A I O N
He’s surprised she didn’t go; he would have, had their roles been reversed. Insolence was his favorite face to wear, one he had spent countless hours rehearsing, perfecting, practicing obsessively to ensure he got it just right. His words were cold, his tone colder still; his eyes, blue though they were, threw daggers at any who dared to meet them head-on, a warning clearly expressed in the stiff stance to not get too close. Yet she chose to do so anyway, ignoring the frost he emanated as if it made no difference to her, as if the stars she bore across her body were used already to enduring their own brand of coldness. It intrigued him — the familiar pull of curiosity a temptation he did not wish to feel. Distractions were only that, a distraction; he knew they would suffocate him if he allowed them to. He didn’t have time to ask strangers why they reacted the way they did, nor the time to care.
Yet still, he already had taken the time to pause, to stand solitary and unyielding. It would be harder now to walk away than to let her stay — even when he wished to be alone.
Did he still wish to be alone? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to finally have some company again… Even knowing he couldn’t replace the face he desperately wanted to see. Maybe Eros would be proud of him for at least putting in the effort? He always had tried to convince him to make friends, not enemies.
He flinched as she spoke, turning ever so slightly to hide his face from her. She couldn’t possibly have known what he’d asked the artists to paint, the vision he’d given them to capture. She couldn’t know how painful it was for him to even look at the colors, for they reminded him how alone he was.
And yet he was comforted by them, by the pain they wrought, if only slightly. He swallowed thickly, unable to make his mouth move the way he wished it to. So he chose to be silent, instead.
He leans towards her subconsciously as she turns, one ear tilting to catch her words. There’s an offering in her voice, and he can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief, his lungs releasing the tension from his posture. “No,” he whispered on the exhale. “At least, I don’t think I am.”
It’s painful to admit, but maybe it’s the truth, and it weighs down his voice. “In fact, I think I’m more lost than anything else.” Deliberation clouds his mind, but finally he turns towards her, meeting her stormy gaze head on. He sees the tempest in them, and it reminds him — even if it’s a stretch — of himself.
@Aislinn whew this is a hot mess, i’m sorry <3
He’s surprised she didn’t go; he would have, had their roles been reversed. Insolence was his favorite face to wear, one he had spent countless hours rehearsing, perfecting, practicing obsessively to ensure he got it just right. His words were cold, his tone colder still; his eyes, blue though they were, threw daggers at any who dared to meet them head-on, a warning clearly expressed in the stiff stance to not get too close. Yet she chose to do so anyway, ignoring the frost he emanated as if it made no difference to her, as if the stars she bore across her body were used already to enduring their own brand of coldness. It intrigued him — the familiar pull of curiosity a temptation he did not wish to feel. Distractions were only that, a distraction; he knew they would suffocate him if he allowed them to. He didn’t have time to ask strangers why they reacted the way they did, nor the time to care.
Yet still, he already had taken the time to pause, to stand solitary and unyielding. It would be harder now to walk away than to let her stay — even when he wished to be alone.
Did he still wish to be alone? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to finally have some company again… Even knowing he couldn’t replace the face he desperately wanted to see. Maybe Eros would be proud of him for at least putting in the effort? He always had tried to convince him to make friends, not enemies.
He flinched as she spoke, turning ever so slightly to hide his face from her. She couldn’t possibly have known what he’d asked the artists to paint, the vision he’d given them to capture. She couldn’t know how painful it was for him to even look at the colors, for they reminded him how alone he was.
And yet he was comforted by them, by the pain they wrought, if only slightly. He swallowed thickly, unable to make his mouth move the way he wished it to. So he chose to be silent, instead.
He leans towards her subconsciously as she turns, one ear tilting to catch her words. There’s an offering in her voice, and he can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief, his lungs releasing the tension from his posture. “No,” he whispered on the exhale. “At least, I don’t think I am.”
It’s painful to admit, but maybe it’s the truth, and it weighs down his voice. “In fact, I think I’m more lost than anything else.” Deliberation clouds his mind, but finally he turns towards her, meeting her stormy gaze head on. He sees the tempest in them, and it reminds him — even if it’s a stretch — of himself.
@Aislinn whew this is a hot mess, i’m sorry <3
rhiann art
