i'm a thinker, not a talker
If Casimir knew the extent to which Thorn was pricking his heart on his sleeve and letting the blood pool into Casimir's already-bloodied hands, he would have left with the rise of the sun for good to let the bleeding staunch. The goodness of this, the happiness shining across Thorn's face and the fingers against his cheek, have to be as fleeting as candles in the wind. Even if Casimir does not do the breaking by leaving, he knows something will break. If he leaves, even to sleep and shower and even if he vowed to see Thorn later, will this moment of perfection dissipate?
Thorn's gaze pins him, anchoring his heart in chest, and in that moment, Casimir thinks he has stepped into a bear trap and even if he gnawed off his leg to escape, that would not stop Thorn from wanting to know his heart. That question, that choked and desperate what now? still lingers in Casimir's throat, anchored and stiff, and what he cannot figure out is what happens after. Thorn had offered sleep and shower, but that did not answer the nebulous and terrifying concept of what happens after this night between them, and then night after, stretching all the way into the future Casimir has spent so long fleeing from. There has never been an 'in the moment' for Casimir; it's all been floating, ghostly avoidance and the ever-present threat of a future he did not know how he would fit into in his ruined state.
And now, there was a deviation, someone to take him by the hand and drag him back into the living, and Casimir wanted to know what the fuck that meant. What now? What now, after Thorn took his hand and made him live a life that wasn't nothing, even if it was just for a few days of restless anxiety and culminating in this? (And what did it mean for Casimir that he wanted to know? Wanted to think about the future, even to know if it would end in pain and bloodshed? Wanted to know so he could avoid that, though he thought it was inevitable?)
He needs to shower. His shirt sticks to his front and he feels blood under his fingernails.
"You don't know anything about me," He murmurs in that same desperate, reaching tone, slate eyes searching Thorn's seafoam ones for some sort of answer, some sort of clarity, some sort of reason.
Thorn's gaze pins him, anchoring his heart in chest, and in that moment, Casimir thinks he has stepped into a bear trap and even if he gnawed off his leg to escape, that would not stop Thorn from wanting to know his heart. That question, that choked and desperate what now? still lingers in Casimir's throat, anchored and stiff, and what he cannot figure out is what happens after. Thorn had offered sleep and shower, but that did not answer the nebulous and terrifying concept of what happens after this night between them, and then night after, stretching all the way into the future Casimir has spent so long fleeing from. There has never been an 'in the moment' for Casimir; it's all been floating, ghostly avoidance and the ever-present threat of a future he did not know how he would fit into in his ruined state.
And now, there was a deviation, someone to take him by the hand and drag him back into the living, and Casimir wanted to know what the fuck that meant. What now? What now, after Thorn took his hand and made him live a life that wasn't nothing, even if it was just for a few days of restless anxiety and culminating in this? (And what did it mean for Casimir that he wanted to know? Wanted to think about the future, even to know if it would end in pain and bloodshed? Wanted to know so he could avoid that, though he thought it was inevitable?)
He needs to shower. His shirt sticks to his front and he feels blood under his fingernails.
"You don't know anything about me," He murmurs in that same desperate, reaching tone, slate eyes searching Thorn's seafoam ones for some sort of answer, some sort of clarity, some sort of reason.
Casimir
i've no one to talk to, anyway
