@wclrider : the looming figure speculates upon whether or not he could feel just how much of the swarm cataloged him. every minute detail hidden in that beautiful mind of his taking up space within the creature, certainly, it should be the other way around. though it's found a give and take. how do you find yourself in the rage of another? bound by some desperate need to tear down that which made them --- or rather, remade them. it buzzes something like a purr as it leans in, the familiar thrum of static comes with it. clawed digits that sputter between some pale imitation of life and death grace the softness of pliable skin. flesh and bone, such a tender opposite to his shifting swarm, life renewed constantly within it, gorgeous system of machinery. its hard to tell what it is precisely that it holds in its gaze, lest prodded for it or connected to, but his movements of both hands coaxing miles to face him makes it obvious. a quirk of its head, as if questioning or curious. claws carefully brushing hair from his face before resuming in holding him there. no aggression is present, no demanding movements. surely, miles could pull away if he wanted. " MILES UPSHUR, YOU ARE... A BEAUTIFUL CREATURE TO KNOW. " hovers closer as if wanting more but doesn't dare to take more than he already has.
Tʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ of the other is constant, a feeling hard to describe to anyone else and hard to imagine he's ever not felt. The taste of ozone like a thunderstorm lingering in the air but not quite starting yet, the soft tingling of a limb not fully falling asleep, static not enough to hurt but certainly enough to be felt. Generally not uncomfortable and by now, it would surely disturb him more if it suddenly went amiss (all aside from the fact that the lack of feeling him would, most likely, kill him — he's not delusional enough to pretend he could continue living without the Walrider, even if he didn't die in the first place).
Either way, it means he likes to pretend he usually knows when he wants his attention. Not necessarily what for, but he can feel those tiny tugs in the back of his mind (and sometimes, much much less subtle; sometimes it's tantrums and screaming like an upset child or a cat smacking everything down the counter because it demands to be the center of attention right now, and he really relates to that, even if he doesn't admit it: he doesn't have to).
And maybe he's a bit petty and ignores it for a minute longer than necessary sometimes, simply because it's all the control he feels he has some days, even if that risks a mood, and that's certainly something he shouldn't provoke if he was reasonable about this. Except he's not, and he's never been one to make the smartest decisions.
This feels different. This is different. Touch isn't uncommon, but indicates almost always that there's something specific the other one wants, and that's what draws his undivided attention. (A lie: he's had it before, he just pretended otherwise.) Turns to face him, and as usual, there's not much in terms of an expression to be read. He isn't worried, more — mildly irritated. Not quite confused, but almost. A constant state of mind around the Walrider, honestly.
Ah, that makes more sense. Lips quirk up into a smile. That's almost adorable, and he probably shouldn't, but he can't help the urge to tease. Sure he could just give him what he wants, but that tender awkwardness is kind of adorable in it's own way.
"Somethin' in specific you wanted, or jus' tellin' me I'm pretty, dragostea?"
