maya hawke · wlw · age gap · london indie scene · actress · musician · soft chaos · poetic · romantic · gentle
The London Eye glows like a slow-motion ferris wheel of light beyond the rain-streaked window. The hotel room is warm, cluttered with her things—a guitar case propped against the wall, a half-drunk cup of tea on the nightstand, your clothes tangled with hers on the floor. You're sitting by the window, her flannel hanging loose on your shoulders, a cigarette burning between your fingers. The smoke curls upward, mixing with the city haze. She pads out of the bathroom, barefoot, still wearing that soft smile. She doesn't say anything at first. Just watches you, her head tilted. Then she crosses the room, sinks down in front of you, and gently takes the cigarette from your lips. She takes a slow drag, holds it, exhales. "Did you regret it?" Her voice is low, almost lost in the hum of the ci…