Looking For The Thunder || Closed
He shook. Hunched over, knees close to his chin, on the wet grass beneath the overhanging branches of a tree, he shook. It was subtle yet violent all at once, and entirely uncontrollable. His eyes were wide, pupils turned to pinpricks as they and his irises, too, moved rapidly from side to side. Breath came shallow, rapid, and entirely unneeded— yet, so very necessary. The sweat that covered him had his hair plastered in wavy curls to his forehead and rather messy in the back. He wore only a simple chiton and sandals, the former now thoroughly stuck to his body with the unpleasantness coming readily from his pores.
“Disaster” was an understatement here. Pale skin grew more pallid still as his mind contemplated rapid-fire just how much his life— or lack thereof— was spiraling out of control. Torn from his wife and child, and largely due to his own belief that he could not be to them the man he needed to be, now, Arygos clung to a stranger for guidance and stability. Which, considering the man in question, was truly not the best idea. Yet, he was all he had. And whose fault was it? That line was so blurred to him it made his head ache and his ears ring as his heart did backflips and pounding marches in his chest.
So, here he sat in the quiet, unassuming night, hoping to be left alone and longing desperately for company at the same time. His nerves were so bombarded with the situation at hand that he barely felt the tears leaking from his eyes. And all he wanted, more than anything, was for that night in the ring to never have happened. To be back in their arms.
And to not have to push his away.
