i fell in love with a war
He shouldn't--
Casimir's gaze lingers on Thorn's body splayed across his bar and knows this is dangerous. He had only just managed to get himself under control after his freak-out at the restaurant. He had only just started to let the trust trickle in, softening his eyes and getting under his armor. Even now, in a facsimile of his home he can barely wrangle his adrenaline under control to let himself ease and remind himself they're friends, Thorn likes him, that he had tried running and all it had done was make Thorn chase him.
Even with reticence thrumming under his skin and intertwined with his heartbeat, he can feel some other part of himself start to take control. A part of himself he thought had died when he ran home, or had bled out when the daemon's claws had raked across his throat and splattered who he was on the stark-white snow. As Thorn looks at him, grinning that charming, edged smile, his shoulders can't help but lean forward slightly. The sharp corner of his mouth turns up just a little, nearly imperceptibly, even as his hand on the counter curls into a fist. His fingernails dig into his palm and he sharpens his mind onto that sensation. Under the curve of his hand, the mahogany is cool and familiar and reminds him that the more something in him opens tonight, the more of him can bleed.
Still. Still, still, still. Even so.
He'd ruin it. He'd hurt Thorn. He already had hurt Thorn, earlier that night, and would do it again. He wasn't-
But Thorn thought he was. And maybe that made him want to try.
Pretty boy, he'd said. (What did that mean?)
His cool gaze appraises the 'bartender,' hand slowly unspooling from its twisted fist. He had already run that night. Had already hurt him that night. If he ran, now, it would be final. Casimir didn't want to.
His eyebrow cocked slightly and his head tipped a single degree to the left. A single muscular shoulder lifted, just a touch, and his eyes stayed fixed on Thorn. It wasn't quite 'batting his eyelashes,' but he wasn't fleeing from the room, so. Baby steps. Guess, it said.
Casimir's gaze lingers on Thorn's body splayed across his bar and knows this is dangerous. He had only just managed to get himself under control after his freak-out at the restaurant. He had only just started to let the trust trickle in, softening his eyes and getting under his armor. Even now, in a facsimile of his home he can barely wrangle his adrenaline under control to let himself ease and remind himself they're friends, Thorn likes him, that he had tried running and all it had done was make Thorn chase him.
Even with reticence thrumming under his skin and intertwined with his heartbeat, he can feel some other part of himself start to take control. A part of himself he thought had died when he ran home, or had bled out when the daemon's claws had raked across his throat and splattered who he was on the stark-white snow. As Thorn looks at him, grinning that charming, edged smile, his shoulders can't help but lean forward slightly. The sharp corner of his mouth turns up just a little, nearly imperceptibly, even as his hand on the counter curls into a fist. His fingernails dig into his palm and he sharpens his mind onto that sensation. Under the curve of his hand, the mahogany is cool and familiar and reminds him that the more something in him opens tonight, the more of him can bleed.
Still. Still, still, still. Even so.
He'd ruin it. He'd hurt Thorn. He already had hurt Thorn, earlier that night, and would do it again. He wasn't-
But Thorn thought he was. And maybe that made him want to try.
Pretty boy, he'd said. (What did that mean?)
His cool gaze appraises the 'bartender,' hand slowly unspooling from its twisted fist. He had already run that night. Had already hurt him that night. If he ran, now, it would be final. Casimir didn't want to.
His eyebrow cocked slightly and his head tipped a single degree to the left. A single muscular shoulder lifted, just a touch, and his eyes stayed fixed on Thorn. It wasn't quite 'batting his eyelashes,' but he wasn't fleeing from the room, so. Baby steps. Guess, it said.
Casimir
and nobody told me it ended
