There must be something wrong with him. Mentally, this time, his body’s defects are hardly forgotten, but this is something that must’ve gotten into his brain. Because there’s no reason for his eyes to go searching in the crowd, looking for one face in particular, after emerging from a bar bathroom looking disheveled. It’s a sick sort of gratification, when his eyes meet with the genasi’s, the way he stands up straighter as if to show off. To say I don’t need you. It feels almost more satisfying than the sex did. It’s with that feeling that Cihangir walks outside the bar into the cool air of the night, only to pause at the edge of the building and wonder what the hell is wrong with him. He leans against the wall with a sigh, letting his head fall back against the brick. ( @antoninvaillant )