[Ice water flows in his veins instead of blood. The tea mingles with it and spreads warmth. An almost scald. An almost burn to the back of his throat. The citric of lemon. The bittersweetness. He holds the mug carefully aloft. Hand curled around it. The impression of a squeeze. He sets it down on the countertop now and then. Watches the curls of heat escape from it.
Gilgamesh scares him, sometimes. Obvious, he knows. He scares everyone. Ought to. But there is such a lure in his brilliance. A sort of shine. A pull, now and then. No one holds out long against it. It's like fighting against the tides. The curl of sea foam along the shore. Dragging his feet out from under him to shipwreck.
His smiles are like warning bells. The deadliest of chimes. So why does he stay here within range, as his hands going about the business of breakfast as always. His eyes may widen. The realization that, too late, he may have been swept out to sea. Gotten lost in the undertow.
He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the kettle. Warped and stretched. He doesn't find any answers in it.
no subject
Gilgamesh scares him, sometimes. Obvious, he knows. He scares everyone. Ought to. But there is such a lure in his brilliance. A sort of shine. A pull, now and then. No one holds out long against it. It's like fighting against the tides. The curl of sea foam along the shore. Dragging his feet out from under him to shipwreck.
His smiles are like warning bells. The deadliest of chimes. So why does he stay here within range, as his hands going about the business of breakfast as always. His eyes may widen. The realization that, too late, he may have been swept out to sea. Gotten lost in the undertow.
He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the kettle. Warped and stretched. He doesn't find any answers in it.
He shifts his gaze back to Gilgamesh.]
It seems you like the souvenirs.
[And the bruises he left behind.]