// And it's our time now if you want it to be //
Jude's presence in Koa's life has been an inconsistent constant; he's drifted away from time to time, yet always slotted back into the Dragoon's orbit with oxymoronic ease. Their relationship should be fraught and distant, yet somehow Koa's found a way to let Jude lean upon him, to skirt around the sordid history and provide an unsteady yet comforting safety and support. Koa's learned to expect the boy to be quiet, be sad, be earnest, be absent. Sometimes he'll vanish for days on end; other times Koa will come home to find Jude and Noe perched on the couch, gossiping over popcorn and cackling like thieves. He's learned to expect Jude's shy smile and ardent emotions.
Nothing led him to expect that Jude to be cruel.
The accusation bites Koa like a whip, each word another lash from Jude's cat-'o-nine-tails. Guilt and anger rise in tandem, twin wolves biting the Dragoon's heels. He snaps back, blinking at the flashing fury, not quite comprehending exactly what's been said. His first instinct is to force understanding - he'd reacted similarly, after all, when he had found out, had let his emotions rule his thoughts, panicked and raged and tried to find someone to blame. But as the words whittle down upon his brittle armor Koa feels himself growing rawer and rawer, the rope of his seemingly endless patience fraying beneath the weight. Of course Noe knows he doesn't hate her; of course he hadn't wanted Jude to become infected, too. And to suggest he'd intentionally kept it secret, as some way to... what? Use Jude as bait?
Does the boy really think so little of him, after all that Koa's done?
Koa's hands ball at his sides, short nails still managing to cut into his palms. His jaw is set as tight as a wire; he stares at a point beyond Jude, expressive eyes and face shuttered and dark. He wants to snap back, but he can only stand as the singer rants onward, stoic and unyielding, barely moving as Jude shakes his shirt. The fists on his chest are pathetic and petulant; Koa looks down and then dismisses them, unimpressed.
Part of Koa knows he's supposed to weather this. That somehow his role in their relationship has been to be a bulwark in the storm of Jude. And maybe he would have been able to - if he weren't already so fucking exhausted, if he hadn't already been running on empty so long it's a miracle he has yet to asphyxiate on the fumes. Koa waits for Jude to finish before speaking, like a parent standing by as a their tantruming child tires themselves out. "Are you done?" he asks with dangerous quiet, firmly but gently grasping Jude's wrists, tugging the slender hands from his chest and dropping them for Jude to reposition as he wills.
His jaw feathers with the things he has to say, and for the first time in Jude's presence Koa looks dangerous, a boxer's physique and a soldier's stare, all tight muscles and intentional movement and potential for staggering, remarkable violence.
Nothing led him to expect that Jude to be cruel.
The accusation bites Koa like a whip, each word another lash from Jude's cat-'o-nine-tails. Guilt and anger rise in tandem, twin wolves biting the Dragoon's heels. He snaps back, blinking at the flashing fury, not quite comprehending exactly what's been said. His first instinct is to force understanding - he'd reacted similarly, after all, when he had found out, had let his emotions rule his thoughts, panicked and raged and tried to find someone to blame. But as the words whittle down upon his brittle armor Koa feels himself growing rawer and rawer, the rope of his seemingly endless patience fraying beneath the weight. Of course Noe knows he doesn't hate her; of course he hadn't wanted Jude to become infected, too. And to suggest he'd intentionally kept it secret, as some way to... what? Use Jude as bait?
Does the boy really think so little of him, after all that Koa's done?
Koa's hands ball at his sides, short nails still managing to cut into his palms. His jaw is set as tight as a wire; he stares at a point beyond Jude, expressive eyes and face shuttered and dark. He wants to snap back, but he can only stand as the singer rants onward, stoic and unyielding, barely moving as Jude shakes his shirt. The fists on his chest are pathetic and petulant; Koa looks down and then dismisses them, unimpressed.
Part of Koa knows he's supposed to weather this. That somehow his role in their relationship has been to be a bulwark in the storm of Jude. And maybe he would have been able to - if he weren't already so fucking exhausted, if he hadn't already been running on empty so long it's a miracle he has yet to asphyxiate on the fumes. Koa waits for Jude to finish before speaking, like a parent standing by as a their tantruming child tires themselves out. "Are you done?" he asks with dangerous quiet, firmly but gently grasping Jude's wrists, tugging the slender hands from his chest and dropping them for Jude to reposition as he wills.
His jaw feathers with the things he has to say, and for the first time in Jude's presence Koa looks dangerous, a boxer's physique and a soldier's stare, all tight muscles and intentional movement and potential for staggering, remarkable violence.
Koa
// Maul the world like a carnival bear set free //
