Whilst his mind, capable of rational thought recognizes it as asinine, allowing even a layer of those strategically erected walls around his heart fall, the wayward thrum of his pulse has its own heretical sentience. To have two independent, warring factions corralled beneath his sutured skin had proven pretty fucking exhausting. Sometimes, one would supersede the other and he would find himself either swallowing down acrid mouthfuls of bitter regret because his heart, recalcitrant and deluded as it was, wanted to let him in. His head ? not to be confused with his cock which was also a traitor to their cause, was chanting in the back of his mind, this is a bad fucking idea, this is a bad fucking idea, this is. He doesnāt listen.
In that moment Keigo is equal parts human and avian, the inflection of his voice akin to honey, redolent of a childhood that whilst steeped in hostile monochrome still held a part of him that he kept close and guarded. Itās almost minatory, a silence that allows the otherās words to fill every aperture of him, the emptiness between his languid heartbeat and his ribs pervaded by his voice. It was warm, for once he didnāt find that he hated that. āĀ yāstill do that now. ā but the irradiant gold of his eyes reveals a different, sadder truth. There used to be more of him than this, part of it had been whittled away by circumstance and those who governed him. In a way he relates to that, often-times more corpse than man. As if to guide him through it his fingers remain tracing strange, inscrutable patterns into his soft skin. This tenderness, conveyed by fingers only ever immersed in blood, feels almost wrong. The feather around his wrist, once fickle and fluttering, soon settles, it felt akin to a tether - a binding vow. He should find that act repugnant, he doesn't.
ā and this is why we aināt keepinā you around long term, yāreally think a bunch of destitute villains could afford keepinā you fed ? no way in hell.āĀ As he draws back, elbows propped beside Dabiās head, his eyes obediently follow, as he leans in and their noses brush his heart shudders, his mind indignantly wails, pull away, pull away, pull away. danger -Ā this was dangerous. ā Preening ? got it. Iāll definitely be usinā that against you at some point.ā amusement disguises what is more a promise than a threat. Then his tone plummets into something bitter-sweet, not quite regret, nor longing, something in between - something painful.Ā ā you really think I have any say in this ? ā he loathes the vulnerability that wedges itself between his breaths, a knife twisted in his gut would have been more merciful.Ā
ā just know - if you tickle me with your fuckinā feather i wonāt hesitate to kill you. āĀ his hand retreats then, pulling back only to compel keigo to nestle close to him again, an invitation. When they lay side by side like this, their breaths all but in tandem, the rage that churned within him simmered and stilled, became quiet, docile. He raises a hand above them so that the silver light spills between his fingers, it accentuates the grotesque, corruscating way scarring had taken over much of his once pale skin. ā it used to really fuckinā hurt, the fire ? when you canāt control it - itāll burn anything, everything. ā his fingers stretch, spread apart, tendons prominently pushing against his skin, his knuckles blanched. . ā canāt feel much of it anymore - sāall numb these days, i could burn away to ash and i wouldnāt feel a thing.ā the cut of his mouth is sharp, one wrong move and it might severe something vital.Ā ā thatās the sorta person youāre choosing to spend your forever with, times not really on my side yāknow ? ā a sigh, a long held - stale breath that tasted of acrid smoke and for the first time - regret. ā foreverās gonna be pretty short for people like us.āĀ