Send “◈” to have my muse yell at yours accidentally and scare your muse in a fight!Status: Acceptin’
His first life had been filled with constant yelling. Constant screaming. Constant turmoil, to the point it had taken years before he stopped jumping at every sudden sound. Every door shut a little too hard. Every time someone else in the house lost their temper with someone that wasn’t him. Taken years for him to discover that he actually did have fight. And once he’d found it figuring out how to control it took longer still. Because apparently “t’lil’feck from a busted home” had a temper.
And that temper? It’s riding in the bottom layers of his skin right now. Rolling about, causing ripples that are churning their way into waves and he’s moving. Getting up. Pacing. Arms tightly woven at his chest. The tension in the room so thick it could would take a fucking chainsaw to cut through it. Why? Because Matteo might be hearing him but he’s not listening. Not getting it. Not…well just not. Because there’s all his excuses all over again. All the reasons he’s okay, all the reasons Baz shouldn’t worry. All the reason that slap him in the face because he knows they are lies. Either on purpose or other wise. Because his senses are not blind. He can smell and see all the ways Matteo isn’t any shade of alright. And fuck him but he—
“I ain’t gonna fuckin’ sit here n’do nothin’ while y’waste away!”
That rattles china and makes glass sing. Shifts pictures on forgotten shelves, and rains dust from vaulted ceilings. Shudders doors and makes wood flooring creak in complaint. And for a single solitary moment Bastian’s voice echos for an eternity through the entirity of the house. For a single solitary moment he is the image of the monsters human lore speaks of. All silver lined eyes and sharp teeth. Because anger is so much easier to show than hurt and panic.
But it’s only a moment, a human heart beat, maybe two–and the visage fades. Common sense leaks back into the corners of his mind and…the immovable infuriated thing he had been seconds before takes a step back. A head ducks and a sharp gaze searches the ground for something to right the mistake he just made. Because the look on the vampire’s face….
It isn’t anger or hatred or challenging stubbornness. It’s something else. Something he’s spent years trying to forget he ever was. But it’s there. Staring at him bold as a full moon at midnight and—
He runs because he can’t handle anyone looking at him, the way he had looked at the man that fathered him. Once upon a time when he’d still been small and weak and human.
