Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
His actions as of late had been a cycle of constant movement: shifting from one thing to the next, maneuvering along from building to building, keeping himself busy, seeking to shy away the restlessness bordering and seething at his bones. Like silent traces, it stoked and fired, so when he lingered outside the infirmary too long it haunted, smoldered, and threatened to swallow him whole, and when he was placing wooden planks everywhere for some future intervals, it thought about breaking him down. Some moments were scattered and barely worth remembering, traversing here and there on summer winds, not pausing to think as he wound and thread his way from barracks, to guildhall, to bakery, or avoided their house entirely, only coming back and forth to grab things for Amalia or to prepare something to eat. It was a mindless, numbing precision, because sometimes he was tired of pulling himself out of the deep, and to think, to breathe, in the fumes, in the fury, for too long only meant he’d collapse on the strain, on the endless floods.
The click of the door alerted him to another entering as he shifted along the kitchen, snagging at leftovers – presuming it was Kiada, because it would be in her nature to simply saunter in – head turning at the sound of his name ricocheting along the framework. Not the Harpy at all; and he followed the movements, the decibels, to find Hotaru barely on her feet. His expression remained muted, but a deep, heavy sigh flickered beneath muscles and sinew, beneath flesh and torment. “You and I both.” Then he extended a hand for her to take, to rise and be strong once more, or lend some of his while it lasted, leading her to the table. No questions were asked – though he had a few guesses and estimations as to why the notion scratched and clawed, motioning back towards one of the cabinets and procuring a particularly strong liquor and glasses. Upon his return, they were laden on the surface, opening, brandishing a full cup for each, before he sat down. The gesture could’ve been a thousand things, combinations of camaraderie and angst, misery loving company, his eyes flickering back over hers, the silent inquiries, the nuances of heartache, the resin already in his hands, the waiting game in her court.
The click of the door alerted him to another entering as he shifted along the kitchen, snagging at leftovers – presuming it was Kiada, because it would be in her nature to simply saunter in – head turning at the sound of his name ricocheting along the framework. Not the Harpy at all; and he followed the movements, the decibels, to find Hotaru barely on her feet. His expression remained muted, but a deep, heavy sigh flickered beneath muscles and sinew, beneath flesh and torment. “You and I both.” Then he extended a hand for her to take, to rise and be strong once more, or lend some of his while it lasted, leading her to the table. No questions were asked – though he had a few guesses and estimations as to why the notion scratched and clawed, motioning back towards one of the cabinets and procuring a particularly strong liquor and glasses. Upon his return, they were laden on the surface, opening, brandishing a full cup for each, before he sat down. The gesture could’ve been a thousand things, combinations of camaraderie and angst, misery loving company, his eyes flickering back over hers, the silent inquiries, the nuances of heartache, the resin already in his hands, the waiting game in her court.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
