!! for karasu obviously
the name, once bittersweet, the only remnant of his presence is bitter like a drink. or like poison.
even if “neat,” is an altogether underwhelming descriptor for a selfie, there had been thought put into what the larger-than-life cyborg would be like, right in front of him. jesse has glimpses, a sensory quilt patched of guesses and prior experience. he imagines smooth metal, cool to the touch and sharp as a knife. sharper, probably. point and edges all the way around, a nearly untouchable violet blade in the night.
except things had gotten muddled. and you’d both flapped your stupid jaws far too many times, to hurt the other or to lie about the bleeding underneath. karasu is a wicked purple shiner, blurring his once sharp vision, deadeye judgement.
a bruise on the heart, and it still hurts to touch.
