[ Perhaps he should consider how despondent he looks, but he's hardly cared before, and he doesn't see why he should care now. It's how he's spent most of his life, so it's not anything new. He steps back into the dimly lit bedroom, wrinkled white shirt growing more rumpled as he rubs his own arm. He may or may not have slept in it (what little sleep he did manage) and not bothered to change it.
Looking at the Acrobat makes him feel...on edge. He remembers far too much, and it's not just Fiona who's been sitting on his thoughts more than he'd like, although the Priestess' words were dug a little deeper. The refusal makes his face tighten, the circles under his eyes seeming more hollow as he turns his gaze to the floor. ]
Y-You...You ask to come in, and you won't even respect my wishes? Tch...
[ His grip on his arm tightens, regret starting to seep in, especially when the light reflects off that damned ring. Maybe he's not ready for...whatever this is. He just needs more time. More time to sit, and think, and wallow--
The question is bad enough, but the hand that reaches for his makes him flinch, soft touch far too gentle for the turmoil of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. His fingers itch with the urge to just...rip them away, but he resists for a moment or two, although he's obviously uneasy. ]
It's...not like it's anything I haven't dealt with before. I'll live from something as little as this. It's not anything you have to bother with.
[ He's dealt with sleepless, hungry nights all his life, after all. It's just different, agonizing thoughts that plague him instead. ]
That's because this is really important. This and what I actually came here to talk about in the first place! So you, my good sir, can't push me out that easily!
[The way that Andrew is closing himself off more and more with his body language as the seconds tick by is unmistakable. It takes everything in Mike not to clench down hard enough on the other's hands so he can't pull away. Instead, he leads him over to the bed and encourages Andrew to sit down so he can rub soothing circles into his knuckles. Will Andrew at least let him comfort him this much? Because the thought of being pushed away begins to pick at wounds. Some new, and some of them old.
All those feelings he's been saddles with that don't seem like they should belong to him but he knows that they do-- they make this hard. Because some of it might've begun to take root even before any of this mess. If he wants to be honest only to himself. Because retrospect can be cruel. He- he's not as experienced with parsing out attachments that are actually serious. Those nights when he thinks about wanting to spend time alone together and how it makes his face hot and the butterflies in his chest to flutter around against his wishes.
And it scares Mike.
A tight smile stretches his lips. Right now he can be a pillar that can be leaned on even if things are "back to normal." Speaking of which, he leans a bit further into Andrew's space and looks up at him with a look that begs for no arguments.]
But I want it to be my business. So how about that? I don't want you suffering like this! For no good reason at that! You reeeally don't have to punish yourself.
[ He opts not to dignify that response with an answer, lips pursing tightly as his fingers lightly curl in the other's grip, situation obviously making him more tense than before. He already discussed this with someone else, and look where that got him? Sleepless, miserable, ghosts of regret clawing at his brain and keeping him both awake and exhausted at the same time.
He allows himself to be dragged by the hand to the edge of his unmade bed, mattress dipping under their combined weight as a pale fringe casts a shadow over haggard features. The thumbs that run over his knuckles in an attempt to soothe do little but make something catch in his throat, body turning idly away from the Acrobat as he tries to swallow whatever it is.
Mike is vibrant. His smile is warm. Presence, while earning his ire half the time, all too comforting in a place like this. He'll never say it out loud, but some pathetic part of him finds his touch leaving him too soon on occasion. He's aggravating, insufferable on the best of days, but even Andrew can't argue the man's nearly blinding brightness that some part of him envies. Burning bright, just like that damnable light in the sky, and both of them (at least to him) are the same:
Painfully unattainable, at least to the likes of him.
No-- seeing that kind of future, with him and the others, it's...too much. It's hurts to be reminded of, because it feels like nothing more than some kind of dream made to mock him. Something he can never truly have, but can experience, just to make it more painful. He tries to not look at the other's face, at that obviously pained smile, even though he knows how much Mike hates his difficulties with eye contact. He's not sure he can handle looking into those bright greens now, afraid he'll see the same thing he did in a shade of purple. ]
I-I'm not... [ Suffering, punishing himself, but of course he is. Anybody with half a brain could see that. ] What's the point? This is just...something I'll have to get over, just like everything else. I'm already at rock bottom, so it's not like I can fall any further...
[ ...He says this all the time, doesn't he? And even if he's given an explanation, it still doesn't make sense. It never has, to Andrew. He opts to try and pull his hands free, thoughts starting to spin at a mile an hour. Because even if he's had thoughts he won't dare realize, there's no way anybody could actually feel the same, right? Even if a certain woman's voice echoes in his head, telling him otherwise, gaze flat and gut-wrenching. ]
So? Even if that were true then there's no place to go but up now!
[He doth protest immediately. A quick attempt to lift spirits where they're plummeting at an alarming rate. Andrew pulls away physically the same way he is trying to emotionally and the look on Mike's face becomes undeniably panicked because of it. No, no, this isn't supposed to go like this.
Yet the confidence to see it through without the crippling fear of losing someone for good has been compromised recently. Fiona promised not to once they had that talk, she promised, but how close it really got makes a trembling settle in the acrobat's once steady hands. Yet again Mike finds himself in a moment where he's on his own trying to guide someone dear away from a path of self destruction.
It's overwhelming pressure that has landed upon his shoulders. Not unlike how it was in the Manor- how often Mike felt it important that he kept everyone's hopes up no matter how much it could prove to be an uphill battle at times. Bright eyes skirt along the edge of the bed for a moment to collect himself. He's really a vision of color against these glum sheets. Juxtaposed beside this downtrodden man.
A sorrowful fury lights in his core to know these people who have become dear think that they should suffer all alone. Especially because they have the option not to. Mike gnaws on the side of his cheek. He didn't react in time to stop Andrew from freeing his hands but at the least he can follow the movement to twist his fingers into the rough material of one of those dark sleeves.
He's always thinking about all the things that could've- should've been said to the dearly departed. He's all to unwilling to make the same mistake again. Despite the increasingly crestfallen look his cheeks pinken.]
Obviously it's because I care about you. I really want to see you become a happier person someday, you know? I'd be even happier if you'd let me help you get there.
[Mike shifts restlessly after feeling pinned in place by his own admission. It's foolish to leave oneself vulnerable like this. It's not unlike precariously placing a fragile fledgling bird in the taller man's grip to crush if he so pleases. Yet it's a sign of the trust that's built over the time spent here.
Because he knows Andrew doesn't want to be hurting anyone besides himself.]
[ Of course there isn't. He knows that well, repeats it to himself in an attempt to get him going, and yet the hesitance still bores into his bones like an invasive species. He can't see the panic on the other's face, trying to look anywhere but at his roommate, but for some reason his own chest tightens considerably to a point it's nearly painful. At this point, he can't tell if it's distress or hunger, or perhaps some unholy combination of the two. ]
That...That doesn't mean you have to be there with me.
[ It's fine, because he's always been there by himself. Staring up at everyone else from the bottom rung of life, reaching at things that will forever be too far from his grasp. It's difficult to see how this hurts people when all he can do is focus on his own pain, so deep and wrenched in even a surgeon would have difficulty removing it, but that's not to say he doesn't try. It's just....
So...so difficult. He's been alone for how long, hurt for how long, painful words whispered on the wind to his ears while he tried to get what little sleep he could manage, tossing and turning and mumbling prayers nobody would bother listening to. Here he is, with somebody trying to reach out, and all he can feel in every cell in his body is crippling fear. Even right now, with the only glimpse being bright colors out of the corner of a bleary eye, Mike is dazzling. He shouldn't be here next to him, so dark and sunless, like a corpse freshly dug out of the earth.
He does, after all, know all too well what those look like.
There's another flinch at the hand that coils in his sleeve, despite his attempts to pull away. The refusal to give up should ignite some aggravation in his core, but between his own misery, the lack of sleep, and how worn he feels, it's difficult to muster up that spark of bite he tries to carry. Especially when that phrase makes his fingers clench, chewed nails digging tight into the bare skin of his palms. ]
I-I don't.... [ It feels almost laughable to admit, but he's nothing if not painfully truthful at times. ] I don't...remember that what feels like.
[ Happy. When was the last time he was happy? Really, truly happy? Perhaps back when his mother still drew breath, and she could feel the warmth of her touch and the love in her voice. But it's been so long since then, and it feels like all he's known for years is nothing but cold emptiness. Bitterness. Cynicism. Fear. Even here, with hot water and warm beds and all the food he can eat, he doesn't know if he can call himself that.
...Hah. Isn't that pitiful? A laugh, small and hollow, bubbles in his throat, and it hurts when it comes out. He thinks his voice cracks, head tilting further towards the floor as hairline cracks burst across his facade. ]
You....You can be around anybody else. Somebody w-who isn't-- somebody who's normal. [ This is all he's ever wanted to hear, and yet he's all too afraid it'll slip away in time, just like all of his other hopes. He can taste blood in his mouth. ] You can have somebody who...isn't just...pretending to live! And yet you just....you...you're telling me the truth...? Of all your options, you want to stay here-?
You're right! That's right!! I don't have to be doing anything I don't want to be.
[Being able to distract others from their hardships is the reason Mike exists. Everybody has been so preoccupied with their purpose? Fate this. Normalcy that. Well being dazzling enough to make people forget all about their pain is his.
If this is anything to go by he obviously has been doing a terrible job. Because why else would someone close to him still feels like this? The sardonic little laugh of Andrew's causes his breath to hitch dangerously. He hates it, he hates it, oh how he hates that. It's something so little that causes the blond to inhale a tremulous breath to re-center himself. When that doesn't work he pinches his thigh in punishment for even thinking of allowing himself to be anything but a source of encouragement right now. Andrew has always been the melancholic sort. But to know how deeply that depression runs, truly, makes a lump form in his throat. He dearly wishes that he could hold onto his sparking anger at the situation.]
Don't just look away from me while you ask that.
[This time when Mike moves to take his hand it isn't immediate. Just as there is a pause in his response he takes his time tracing his quivering fingers along the blue vein hidden underneath snow white skin. The pathway which spreads Andrew's life force from the wrist up to his finger tips. The feather light touch becomes far more tangible once the acrobat presses their palms together. He wants Andrew to see how he looks at him. Don't look away!
That look i as frightened as it is pining for what the future could hold. It's reflected in the way his eyes watch his own movement from wrist to palm until it breaks away to settle on Andrew's pitiably self-loathing expression. This time when Mike slots his fingers in between the other's he has no intention of letting him pull away again.]
You aren't just pretending to live. You ARE living and I'm not going to let you spend another moment disparaging yourself like this just 'cause you want to pretend like you don't deserve anything!
[Whether or not Andrew decides to look the acrobat's eyes have begun to sting with a tell-tale sheen. His own thoughts sucker punch him. Because what if Andrew has always meant exactly what he's always said? That he's had enough of Mike. If that was the case- Mike's just been contributing more to this overwhelming unhappiness.
Well! If that's how it is then Andrew is going to have to insist that he hates him that much to his face. Then he'll have to do it again for good measure. At least he'll go out stubborn like he often does. That little temper at the injustice of it mounts once again and his voice goes shrill the more he exclaims.]
If I didn't want to stay I would've left already! But I didn't! Because I want to stay with you! So- So don't you try to push me away like this! Because I don't want to go. I'll say it over and over until you actually believe it for once!
And you- [His voice breaks- because there's so much more to this- and so does the dam holding back the tears in his eyes. The ones that Mike immediately and furiously tries to wipe away with his free hand. With no other place to go that anger gets expressed through the way Mike squeezes Andrew's hand on and off. It's possible that he could lose one, or two, people if he's not careful. Certainly, the pressure to make things okay is all on Mike.] You're not allowed to disappear either.
[ The longer this goes on, the harder his own heart seems to beat his chest, threatening to burst through the fragile web of his ribs and lay bear how disgustingly, painfully delicate it is. So loud is it, he can't even hear the hitch of breath the other man has at his reaction, only the deafening rush of blood and the words that seem to keep echoing around in his skull.
Don't look away, he says, even though he's so deathly afraid if he takes one look at that face, sees the look in his eyes, he's going to shatter. ]
I— W-What am I supposed to do—?
[ The barely-there touch makes him shiver, own breath hitching as it traces a steady path along his skin, tensing up rather than pulling it away once more. It's just— It feels so...kind. Soft, gentle, and not anything he's really dealt with, even here. There was a bit, a long time ago, but neither of them were exactly in their right minds. It wasn't like this, when the dim light is reflecting off both their glimmering eyes, throat tight with something he can't even place because it's so foreign. The soft bumps of another's palm press into his, and a partially hidden gaze slowly falls to latch onto the like he doesn't know how to respond.
The slow lock of another's fingers with his is nearly gut-wrenching, an agonizing twist as his own twitch, pads of his fingers barely brushing the back of Mike's hand in a gesture of uncertainty.
He's always convinced himself he was barely living, mimicking a pitiful existence dedicated to nothing but padding the rattling box under his bed, preparing himself for an end he was practically ready to welcome. Constantly ready for death but only mildly afraid of what comes after, pretending he could get somewhere he definitely knew he had no place in.
And yet— the declarations, the way his voice gets higher and louder, and Andrew feels like he's stuck in place, rooted to the bed and to the floor. The tightening grip on his hand drags him back, to listen to other's voice break, and finally Andrew's head turns like a man accepting his fate only to freeze at the sight of tears running down Mike's face.
Ah. This is...his fault, isn't it? All he's done is toss and push away people when they've tried to reach out, because he's afraid of what he feels is an inevitability. It's so much easier to feel safe like this, and yet all he feels is cold claws ripping down every defense he's laid down so haphazardly over the years, eyes starting and blur in turn. ]
A-All of this, and you...you still just... [ The breath in his chest rattles, unable to tear his gaze away no matter how badly he wants to. Why is he looking at him like that? With a gaze that makes him feel so equally sick and warm on the inside. ] Even though I'm j-just— hurting you, this is really what you want? Staying here with me, despite everything else...!
[ Being near somebody else like this feels so painful, painfully nice, and if he's not careful he might choke. How many years has it been since he's first thought of this, of somebody's warm acceptance, and resigned himself to it being an impossibility? He can't even wipe his own wet face, free hand busy digging bloody crescent moons into his palm. ]
You...just so damn insistent.... [ He can't really hold himself together anymore, fingers shaking and expression utterly pitiful. His own grip on their tightens, like he doesn't believe it's real and he's testing the waters. ] You say you won't leave, but c-can you promise that? Like that stupid vision...promise that you'll just...stay here, and you won't leave me behind...what am I supposed to do if you do go? If I get used to this, then how can I— How can I go back to being alone...?!
[The worst part isn't how helpless Mike feels. Nor is it the guilt for letting himself break. Although both of those things make him feel physically ill. The worst part is that he knows that he can't truly make the promise that they won't be separated some day.
Because the acrobat knows well that the lives you hold the nearest and dearest to your heart can be snatch away all too soon. It's all too easy for life to bereave someone of their loved ones. If promises and words could do that he wouldn't have been left behind like he was. Those are thoughts that really get the tears to start stream down his anguish flushed freckled cheeks.
But you make the best of the time you get to live, right, isn't that the truth?]
I have to be insistent— ! Because, you know, I, [He laughes weakly. But a hiccup puts an end to it.] I don't think you'd ever listen if I wasn't!
[Promises... Sometimes Mike wonders if the gravekeeper remembers the promise Mike made to him when he was a lot smaller. That he meant it. That he's got his back unconditionally now, after everything. Even way back when at the time that Mike discovered there was so much more to the man than his destitute image? That he is capable of happiness even if he thinks he isn't. Or just how long the acrobat has been trying to help Andrew accept that he doesn't have to be so alone with him at his side. All he had to do was take Mike's hand.
If not, that's alright, because Mike thinks about all of it often enough for them both.
Now it's not his own face that Mike moves to wipe the tears from. It takes a tense moment for him to bunch up his sleeve one handed so he can brush the fabric along wet trails staining Andrew's face. If it were another day and he would be elated to see Andrew express emotions other than disdain or fear. But seeing such a heartbreaking face now feels tantamount to having his own heart torn. How has everything come to this? It's getting hard to breath. It seems like Mike has last all control and he feels lightheaded for it.
Before realizing that he's done it he has pushes forward to press the taller man into the unmade sheets. So he can hover above him and keep him there. So he can try to regain a handle on this situation. But more importantly it's to keep Andrew from leaving. To make him listen. But his own act of desperation shocks a sob out of Mike's frame once he fully realizes he's done it.
Plip, plip, plip. A rainfall of tears spill over onto a near-white canvas as Mike straddles the person he's desperate to hold on to. Now it can be both of their tears, mixed together, that he tries to wipe from Andrew's face.]
I'll stay! All you have to do is hold onto me in return. Because anywhere I go I'll be sure to take you with me! O-or if this is where you want to stay— anything!
[A dark and ugly part of him rears its head as Mike twists his hand in Andrew's shirt and squeezes their hands together tight. For what it's worth they're being candid now. The earth feel like it's shaking around them. But in reality those are his own legs that are trembling against the hips he's straddling. The dim light of the room illuminates the acrobat like a back light as a whimper hits the air and his face scrunches up in pain.]
I'll do anything you want, okay?! I'll be anything you want me to be as long as you'll promise to hold on too.
[ Maybe Andrew knows that, far in the back of his mind. Nobody can promise anything, because sometimes God is cruel and takes the things you love away from you before you're ready for it, before you have to say goodbye and prepare yourself for the inevitable. Like when he came home to an silent house and a cold corpse in his mother's bed, the primly folded letter on the table beside her a pitiful attempt to soothe that agonizing pain that never truly went away.
He had failed her then, when she had begged him in cursive scrawl not to cry, and he wonders if he's doing the same now. Would she be ashamed of the wretch her son has become, heart closed off so tightly it's taking the pain of another to pry the nails off it? ]
That— I...
[ The sad thing is he can't even deny it. It's so easy for him to take passiveness as defeat, as acceptance that he's right in all his fears, and he recalls the sharp rip of claws in his heart as he listened to Fiona take his words and simply leave, leaving him with the cold tide sinking into his bones.
'Your preoccupation with your personal angst not only harms yourself, but others as well'—
Perhaps this is what was meant by that.
His face feels hot, burning trails sliding down the expanse of a gaunt face and exaggerating the dark smudges beneath his eyes to a disgusting degree. He probably looks as hideous as he feels, twisted and ugly like he's always been told he is, but the soft brush of fabric dabbing away the wetness on his face is so soft he has to choke back another pained whimper. Is this truly what it feels like? To be loved?
It's so painful. It's so excruciating it's ripping him apart, and he doesn't even notice the distance closing until he's thrown off balance, back pressing to the bed beneath and a small form hovering over him. For a moment, he's so shocked he freezes up, propped up on boney elbows as he stares up, salty liquid mixing to the point he doesn't know who's tears are who's anymore. All he can do is desperately swallow the near-impossible lump in his aching throat, feeling the soaked sleeve merely succeed in smearing tears over his burning cheeks. ]
...E-Even if I've done things God won't forgive me for? Even if I'm... [ He can't pretend to be a saint anymore, not when the wooden cross splayed across his chest feels like a ten-tonne weight crushing his ribcage. ] I've done things that are sinful, unforgivable, but y-you'd still do it? No matter what...!
[ Andrew can feel the trembling; it matches his own, the unsteady shiver of his hands as they squeeze in turn. The look on Mike's face is what makes his head spin, the offer so tantalizing it takes him a few moments to try and catch his breath to actually act. His weight shifts uneasily as one hand wraps around the other curled in rumpled white fabric, before it shakily reaches up to slide against the side of the shorter man's face. His fingers come away wet, but it's fine as they reach up further, brushing past golden curls before he lightly pushes the others head to his chest, burying his face in his air and taking a deep breath that shakes as much as the rest of him in an attempt to ground himself. ]
I just...want you to be you. If you— If you can stay as you are, then I'll...! I'll... [ It's not an easy task, baring himself to someone else after all these years, but maybe now....now, it can be fine? After so long? ] I'll try...f-for you, then...
[Just be you. What does that mean, really? Does Andrew really mean it? Against the body-warm clothes pressed against his face Mike chokes on a wounded sound. Soon to follow after is an incredulous laugh that devolves into sounding suspiciously like a sob while he clutches harder to the shirt in his hands.
It's a wonder that the deluge of tears streaming from his eyes haven't carved tracks in his cheeks by now. They burn like they should be. A simple task like in and out cadence of each breath drains all energy from the acrobat. However, still so defiant of being seen ugly crying he sniffles- but it's a little too late for that with the mess they've both made of themselves. What a pitiful little pair they make indeed.
Perhaps to the chagrin of his roommate Mike pushes himself back up and away from Andrew's chest. Although it takes effort to shift out of the hold Andrew has on him. He's been what others would regard as a endless ball of energy his whole life. Capable of bouncing back from everything with a smile. But this? After a week of agonizing over the what-ifs and the way everyone avoided everyone else that youthful stamina drains from Mike. He leans what feel like overburdened shoulders over Andrew as he places his hand to cup a hollowed cheek. Not a moment after Andrew finishes his bit a tear soaked thumb brushes along the seam of the lips surrendering enticing promise to the air.
A great deal of wonderment shines through the otherwise anguished expression on Mike's face. His hand replaces the place where his head was once resting against that broad chest. The deep pulse that proclaims Andrew as just as alive as Mike has stubbornly wanted believe him to be begins to anchor him again. Like that- sitting slumped while his legs barely keep him from sitting all of his dead weight on Andrew's torso- a point of no return reached. Mike wouldn't be able to get off now even if he wanted to. He doesn't want to and his legs won't allow it.
He's ballsy, known for it, really. Impulsive at times too. But for this he has to work up the nerve to do what he knows he wants to do so badly.]
There's no way I'd care about any of that! 'Cause I like the you that I know! Besides, who hasn't done things they regret! Listen here, Andrew, because it's really important— I don't care. I want to try for you too. So can I-...Uhmm!
[Mike's mouth works soundlessly around the words he wants to say. The words that get cut off by his own disobedient throat. The desire he wants to act on. It's absurd that his cheeks begin to flush not only from the upset racking his body but out of embarrassment... Out of something close enough to timidity that it'll be both hilarious and mortifying to look back on. The curls set free from the absence of his usual hat bounce following a shake of Mike's head. Like he's berating himself for faltering.
Just allow him one good honest kiss and maybe it'll start to feel alright. Just let all of it be out in the open. He'll take whatever judgement or punishment or hate there is to receive afterward. Tear clumped eye lashes lower over his exhausted eyes as they drop to Andrew's lips to try to communicate what he hasn't put a voice to yet. Still, as impatient as he can be, more than enough time is being granted to the gravekeeper to put a stop to it if that's how this is meant to go. Mike tentatively leans in until lips hover a scant few millimeters apart. Just the proximity is enough to steal his own breath away as he glances back up to look into Andrew's eyes.]
[ It's difficult to choke back sobs, after years of swallowing them down. He'd always told himself it'd be weak to cry, and he can't let people see him weak, knowing what they probably already think of him. Not when he failed to keep a promise to not weep, spilling wet gobs of tears over a crumpled letter and smearing the ink. Even now, he tries to stop himself, even if the dam is broken; clutching the other man close, he takes shaky, deep breaths, lips wobbling in a futile attempt to keep them shut.
Seeing someone else cry, because of him (because of his choices, as unintended as they are), it just...hurts. Hurting people is never his real intention, but protecting himself...it's always been the better way, at least in his eyes. Not once did he ever think somebody would cry over him again, no matter the reason. His shirt feels wet from a torrent of tears, both his own and not, and his face and neck feel uncomfortably sticky even as they continue to trail.
He isn't expecting the movement, finding his grounding grip slipping away as he becomes forced to stare at that stained face again. It's almost too much to bear, and he wants to tear his eyes away just so he doesn't have to look, a hand slipping back to the rumpled bedspread while the other slowly presses to the gentle touch currently cupping his cheek. The thumb that brushes his lips leaves the taste of salt, but he doesn't have it in him to complain right now. Not when he can see that look on Mike's face, this emotion peering through the pain that makes him feel so small.
Andrew lightly turns his head, a small choked noise escaping as a palm presses flat to the curve of his ribs, heart thrumming against them far faster than he'd prefer. He feels— embarrassed. Ugly. He doesn't want to show this kind of frail, vulnerable face, afraid of what would come of it. He thinks of the agonizing faces his mother would make when she thought he wasn't looking, like the weight of the world was pressing against her feeble back, and wonders if that's what he looks like. Suffering for love. What a funny thing to imagine, that the same thing is happening all over again, but this time almost stronger.
He listens, a small whisper trying to convince him that the blond wouldn't be saying these things if he knew what he'd done, but a stronger one pushes that voice to the back of his head. It just sounds too good to be true, and doesn't he maybe deserve this? Just once, hearing these types of things, isn't he allowed that after so long? ]
C...Can you...?
[ The cut-off earns a wet blink, shivers momentarily pausing as he stares up at the other's face as it hovers over him, smaller body almost caging him in. Being him, he can only stare in confusion at the red flush that starts to spread over freckled cheeks, the bob of curls only making his brows furrow.
Naive and embroiled in a deluge of emotions as he is, he doesn't pick up on any of the subtler signals, only registering the closing distance and the soft breath on his face as lips hover directly over his own. Andrew grows rigid, out of...confusion? Apprehension? This is something he's only done once (perhaps twice, but the other one doesn't deserve to be thought of right now), and he can't say the feelings there even came close to...this. His heart practically feels like a jackhammer pounding against his chest, and the realization earns a steady, slow swallow.
The light tremble returns, to accompany the slow rise of a pale, scarred hand. It settles on the other's cheek, thumb anxiously brushing the tip of a reddened ear as he takes another deep breath. This...he probably doesn't deserve this, but just this time he wants to be selfish. Selfish enough to push himself up just the slightest, to tentatively push his lips against the Acrobat's. It's not perfect, clumsy and still tasting of the salt that drips and soaks their clothes and the sheets below, but it feels so suffocatingly warm that he just really doesn't care. Not when he hasn't felt this safe in years, being this close to another in far more ways than physical. ]
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Looking at the Acrobat makes him feel...on edge. He remembers far too much, and it's not just Fiona who's been sitting on his thoughts more than he'd like, although the Priestess' words were dug a little deeper. The refusal makes his face tighten, the circles under his eyes seeming more hollow as he turns his gaze to the floor. ]
Y-You...You ask to come in, and you won't even respect my wishes? Tch...
[ His grip on his arm tightens, regret starting to seep in, especially when the light reflects off that damned ring. Maybe he's not ready for...whatever this is. He just needs more time. More time to sit, and think, and wallow--
The question is bad enough, but the hand that reaches for his makes him flinch, soft touch far too gentle for the turmoil of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. His fingers itch with the urge to just...rip them away, but he resists for a moment or two, although he's obviously uneasy. ]
It's...not like it's anything I haven't dealt with before. I'll live from something as little as this. It's not anything you have to bother with.
[ He's dealt with sleepless, hungry nights all his life, after all. It's just different, agonizing thoughts that plague him instead. ]
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[The way that Andrew is closing himself off more and more with his body language as the seconds tick by is unmistakable. It takes everything in Mike not to clench down hard enough on the other's hands so he can't pull away. Instead, he leads him over to the bed and encourages Andrew to sit down so he can rub soothing circles into his knuckles. Will Andrew at least let him comfort him this much? Because the thought of being pushed away begins to pick at wounds. Some new, and some of them old.
All those feelings he's been saddles with that don't seem like they should belong to him but he knows that they do-- they make this hard. Because some of it might've begun to take root even before any of this mess. If he wants to be honest only to himself. Because retrospect can be cruel. He- he's not as experienced with parsing out attachments that are actually serious. Those nights when he thinks about wanting to spend time alone together and how it makes his face hot and the butterflies in his chest to flutter around against his wishes.
And it scares Mike.
A tight smile stretches his lips. Right now he can be a pillar that can be leaned on even if things are "back to normal." Speaking of which, he leans a bit further into Andrew's space and looks up at him with a look that begs for no arguments.]
But I want it to be my business. So how about that? I don't want you suffering like this! For no good reason at that! You reeeally don't have to punish yourself.
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He allows himself to be dragged by the hand to the edge of his unmade bed, mattress dipping under their combined weight as a pale fringe casts a shadow over haggard features. The thumbs that run over his knuckles in an attempt to soothe do little but make something catch in his throat, body turning idly away from the Acrobat as he tries to swallow whatever it is.
Mike is vibrant. His smile is warm. Presence, while earning his ire half the time, all too comforting in a place like this. He'll never say it out loud, but some pathetic part of him finds his touch leaving him too soon on occasion. He's aggravating, insufferable on the best of days, but even Andrew can't argue the man's nearly blinding brightness that some part of him envies. Burning bright, just like that damnable light in the sky, and both of them (at least to him) are the same:
Painfully unattainable, at least to the likes of him.
No-- seeing that kind of future, with him and the others, it's...too much. It's hurts to be reminded of, because it feels like nothing more than some kind of dream made to mock him. Something he can never truly have, but can experience, just to make it more painful. He tries to not look at the other's face, at that obviously pained smile, even though he knows how much Mike hates his difficulties with eye contact. He's not sure he can handle looking into those bright greens now, afraid he'll see the same thing he did in a shade of purple. ]
I-I'm not... [ Suffering, punishing himself, but of course he is. Anybody with half a brain could see that. ] What's the point? This is just...something I'll have to get over, just like everything else. I'm already at rock bottom, so it's not like I can fall any further...
[ ...He says this all the time, doesn't he? And even if he's given an explanation, it still doesn't make sense. It never has, to Andrew. He opts to try and pull his hands free, thoughts starting to spin at a mile an hour. Because even if he's had thoughts he won't dare realize, there's no way anybody could actually feel the same, right? Even if a certain woman's voice echoes in his head, telling him otherwise, gaze flat and gut-wrenching. ]
...Why do you care so much?
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[He doth protest immediately. A quick attempt to lift spirits where they're plummeting at an alarming rate. Andrew pulls away physically the same way he is trying to emotionally and the look on Mike's face becomes undeniably panicked because of it. No, no, this isn't supposed to go like this.
Yet the confidence to see it through without the crippling fear of losing someone for good has been compromised recently. Fiona promised not to once they had that talk, she promised, but how close it really got makes a trembling settle in the acrobat's once steady hands. Yet again Mike finds himself in a moment where he's on his own trying to guide someone dear away from a path of self destruction.
It's overwhelming pressure that has landed upon his shoulders. Not unlike how it was in the Manor- how often Mike felt it important that he kept everyone's hopes up no matter how much it could prove to be an uphill battle at times. Bright eyes skirt along the edge of the bed for a moment to collect himself. He's really a vision of color against these glum sheets. Juxtaposed beside this downtrodden man.
A sorrowful fury lights in his core to know these people who have become dear think that they should suffer all alone. Especially because they have the option not to. Mike gnaws on the side of his cheek. He didn't react in time to stop Andrew from freeing his hands but at the least he can follow the movement to twist his fingers into the rough material of one of those dark sleeves.
He's always thinking about all the things that could've- should've been said to the dearly departed. He's all to unwilling to make the same mistake again. Despite the increasingly crestfallen look his cheeks pinken.]
Obviously it's because I care about you. I really want to see you become a happier person someday, you know? I'd be even happier if you'd let me help you get there.
[Mike shifts restlessly after feeling pinned in place by his own admission. It's foolish to leave oneself vulnerable like this. It's not unlike precariously placing a fragile fledgling bird in the taller man's grip to crush if he so pleases. Yet it's a sign of the trust that's built over the time spent here.
Because he knows Andrew doesn't want to be hurting anyone besides himself.]
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That...That doesn't mean you have to be there with me.
[ It's fine, because he's always been there by himself. Staring up at everyone else from the bottom rung of life, reaching at things that will forever be too far from his grasp. It's difficult to see how this hurts people when all he can do is focus on his own pain, so deep and wrenched in even a surgeon would have difficulty removing it, but that's not to say he doesn't try. It's just....
So...so difficult. He's been alone for how long, hurt for how long, painful words whispered on the wind to his ears while he tried to get what little sleep he could manage, tossing and turning and mumbling prayers nobody would bother listening to. Here he is, with somebody trying to reach out, and all he can feel in every cell in his body is crippling fear. Even right now, with the only glimpse being bright colors out of the corner of a bleary eye, Mike is dazzling. He shouldn't be here next to him, so dark and sunless, like a corpse freshly dug out of the earth.
He does, after all, know all too well what those look like.
There's another flinch at the hand that coils in his sleeve, despite his attempts to pull away. The refusal to give up should ignite some aggravation in his core, but between his own misery, the lack of sleep, and how worn he feels, it's difficult to muster up that spark of bite he tries to carry. Especially when that phrase makes his fingers clench, chewed nails digging tight into the bare skin of his palms. ]
I-I don't.... [ It feels almost laughable to admit, but he's nothing if not painfully truthful at times. ] I don't...remember that what feels like.
[ Happy. When was the last time he was happy? Really, truly happy? Perhaps back when his mother still drew breath, and she could feel the warmth of her touch and the love in her voice. But it's been so long since then, and it feels like all he's known for years is nothing but cold emptiness. Bitterness. Cynicism. Fear. Even here, with hot water and warm beds and all the food he can eat, he doesn't know if he can call himself that.
...Hah. Isn't that pitiful? A laugh, small and hollow, bubbles in his throat, and it hurts when it comes out. He thinks his voice cracks, head tilting further towards the floor as hairline cracks burst across his facade. ]
You....You can be around anybody else. Somebody w-who isn't-- somebody who's normal. [ This is all he's ever wanted to hear, and yet he's all too afraid it'll slip away in time, just like all of his other hopes. He can taste blood in his mouth. ] You can have somebody who...isn't just...pretending to live! And yet you just....you...you're telling me the truth...? Of all your options, you want to stay here-?
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[Being able to distract others from their hardships is the reason Mike exists. Everybody has been so preoccupied with their purpose? Fate this. Normalcy that. Well being dazzling enough to make people forget all about their pain is his.
If this is anything to go by he obviously has been doing a terrible job. Because why else would someone close to him still feels like this? The sardonic little laugh of Andrew's causes his breath to hitch dangerously. He hates it, he hates it, oh how he hates that. It's something so little that causes the blond to inhale a tremulous breath to re-center himself. When that doesn't work he pinches his thigh in punishment for even thinking of allowing himself to be anything but a source of encouragement right now. Andrew has always been the melancholic sort. But to know how deeply that depression runs, truly, makes a lump form in his throat. He dearly wishes that he could hold onto his sparking anger at the situation.]
Don't just look away from me while you ask that.
[This time when Mike moves to take his hand it isn't immediate. Just as there is a pause in his response he takes his time tracing his quivering fingers along the blue vein hidden underneath snow white skin. The pathway which spreads Andrew's life force from the wrist up to his finger tips. The feather light touch becomes far more tangible once the acrobat presses their palms together. He wants Andrew to see how he looks at him. Don't look away!
That look i as frightened as it is pining for what the future could hold. It's reflected in the way his eyes watch his own movement from wrist to palm until it breaks away to settle on Andrew's pitiably self-loathing expression. This time when Mike slots his fingers in between the other's he has no intention of letting him pull away again.]
You aren't just pretending to live. You ARE living and I'm not going to let you spend another moment disparaging yourself like this just 'cause you want to pretend like you don't deserve anything!
[Whether or not Andrew decides to look the acrobat's eyes have begun to sting with a tell-tale sheen. His own thoughts sucker punch him. Because what if Andrew has always meant exactly what he's always said? That he's had enough of Mike. If that was the case- Mike's just been contributing more to this overwhelming unhappiness.
Well! If that's how it is then Andrew is going to have to insist that he hates him that much to his face. Then he'll have to do it again for good measure. At least he'll go out stubborn like he often does. That little temper at the injustice of it mounts once again and his voice goes shrill the more he exclaims.]
If I didn't want to stay I would've left already! But I didn't! Because I want to stay with you! So- So don't you try to push me away like this! Because I don't want to go. I'll say it over and over until you actually believe it for once!
And you- [His voice breaks- because there's so much more to this- and so does the dam holding back the tears in his eyes. The ones that Mike immediately and furiously tries to wipe away with his free hand. With no other place to go that anger gets expressed through the way Mike squeezes Andrew's hand on and off. It's possible that he could lose one, or two, people if he's not careful. Certainly, the pressure to make things okay is all on Mike.] You're not allowed to disappear either.
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Don't look away, he says, even though he's so deathly afraid if he takes one look at that face, sees the look in his eyes, he's going to shatter. ]
I— W-What am I supposed to do—?
[ The barely-there touch makes him shiver, own breath hitching as it traces a steady path along his skin, tensing up rather than pulling it away once more. It's just— It feels so...kind. Soft, gentle, and not anything he's really dealt with, even here. There was a bit, a long time ago, but neither of them were exactly in their right minds. It wasn't like this, when the dim light is reflecting off both their glimmering eyes, throat tight with something he can't even place because it's so foreign. The soft bumps of another's palm press into his, and a partially hidden gaze slowly falls to latch onto the like he doesn't know how to respond.
The slow lock of another's fingers with his is nearly gut-wrenching, an agonizing twist as his own twitch, pads of his fingers barely brushing the back of Mike's hand in a gesture of uncertainty.
He's always convinced himself he was barely living, mimicking a pitiful existence dedicated to nothing but padding the rattling box under his bed, preparing himself for an end he was practically ready to welcome. Constantly ready for death but only mildly afraid of what comes after, pretending he could get somewhere he definitely knew he had no place in.
And yet— the declarations, the way his voice gets higher and louder, and Andrew feels like he's stuck in place, rooted to the bed and to the floor. The tightening grip on his hand drags him back, to listen to other's voice break, and finally Andrew's head turns like a man accepting his fate only to freeze at the sight of tears running down Mike's face.
Ah. This is...his fault, isn't it? All he's done is toss and push away people when they've tried to reach out, because he's afraid of what he feels is an inevitability. It's so much easier to feel safe like this, and yet all he feels is cold claws ripping down every defense he's laid down so haphazardly over the years, eyes starting and blur in turn. ]
A-All of this, and you...you still just... [ The breath in his chest rattles, unable to tear his gaze away no matter how badly he wants to. Why is he looking at him like that? With a gaze that makes him feel so equally sick and warm on the inside. ] Even though I'm j-just— hurting you, this is really what you want? Staying here with me, despite everything else...!
[ Being near somebody else like this feels so painful, painfully nice, and if he's not careful he might choke. How many years has it been since he's first thought of this, of somebody's warm acceptance, and resigned himself to it being an impossibility? He can't even wipe his own wet face, free hand busy digging bloody crescent moons into his palm. ]
You...just so damn insistent.... [ He can't really hold himself together anymore, fingers shaking and expression utterly pitiful. His own grip on their tightens, like he doesn't believe it's real and he's testing the waters. ] You say you won't leave, but c-can you promise that? Like that stupid vision...promise that you'll just...stay here, and you won't leave me behind...what am I supposed to do if you do go? If I get used to this, then how can I— How can I go back to being alone...?!
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Because the acrobat knows well that the lives you hold the nearest and dearest to your heart can be snatch away all too soon. It's all too easy for life to bereave someone of their loved ones. If promises and words could do that he wouldn't have been left behind like he was. Those are thoughts that really get the tears to start stream down his anguish flushed freckled cheeks.
But you make the best of the time you get to live, right, isn't that the truth?]
I have to be insistent— ! Because, you know, I, [He laughes weakly. But a hiccup puts an end to it.] I don't think you'd ever listen if I wasn't!
[Promises... Sometimes Mike wonders if the gravekeeper remembers the promise Mike made to him when he was a lot smaller. That he meant it. That he's got his back unconditionally now, after everything. Even way back when at the time that Mike discovered there was so much more to the man than his destitute image? That he is capable of happiness even if he thinks he isn't. Or just how long the acrobat has been trying to help Andrew accept that he doesn't have to be so alone with him at his side. All he had to do was take Mike's hand.
If not, that's alright, because Mike thinks about all of it often enough for them both.
Now it's not his own face that Mike moves to wipe the tears from. It takes a tense moment for him to bunch up his sleeve one handed so he can brush the fabric along wet trails staining Andrew's face. If it were another day and he would be elated to see Andrew express emotions other than disdain or fear. But seeing such a heartbreaking face now feels tantamount to having his own heart torn. How has everything come to this? It's getting hard to breath. It seems like Mike has last all control and he feels lightheaded for it.
Before realizing that he's done it he has pushes forward to press the taller man into the unmade sheets. So he can hover above him and keep him there. So he can try to regain a handle on this situation. But more importantly it's to keep Andrew from leaving. To make him listen. But his own act of desperation shocks a sob out of Mike's frame once he fully realizes he's done it.
Plip, plip, plip. A rainfall of tears spill over onto a near-white canvas as Mike straddles the person he's desperate to hold on to. Now it can be both of their tears, mixed together, that he tries to wipe from Andrew's face.]
I'll stay! All you have to do is hold onto me in return. Because anywhere I go I'll be sure to take you with me! O-or if this is where you want to stay— anything!
[A dark and ugly part of him rears its head as Mike twists his hand in Andrew's shirt and squeezes their hands together tight. For what it's worth they're being candid now. The earth feel like it's shaking around them. But in reality those are his own legs that are trembling against the hips he's straddling. The dim light of the room illuminates the acrobat like a back light as a whimper hits the air and his face scrunches up in pain.]
I'll do anything you want, okay?! I'll be anything you want me to be as long as you'll promise to hold on too.
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He had failed her then, when she had begged him in cursive scrawl not to cry, and he wonders if he's doing the same now. Would she be ashamed of the wretch her son has become, heart closed off so tightly it's taking the pain of another to pry the nails off it? ]
That— I...
[ The sad thing is he can't even deny it. It's so easy for him to take passiveness as defeat, as acceptance that he's right in all his fears, and he recalls the sharp rip of claws in his heart as he listened to Fiona take his words and simply leave, leaving him with the cold tide sinking into his bones.
'Your preoccupation with your personal angst not only harms yourself, but others as well'—
Perhaps this is what was meant by that.
His face feels hot, burning trails sliding down the expanse of a gaunt face and exaggerating the dark smudges beneath his eyes to a disgusting degree. He probably looks as hideous as he feels, twisted and ugly like he's always been told he is, but the soft brush of fabric dabbing away the wetness on his face is so soft he has to choke back another pained whimper. Is this truly what it feels like? To be loved?
It's so painful. It's so excruciating it's ripping him apart, and he doesn't even notice the distance closing until he's thrown off balance, back pressing to the bed beneath and a small form hovering over him. For a moment, he's so shocked he freezes up, propped up on boney elbows as he stares up, salty liquid mixing to the point he doesn't know who's tears are who's anymore. All he can do is desperately swallow the near-impossible lump in his aching throat, feeling the soaked sleeve merely succeed in smearing tears over his burning cheeks. ]
...E-Even if I've done things God won't forgive me for? Even if I'm... [ He can't pretend to be a saint anymore, not when the wooden cross splayed across his chest feels like a ten-tonne weight crushing his ribcage. ] I've done things that are sinful, unforgivable, but y-you'd still do it? No matter what...!
[ Andrew can feel the trembling; it matches his own, the unsteady shiver of his hands as they squeeze in turn. The look on Mike's face is what makes his head spin, the offer so tantalizing it takes him a few moments to try and catch his breath to actually act. His weight shifts uneasily as one hand wraps around the other curled in rumpled white fabric, before it shakily reaches up to slide against the side of the shorter man's face. His fingers come away wet, but it's fine as they reach up further, brushing past golden curls before he lightly pushes the others head to his chest, burying his face in his air and taking a deep breath that shakes as much as the rest of him in an attempt to ground himself. ]
I just...want you to be you. If you— If you can stay as you are, then I'll...! I'll... [ It's not an easy task, baring himself to someone else after all these years, but maybe now....now, it can be fine? After so long? ] I'll try...f-for you, then...
>1 week ago. IM SO SORRY FORGIVE ME
It's a wonder that the deluge of tears streaming from his eyes haven't carved tracks in his cheeks by now. They burn like they should be. A simple task like in and out cadence of each breath drains all energy from the acrobat. However, still so defiant of being seen ugly crying he sniffles- but it's a little too late for that with the mess they've both made of themselves. What a pitiful little pair they make indeed.
Perhaps to the chagrin of his roommate Mike pushes himself back up and away from Andrew's chest. Although it takes effort to shift out of the hold Andrew has on him. He's been what others would regard as a endless ball of energy his whole life. Capable of bouncing back from everything with a smile. But this? After a week of agonizing over the what-ifs and the way everyone avoided everyone else that youthful stamina drains from Mike. He leans what feel like overburdened shoulders over Andrew as he places his hand to cup a hollowed cheek. Not a moment after Andrew finishes his bit a tear soaked thumb brushes along the seam of the lips surrendering enticing promise to the air.
A great deal of wonderment shines through the otherwise anguished expression on Mike's face. His hand replaces the place where his head was once resting against that broad chest. The deep pulse that proclaims Andrew as just as alive as Mike has stubbornly wanted believe him to be begins to anchor him again. Like that- sitting slumped while his legs barely keep him from sitting all of his dead weight on Andrew's torso- a point of no return reached. Mike wouldn't be able to get off now even if he wanted to. He doesn't want to and his legs won't allow it.
He's ballsy, known for it, really. Impulsive at times too. But for this he has to work up the nerve to do what he knows he wants to do so badly.]
There's no way I'd care about any of that! 'Cause I like the you that I know! Besides, who hasn't done things they regret! Listen here, Andrew, because it's really important— I don't care. I want to try for you too. So can I-...Uhmm!
[Mike's mouth works soundlessly around the words he wants to say. The words that get cut off by his own disobedient throat. The desire he wants to act on. It's absurd that his cheeks begin to flush not only from the upset racking his body but out of embarrassment... Out of something close enough to timidity that it'll be both hilarious and mortifying to look back on. The curls set free from the absence of his usual hat bounce following a shake of Mike's head. Like he's berating himself for faltering.
Just allow him one good honest kiss and maybe it'll start to feel alright. Just let all of it be out in the open. He'll take whatever judgement or punishment or hate there is to receive afterward. Tear clumped eye lashes lower over his exhausted eyes as they drop to Andrew's lips to try to communicate what he hasn't put a voice to yet. Still, as impatient as he can be, more than enough time is being granted to the gravekeeper to put a stop to it if that's how this is meant to go. Mike tentatively leans in until lips hover a scant few millimeters apart. Just the proximity is enough to steal his own breath away as he glances back up to look into Andrew's eyes.]
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Seeing someone else cry, because of him (because of his choices, as unintended as they are), it just...hurts. Hurting people is never his real intention, but protecting himself...it's always been the better way, at least in his eyes. Not once did he ever think somebody would cry over him again, no matter the reason. His shirt feels wet from a torrent of tears, both his own and not, and his face and neck feel uncomfortably sticky even as they continue to trail.
He isn't expecting the movement, finding his grounding grip slipping away as he becomes forced to stare at that stained face again. It's almost too much to bear, and he wants to tear his eyes away just so he doesn't have to look, a hand slipping back to the rumpled bedspread while the other slowly presses to the gentle touch currently cupping his cheek. The thumb that brushes his lips leaves the taste of salt, but he doesn't have it in him to complain right now. Not when he can see that look on Mike's face, this emotion peering through the pain that makes him feel so small.
Andrew lightly turns his head, a small choked noise escaping as a palm presses flat to the curve of his ribs, heart thrumming against them far faster than he'd prefer. He feels— embarrassed. Ugly. He doesn't want to show this kind of frail, vulnerable face, afraid of what would come of it. He thinks of the agonizing faces his mother would make when she thought he wasn't looking, like the weight of the world was pressing against her feeble back, and wonders if that's what he looks like. Suffering for love. What a funny thing to imagine, that the same thing is happening all over again, but this time almost stronger.
He listens, a small whisper trying to convince him that the blond wouldn't be saying these things if he knew what he'd done, but a stronger one pushes that voice to the back of his head. It just sounds too good to be true, and doesn't he maybe deserve this? Just once, hearing these types of things, isn't he allowed that after so long? ]
C...Can you...?
[ The cut-off earns a wet blink, shivers momentarily pausing as he stares up at the other's face as it hovers over him, smaller body almost caging him in. Being him, he can only stare in confusion at the red flush that starts to spread over freckled cheeks, the bob of curls only making his brows furrow.
Naive and embroiled in a deluge of emotions as he is, he doesn't pick up on any of the subtler signals, only registering the closing distance and the soft breath on his face as lips hover directly over his own. Andrew grows rigid, out of...confusion? Apprehension? This is something he's only done once (perhaps twice, but the other one doesn't deserve to be thought of right now), and he can't say the feelings there even came close to...this. His heart practically feels like a jackhammer pounding against his chest, and the realization earns a steady, slow swallow.
The light tremble returns, to accompany the slow rise of a pale, scarred hand. It settles on the other's cheek, thumb anxiously brushing the tip of a reddened ear as he takes another deep breath. This...he probably doesn't deserve this, but just this time he wants to be selfish. Selfish enough to push himself up just the slightest, to tentatively push his lips against the Acrobat's. It's not perfect, clumsy and still tasting of the salt that drips and soaks their clothes and the sheets below, but it feels so suffocatingly warm that he just really doesn't care. Not when he hasn't felt this safe in years, being this close to another in far more ways than physical. ]