[His smile hurts when he flexes it on instinct. Aches in ways that defy articulation, and perhaps always will. It's no grand thing. His cheeks don't hurt or even dimple; they couldn't when the corners of his mouth barely flex at all aside from an angled thinning on one side, mostly at the edge. His brows pinch in completely palpable contrast, pulling so hard and so high that the creases in the middle of his forehead leave sharp lines and an even sharper sense of pressure. It digs, in essence, and where it doesn't, it burns hot and sharp and slick. Tucks in behind the borders of his blinking eyes.
Breath in, resolute, and time begins to tick again. The noise of the city comes back, invited to remember all its cues, and the act of reaching out to take that blade becomes the simple act of taking a blade.
Weighing it.
Slipping a gloved thumb across its glinting mark.]
Welcomed with a weapon that implies an inherent sense of rampant danger?
no subject
Breath in, resolute, and time begins to tick again. The noise of the city comes back, invited to remember all its cues, and the act of reaching out to take that blade becomes the simple act of taking a blade.
Weighing it.
Slipping a gloved thumb across its glinting mark.]
Welcomed with a weapon that implies an inherent sense of rampant danger?