❛ night terrors . hold my muse after they wake up from a nightmare . (for mukuro ehehhe)
Mukuro is well acquainted with the illusory realm of dreams; a place of imprisonment, corralling those who rebel against it even as they writhe futilely. It isn’t kindness then that compels him to stir the tenth from that besieging torment. His intentions were incomprehensible, the sort of enigma that filled others with disquiet, a foreboding, encroaching shadow that billowed, ever present, at Tsunayoshi’s side. A hand, lithe as it might be lethal, rests momentarily against his erratic pulse. It wasn’t often someone was tenacious as the tenth succumbed to exhaustion like this, fatigue whittling away the proud breadth of his shoulders until they slumped, his chin resting idle in his hand. That is the wrist he has chosen to rest a solitary finger against, his expression one of duplicitous concern. It was not auspicious for him to be hunched over his desk like that, after all, there was an advantage to be found here, even if it would be foolish to attempt and expeditiously extinguished by his allies. ❝fufufu, this is not a place to be resting.❞ his harrowing laughter echoes of derision, swathing it in a lowering darkness, however, beneath that, dwells a fondness reserved for this persistent flame.❝ How considerate you are of your enemies.❞ His amusement wreathes Tsunayoshi in an anomalous mist, circling him with predacious jaws agape. It is only then, as recognition kindles beneath those somnolent lashes, that his touch recedes. A file is retrieved and proffered, slid across the grand, lacquered oak desk albeit his minatory gaze never strays from the vongola’s countenance. ❝ As you requested.❞
