Symptoms? [His sneer sharper than his demeanor in that moment, wrinkles spreading across the full span of his nose (its outline nearly buried against Fenris' shoulder)— and there's something fortunate in that acute misery, only because it distracts from his initial thought of don't you dare. Don't you dare talk about mourning my place in your life like a promise it'll happen— it won't. It won't.
Trailing pale fingertips (stained pink from irritation) around the top of one sunset-colored ear, stubbornly asserting all their worth by way of touch alone. The recognition he was never gifted.
The recognition neither of them have, really, apart from one another.]
Did Hadriana ever have any of these 'concussions?'
[He shouldn't press the mood by stepping on it, but it's bile. Bitter, livid bile. Stuck inside his throat and hot after tonight.]
no subject
Trailing pale fingertips (stained pink from irritation) around the top of one sunset-colored ear, stubbornly asserting all their worth by way of touch alone. The recognition he was never gifted.
The recognition neither of them have, really, apart from one another.]
Did Hadriana ever have any of these 'concussions?'
[He shouldn't press the mood by stepping on it, but it's bile. Bitter, livid bile. Stuck inside his throat and hot after tonight.]
Did you even have them before Danarius?