Che - [ a click of his tongue, and the rise and fall of a shoulde in a shrug, a creak of cartilage in its socket.
rin speaks of pride and it should make heine rise in his hackles. should parry the jab, like a starved dig eager to action. except he speaks of pride and heine covets his lack of admittance. in silence like of a doberman's jaw, wet and unyielding. his pride sits in his throat, in his chest. I'm the thump thump thump of rotten heart because pride and guilt is the very thread which weaves the paperthin blue of his veins.
and that's fine. ] Accept help?
Or some daydream? [ he cannot accept. will not. because nothing about his nature would allow him otherwise. and the hound bays in echo, hungry and messy and crude and for a moment longer,heine does not remember where he starts and the collar ends.
perhaps he never will. ] Look. I told you what you needed to know. That's it. I'm not asking for help. [ so stop shoving it down my throat is implied.]
[ rin nearly forms a rebuttal, crude in his own desire to make heine see his perspective.
and then he looses his tethered breath. it's not worth it. ]
Fine.
[ rin doesn't let anything go so easily, though.
maybe it's a virtue. maybe it's a personality defect.
but heine stands before him like he's proving something, folding the edges of his paper-thin skin back to show blood and bone and sinew. like it's nothing. like all that he's been through is another chapter in the story of his life, unremarkable in all respects.
and it isn't. it deserves the attention that rin's giving it. heine shouldn't have to live like this, isolated except for a moment here and a moment there, not unhappy so much as unfeeling.
he makes judgment after judgment, and it's folly or it's kindness or it's some corrosive mixture of both.
either way, this isn't the end of it.
rin looks away, both hands clutched like anchors in the ocean of flowers around him, and doesn't try to perpetuate the argument. ]
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rin speaks of pride and it should make heine rise in his hackles. should parry the jab, like a starved dig eager to action. except he speaks of pride and heine covets his lack of admittance. in silence like of a doberman's jaw, wet and unyielding. his pride sits in his throat, in his chest. I'm the thump thump thump of rotten heart because pride and guilt is the very thread which weaves the paperthin blue of his veins.
and that's fine. ] Accept help?
Or some daydream? [ he cannot accept. will not. because nothing about his nature would allow him otherwise. and the hound bays in echo, hungry and messy and crude and for a moment longer,heine does not remember where he starts and the collar ends.
perhaps he never will. ] Look. I told you what you needed to know. That's it. I'm not asking for help. [ so stop shoving it down my throat is implied.]
no subject
and then he looses his tethered breath. it's not worth it. ]
Fine.
[ rin doesn't let anything go so easily, though.
maybe it's a virtue. maybe it's a personality defect.
but heine stands before him like he's proving something, folding the edges of his paper-thin skin back to show blood and bone and sinew. like it's nothing. like all that he's been through is another chapter in the story of his life, unremarkable in all respects.
and it isn't. it deserves the attention that rin's giving it. heine shouldn't have to live like this, isolated except for a moment here and a moment there, not unhappy so much as unfeeling.
he makes judgment after judgment, and it's folly or it's kindness or it's some corrosive mixture of both.
either way, this isn't the end of it.
rin looks away, both hands clutched like anchors in the ocean of flowers around him, and doesn't try to perpetuate the argument. ]