It felt like if he didn't confess then and there to what spiteful things he had been thinking, then it would have festered between them: a secret, a wound, guilt over something which he ought not to have felt guilty over.
And at the same time he found himself wondering why his brain framed it like that, why his thoughts circled around a bond that went beyond niceties: a friendship that had slipped through his carefully constructed defenses and run away with him. It had been so long since.. well, since a lot of things; he thought about the long line of dead bodies littering his life, little markers and milestones, and the desolation they left behind.
He thought of his sister, drifting away in her own pain, seeking a way out of her hurt, but only drawing the poison deeper into her lungs and veins.
He thought of Jigano's human form, so foreign to his mind's eye, as the bard's slender hand laid across his own. He tried to picture him dead and broken, strips of flesh like Wessex had become, and he allowed his hand to fall onto the man's thigh, palm resting against flesh and bone and skin and fabric.
His defenses had not been made to keep a fox out.
So he had gone straight through them, passing easily through the fencing, and now he stood there, white-haired and radiant and blue-eyed, on the inside of Rory's heart. (You don't even know him—)
As Jigano tried to point out what Rory had done, the blond merely grimaced. He knew well enough what he had done; that had been beside the point entirely. He hadn't been fishing for compliments, or even reassurance, but perhaps his habit of only saying about half of what passed through his mind had made his point less obvious than he thought. And still, as Jigano's head tilted and one of his ears came sideways in such a vulpine expression, Rory felt a slight flush heat his cheeks. Briefly he looked aside, pulling in a breath of cold air through his teeth. "I meant I was useless offensively, or I would've hurt them," he murmured, before sensing Jigano's eyes searching his face again. He didn't turn to face him fully, but enough, so that their eyes could meet.
Change.
Things were always changing.
It just went faster now.
He thought of everything that had happened in Caido: he thought of the monsters that had practically been a rarity in his childhood, he thought of the hunters going out to remove beasts so crippled by their mutations, and how it had gone from a mercy they engaged in on their free time, to something that was either forgotten, or practically a job.
Rory was silent for a moment longer, his eyes slightly narrowed in thought, until he sighed and turned his face entirely against Jigano's again. "I can't blame you," he said softly, knowing what it was like to treasure something, and to be so afraid it would fall through your hands regardless of what you did. "And of course things would change." He lifted his hand from Jigano's thigh, his lip twitching as his shoulder protested slightly when he raised his arm to try and put his fingers around Jigano's chin, just in case the other felt like looking away. "But things always change. That's just how it is. These past seasons have not been easy for me, but I'm coming to understand that fighting the change is pointless. It's happening, whether I want it to or not."
He let his gaze fall, and his hand with it, index and middle finger extended to lay their tips lightly against Jigano's chest, over his heart. "And sometimes," he went on quietly, thinking of how drastically his world had changed in just a few months, "it changes for the better."
And at the same time he found himself wondering why his brain framed it like that, why his thoughts circled around a bond that went beyond niceties: a friendship that had slipped through his carefully constructed defenses and run away with him. It had been so long since.. well, since a lot of things; he thought about the long line of dead bodies littering his life, little markers and milestones, and the desolation they left behind.
He thought of his sister, drifting away in her own pain, seeking a way out of her hurt, but only drawing the poison deeper into her lungs and veins.
He thought of Jigano's human form, so foreign to his mind's eye, as the bard's slender hand laid across his own. He tried to picture him dead and broken, strips of flesh like Wessex had become, and he allowed his hand to fall onto the man's thigh, palm resting against flesh and bone and skin and fabric.
His defenses had not been made to keep a fox out.
So he had gone straight through them, passing easily through the fencing, and now he stood there, white-haired and radiant and blue-eyed, on the inside of Rory's heart. (
As Jigano tried to point out what Rory had done, the blond merely grimaced. He knew well enough what he had done; that had been beside the point entirely. He hadn't been fishing for compliments, or even reassurance, but perhaps his habit of only saying about half of what passed through his mind had made his point less obvious than he thought. And still, as Jigano's head tilted and one of his ears came sideways in such a vulpine expression, Rory felt a slight flush heat his cheeks. Briefly he looked aside, pulling in a breath of cold air through his teeth. "I meant I was useless offensively, or I would've hurt them," he murmured, before sensing Jigano's eyes searching his face again. He didn't turn to face him fully, but enough, so that their eyes could meet.
Change.
Things were always changing.
It just went faster now.
He thought of everything that had happened in Caido: he thought of the monsters that had practically been a rarity in his childhood, he thought of the hunters going out to remove beasts so crippled by their mutations, and how it had gone from a mercy they engaged in on their free time, to something that was either forgotten, or practically a job.
Rory was silent for a moment longer, his eyes slightly narrowed in thought, until he sighed and turned his face entirely against Jigano's again. "I can't blame you," he said softly, knowing what it was like to treasure something, and to be so afraid it would fall through your hands regardless of what you did. "And of course things would change." He lifted his hand from Jigano's thigh, his lip twitching as his shoulder protested slightly when he raised his arm to try and put his fingers around Jigano's chin, just in case the other felt like looking away. "But things always change. That's just how it is. These past seasons have not been easy for me, but I'm coming to understand that fighting the change is pointless. It's happening, whether I want it to or not."
He let his gaze fall, and his hand with it, index and middle finger extended to lay their tips lightly against Jigano's chest, over his heart. "And sometimes," he went on quietly, thinking of how drastically his world had changed in just a few months, "it changes for the better."
