighs, turning its head away.
“Can’t what?” March asks.
“I can’t believe that it’s almost over. That I’m going to have to wait another four years before we’ll be able to be this close again.”
“Hey, don’t cry,” March whispers, taking February’s face into its hands. “We’re going to be all right. We always are, okay?”
“I’m just so…so tired of it. I hate not being able to be with you like this.” February draws in a slow, stuttering breath and leans in to rest its forehead against March’s. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” March leans in for the gentlest of kisses, swallowing the soft whimper February emits. “And it’s only four years. Just four. We can make it.” Arms wrap around March’s shoulders and February lurches forward for another kiss, a deeper one, a kiss that causes March to melt, pulling February as close as possible. They break apart, lips just hovering a little away from each other.
“Let’s make the most of this remaining time we have, my love,” February. “I need something to keep me going for the next four years.” Then their lips collide, raw, hot, like a star making its final stand before bursting into a supernova and sending bright rays of light scattering across the midnight sky.