[ now, this is a case most in a similar situation would call serendipitous—
not gray. no, gray sees the lottery alert pop up in a flash of white glowing text across his screen (you have company in the name of...), and the word that fills his mind, solid and heavy and bleeding down throughout the yawning cavern of his body is CURSED. the circle closes in on itself.
he'd been searching desperately for his secret charge, but Autonomy was the last place he'd hoped to find tristan, free of his more modest work attire and looking like he wouldn't particularly mind if you didn't bother taking him all the way home. the clothes are a second skin on him— that skin... tris is so fair, gray can almost imagine he sees arteries carrying precious blood to his heart beyond the veil of that pale barrier, even in this dim, moody lighting, meant to discourage the eyes away from details and forget the constraints of the day.
that's an impossible task for gray. tris's ancestors saw to that, though he has no inkling of it. all he can do is squint down at tris's face, retrace the familiar line of his jaw where it rests against his forearms as some form of reassurance that he's unchanged, safe, before returning his eyes to his glass.
taking another sip is all that's between him and leaning forward, like his body wants. no, like the magic wants. something wants. ]
Why is that — because I'm not mopping up spilt blood and necromantic tumors?
[ he sets the glass down between them. ]
You're filthy, by the way. Bet you haven't slept properly in weeks.
b r e a s t b o n e >;|
not gray. no, gray sees the lottery alert pop up in a flash of white glowing text across his screen (you have company in the name of...), and the word that fills his mind, solid and heavy and bleeding down throughout the yawning cavern of his body is CURSED. the circle closes in on itself.
he'd been searching desperately for his secret charge, but Autonomy was the last place he'd hoped to find tristan, free of his more modest work attire and looking like he wouldn't particularly mind if you didn't bother taking him all the way home. the clothes are a second skin on him— that skin... tris is so fair, gray can almost imagine he sees arteries carrying precious blood to his heart beyond the veil of that pale barrier, even in this dim, moody lighting, meant to discourage the eyes away from details and forget the constraints of the day.
that's an impossible task for gray. tris's ancestors saw to that, though he has no inkling of it.
all he can do is squint down at tris's face, retrace the familiar line of his jaw where it rests against his forearms as some form of reassurance that he's unchanged, safe, before returning his eyes to his glass.
taking another sip is all that's between him and leaning forward, like his body wants.
no, like the magic wants.
something wants. ]
Why is that — because I'm not mopping up spilt blood and necromantic tumors?
[ he sets the glass down between them. ]
You're filthy, by the way. Bet you haven't slept properly in weeks.