golden rays of borderline-discomforting warmth shot down from high up in the sky, leaving thin sheens of sweat over everyone who dared to set foot in the fields of greenery. humidity lingered in the air, not stopping even for those who entered the cool, empty farmhouse for a moment of peace.

abby’s lips pressed to yours, soft and tender, over and over. her well-calloused hands smoothed over your cheeks, almost too gently, as if afraid to break you.

“..we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” she muttered against your lips, southern drawl softened by the slight concern in her voice — and yet showed no signs of wanting to stop.