Come now, it'll only last for a few seconds. Surely, even you can handle another noggin against your own. [ his tone borders on teasing — because being slightly cheeky is the better facade.
well. it's not like it's unheard of anyway: they've brushed shoulders, exchanged blows during spars, relied on one another on the battlefield. wouldn't this be the same? it's a serendipitous occurrence, enduring this with a rival than the more uncomfortable option of somebody else who may induce more discomfort than this ought to warrant. phainon tells himself so, and yet, he's not even wholly convinced. he doesn't do vulnerability. not to this extent.
his chin is dipped low, eyes averted, as he feels the gentle impact of somebody else against his forehead now. the serviton, after a pause, seemingly appeased by the ""affectionate"" display, floats off in silence, keeping them both within its line of sight. it takes phainon a moment too long to finally register that there's something absurd rising in his chest, spreading like a wildfire, leaving him awash in something awfully out of place: for once, a balm swathed upon the grief he has dragged around for all those years.
if and/or when their eyes meet at all, phainon may as well resemble a deer in the headlights, as if mydeimos is the one to blame for all of this. he waits for the feeling to pass, for the suffocating weight of heartache to return in waves, and when it barely does — ]
See? Harmless, isn't it? Those little ones may be rather insistent to an unpleasant extent, but... participate in what they request of you, and they are gone in a blink of an eye, it seems. [ belatedly said, with a mirth so forced, it nearly sounds unnatural. but phainon takes this as the appropriate cue to step away, correcting his posture, reassembling the little composure he has left. ]
no subject
well. it's not like it's unheard of anyway: they've brushed shoulders, exchanged blows during spars, relied on one another on the battlefield. wouldn't this be the same? it's a serendipitous occurrence, enduring this with a rival than the more uncomfortable option of somebody else who may induce more discomfort than this ought to warrant. phainon tells himself so, and yet, he's not even wholly convinced. he doesn't do vulnerability. not to this extent.
his chin is dipped low, eyes averted, as he feels the gentle impact of somebody else against his forehead now. the serviton, after a pause, seemingly appeased by the ""affectionate"" display, floats off in silence, keeping them both within its line of sight. it takes phainon a moment too long to finally register that there's something absurd rising in his chest, spreading like a wildfire, leaving him awash in something awfully out of place: for once, a balm swathed upon the grief he has dragged around for all those years.
if and/or when their eyes meet at all, phainon may as well resemble a deer in the headlights, as if mydeimos is the one to blame for all of this. he waits for the feeling to pass, for the suffocating weight of heartache to return in waves, and when it barely does — ]
See? Harmless, isn't it? Those little ones may be rather insistent to an unpleasant extent, but... participate in what they request of you, and they are gone in a blink of an eye, it seems. [ belatedly said, with a mirth so forced, it nearly sounds unnatural. but phainon takes this as the appropriate cue to step away, correcting his posture, reassembling the little composure he has left. ]