@ofrhapsodos continued from here / genesis.
HE FLUSHES UNDER THE HELMET, a protest springing to his lips, nervous tongue letting the words free before he can stop them.
‘I’m not trying to take liberties!’ a pause. he barrels on with sheer force of will, unwilling to let his awkward words hang between them. he forces his own hand into action, reaches up to place it on the commander’s shoulder. distantly, he can hear the voice of his old drill sergeant ripping him a new one for even daring to breathe near this guy. but fuck — shit, swearjar, shit — that old fart.
THE LEATHER BENEATH HIS HAND IS worn, well-loved, not quite soft to touch, but definitely getting there. up-close, the infamous red doesn’t look quite as pristine as certain fanclubs might have you think. small scratches nick the surface of it, old battle-scars. and beneath the jacket, the faint pulse of a steady heartbeat, the warmth of a living body.
BUT HE DOESN’T FOCUS ON THOSE details, tries not to, at least. instead, fixing the commander with a stare that would make his squad-mates weep, he bundles up all of his courage. ( prepares internally for a swift dishonorable discharge. )
‘ with all due respect, sir, you look like chocobo shit warmed over.’ and yet he still manages to be the most attractive person in the room. planet damn this guy and his nice genes.
