"If we were birds in another life, what birds would we be and would you still love me?"
He chuckles, looking up from his computer and all the important, illegal information within to look at you: sprawled on his couch, phone in hand, looking at him with a slight pout. "Is this another internet trend?"
You roll your eyes playfully. "No~ This is a me-trend."
He quirks a brow. Sits back in his chair, reclining with a slight creak of leather. With his sleek glasses perched on his nose, he's all too pretty, glowing in the blue LED of the computer's screen.
You sigh, pouting deeper. "I saw a video of some lovebirds and it reminded me of us."
"Mhm." Satisfied, he gestures you over. You make a show of rolling out of your comfy spot and trudging over, plopping yourself in his lap. He holds you securely. "I'd be a crow - or a raven. I'm too fond of them to imagine being anything else. And you'd be a pretty little dove."
You roll your eyes again, but you wrap your arms around his neck and lean your head against his shoulder. "Cheesy."
"Accurate," he corrects. Lips curl into a smile as he looks down at you, already picturing you as this precious little thing. Soft feathers that flutter in the wind. Big dark eyes that shine. "I'd build you the prettiest nest. I'd line it with fur and leaves and soft grass, and then I'd wait for your approval. No matter how many times you turn it down, I won't stop until you finally approve.
"And we'll cuddle together in our little nest." He squeezes you for emphasis, rubbing his cheek against your head while you laugh at his antics. "I'll cover you with my wing to protect you from the wind and sun and rain. I'll keep you nice and warm. And you'll coo so prettily for me."
You make a lame cooing noise that cracks you both up. Once the laughter dies down, petering off into chuckles and giggles, he keeps going.
"And I'll preen you all the time." He buries his nose in your hair. Playfully nibbles at your forehead and temple, as though he's nipping away pin feathers and mites with his beak. "My pretty little dove."
You push his face away. Beaming up at him, it's your turn now. "But I gotta take care of my handsome crow, too, right? I'll go out and find the shiniest thing I can every single day and bring it back for you. And I'll find the best fountains to take baths in together. And, of course, I've got to preen you, too."
For emphasis, you pinch at his neck, at the fine hairs at the base of his skull, at his ears. He laughs as he tries to shake you off; not necessarily tickled, but sensitive to the attention to such a vulnerable spot. Once you stop teasing him, you pull him down to rub your noses together.
"My handsome crow."
He's smiling, wide and unabashedly. Leans in to share a sweet kiss with you.
"Yes, I'd still love you. I'll love you in every universe, in every lifetime. Always."
When Zayne sees you arguing with a tall blonde man who’s leaning much too close to you, he assumes you’re being hit on, in a very unpleasant way. It’s only when he notices your hand gravitating to your phone, and the way you nervously glance over your shoulder does he step in.
“Is everything alright?” He places a hand on your lower back, making his relationship to you obvious to this stranger. Bright red eyes find him, and a part of Zayne wonders what kind of genetic mutation causes such a thing.
“Everything is perfect, right kitten?” Zayne frowns at the familiar sounding pet name, while you bristle at it. Clearly, this is not your first interaction with this strange man.
You sigh, glancing up at Zayne with an air of weariness. He can read your irritation clear as day, but there’s something else hidden, something he’s only seen when the two of you first got together.
“This…is Sylus.” You admit. The name rings a bell, and when you nod at his silent question, he understands.
This is the man who put you in grave danger all for the sake of his own needs.
Zayne doesn’t think it through. It’s unlike him to be so spontaneous, but the anger he had felt when you told him about your experience in the N109 zone rises immediately.
His ears are ringing, and his knuckles ache. You’re quick to grab his right hand, stopping him from throwing another punch. You’re looking at him with wide, shocked eyes, though there’s a twinkling of pride in them.
“Zayne!” You gasp, checking his hand for an injury.
Sylus is still turned away, spitting some blood from his mouth. He turns back, the red mark on his cheek slowly fading. A Cheshire grin forms on his face, one that sends an odd thrill down Zayne’s spine.
Pre-poly Snowcrow Sylus is both the lamest and weirdest motherfucker ever.
At first, you’re convinced Sylus is trying to break you and Zayne up, though you’re unsure which of you he wants. He crashes nearly every dinner date, every late night ice cream run, hell he even appeared in the condom aisle of the drug store one particularly inconvenient night.
He shows up when you're alone as well, appearing in the coffee shop you frequent one Sunday morning.
"Funny seeing you here, sweetie." A voice croons over your shoulder, making you jump. He's wearing sunglasses, inside, like a weirdo.
"Is it? Really? I come here every week. Of course, you already know that." He's standing much too close, his cologne nearly overpowering the scent of coffee in the air.
God, why the hell does he smell so good?"
"I do know that. Will you be visiting the hospital this morning?" You know exactly what he's really after, the thought of which makes your jaw clench.
"That's none of your business. Can't you just leave Zayne out of this?" You think you've escaped him when you go to order, but his card hits the machine before you can pull yours out.
"Now where's the fun in that?" He's smirking, and you suddenly have the urge to knock the sunglasses right off his pretty face.
Your drinks come quickly, thank god, but he follows you outside, walking beside you as you make your way to Akso.
"Are you seriously going to follow me? I-I could arrest you, you know!" Your scolding does little to dissuade him.
"Yet, you haven't. It seems to me you've grown fond of my presence. You, and that doctor friend of yours."
"He's not just my friend." You stress, glaring at Sylus, who's smirk only grows wider.
"Of course. Perhaps we could all become...friends."
Building voodoo dolls of every journalist and media critic that dismisses Hudson’s performance or wrongly attributes it as ‘wooden’ rather than the masterfully subtle, controlled and authentic portrayal of a low support needs autistic man that it is. But I fear I will run out of pins
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