03. cups the other's face with both hands.
Tired. That’s how he feels— tired. Exhausted may be a better word for it, but after a rough fight and too much use of life, those bigger words escape from the tongue, escape between the crevices and wrinkles of the mind. Prismatic power, opal shine and a shaky connection to the Source mean big things, they mean god-like and all existent, but what human body is built to handle it? His, maybe more than most, with a history of universe-gifted power ups… but even the shattered power battery’s hand over of willpower and the Starheart don’t fully prepare you for the Source.
Drooped and flickering, until warm hands brush close. Even through hefty not-quite-fabric, thicker than that of the majority of the Corps, he can feel what his heart gives off. Warm, radiator heat; love. It’s centering, to have a man so viewed to be red in hair, blood and anger, be gentle and calm; a side of him that Kyle views as something so true, something so often. Guy’s thumbs brush over the mask and onto his cheeks, and what else can Kyle do but lean into it? For a moment, his hands hand useless by their sides, before another brush and a finger near his neck’s pulse point wakes him; thundercrack of violet shining off a pristine white mask. Blink, breathe, and life is back— hands accompanying them to fold up and under Guy’s lifted arms, palms pressing flat against shoulder blades.
Come here, come here, come here. They embrace, the entire Corps, the friends and family they’ve made up in the stars— but this is different. His ribbon, flapping behind, shines with a ripple of violet and blue, ring lighting not just white but the emotions most prevalent in the moment. He loves Guy, and being tugged in by the face (he’s always loved that), has relit something in the heart and in the mind. Just give the two of them a moment, why don’t you?
“… Oh, uh. You better tell me you’re okay, Guy,” finally, soft breath and pillow-talking on a bed of nothing but starlight and the remnants of shrapnel and ship pieces and frozen, flung up blood. Eyes blinking open, and though the lenses are near opaque moonstone, certain angles, certain shadowed lightings, certain proximity gives a glance through. Beating his eyelashes once and twice to clear himself, a little shiver and a tiny pull away, but there’s no attempt to really dislodge.
(He just needed a moment, to return to humanity. Funnily enough, Guy Gardner’s always been that moment. In death or despair, a body flung over his or guarding it, to give Kyle his own time to return. Maybe one day he can make it up to him.)
