stay your pretty eyes on course
"You make it sound so easy," Niki mumbles. To just decide not to be afraid, he means; to put those nerves and that trepidation on a shelf somewhere for safekeeping while he's otherwise occupied. But perhaps there's something to Sunjata's comment, because rest assured, as the other man tugs off his shirt, Niki isn't thinking about fear. (He's barely thinking with the head above his shoulders at all, let's be honest).
He's left to admire the play of muscle and ink and scar tissue for the first time sober, skipping in a breath he doesn't realise he's forgotten to take as the Heartless catches his hand. Caution leaps immediately to the tip of his tongue, as if to warn Sunjata of the scars that mar the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, but it seems foolish to say when considering the patchwork of silver before him. And so he says nothing, watching with open wonder as Sunjata's lips brush against his wrist and he guides his hand towards the side of his neck.
His touch is gentle, as if handling something delicate or important, fingers tracing the outline of feathers before dropping to skim along a branch of lightning scarring. "Do they hurt?" he asks softly, not wanting to risk causing pain. But as the question about his own shirt is fired at him, gods but he wants to take that step forward, only this is already a lot. "On, for now?" He phrases it like an apology and a question, resisting the urge to drop his gaze.
He's left to admire the play of muscle and ink and scar tissue for the first time sober, skipping in a breath he doesn't realise he's forgotten to take as the Heartless catches his hand. Caution leaps immediately to the tip of his tongue, as if to warn Sunjata of the scars that mar the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, but it seems foolish to say when considering the patchwork of silver before him. And so he says nothing, watching with open wonder as Sunjata's lips brush against his wrist and he guides his hand towards the side of his neck.
His touch is gentle, as if handling something delicate or important, fingers tracing the outline of feathers before dropping to skim along a branch of lightning scarring. "Do they hurt?" he asks softly, not wanting to risk causing pain. But as the question about his own shirt is fired at him, gods but he wants to take that step forward, only this is already a lot. "On, for now?" He phrases it like an apology and a question, resisting the urge to drop his gaze.
Niki
I guess I never really faced my fears before
