[ He's so close. His shoulders may be delicate, but they've already withstood so much. They can also bear this, even if unused to the mete of gentleness; it's the second time he's felt himself relaxing when given the gift of his weight. All at once, Subaru is no longer casting the eye of the storm, but standing in it alongside him. Even as its vortex smears with all manner of memory, running riot and animal red, refusing to be wielded like the cleaver of his memories, it affords a reprieve among its glimpses of horror.
He sees it now, how long he's been struggling against nightfall. Subaru wanted to protect him so badly that he forced the connection in a moment of weakness and desperation. He doesn't know that he can trust this magic any more than Choi can trust the way these feral instincts have metastasized to his humanity.
But he decided long ago — doing something is better than the comfortable safety of doing nothing.
Is it selfish? It must be. Did he know? He must have.
He gazes at his hand clasped to his own, the tension banded brightly in his knuckles. Hands are a language. He knew this as an onmyouji, knows it now as a runecaster. They are the conduit through which words may be conveyed, the arbiters of all emotion, understanding, and human resonance. When he envisions it, a tether, he imagines something he can glance his fingertips off of, something he can touch. Energy he can bend into forms that better suit the cosmic bloom of his will. It's a language he's sought all his life. And it's terrifying in its potential. Hands are instruments of prayer, connection, and unthinkable violence. Subaru's scars burn, even if they remain unseen.
To feel human is to feel the breadth of it, even in the blinding syllables of regret. If Choi doesn't trust what his hands are becoming in the blood-melting presence of her, then Subaru will trust them for him.
Softly, so softly, he places his other hand over Choi's, thumb tracing the little bones beneath this skin.
So, he doesn't like tethers... ]
Do you like me, then?
[ To invoke, to speak, is the other conduit of language. It's how stories survive. ]
no subject
He sees it now, how long he's been struggling against nightfall. Subaru wanted to protect him so badly that he forced the connection in a moment of weakness and desperation. He doesn't know that he can trust this magic any more than Choi can trust the way these feral instincts have metastasized to his humanity.
But he decided long ago — doing something is better than the comfortable safety of doing nothing.
Is it selfish? It must be. Did he know? He must have.
He gazes at his hand clasped to his own, the tension banded brightly in his knuckles. Hands are a language. He knew this as an onmyouji, knows it now as a runecaster. They are the conduit through which words may be conveyed, the arbiters of all emotion, understanding, and human resonance. When he envisions it, a tether, he imagines something he can glance his fingertips off of, something he can touch. Energy he can bend into forms that better suit the cosmic bloom of his will. It's a language he's sought all his life. And it's terrifying in its potential. Hands are instruments of prayer, connection, and unthinkable violence. Subaru's scars burn, even if they remain unseen.
To feel human is to feel the breadth of it, even in the blinding syllables of regret. If Choi doesn't trust what his hands are becoming in the blood-melting presence of her, then Subaru will trust them for him.
Softly, so softly, he places his other hand over Choi's, thumb tracing the little bones beneath this skin.
So, he doesn't like tethers... ]
Do you like me, then?
[ To invoke, to speak, is the other conduit of language. It's how stories survive. ]