Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see.

[erasemeaway]

WHO: Yoite / Sora {erasemeaway}, and Steve/ Tim {bratwonder}
WHAT: Discussions of a Blackbird and a Robin.
WHERE: Yoite's Room, the Bathouse
WHEN: The Day after Valentine's Day.

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[bratwonder]

His work was grim this week, when he shouldered the cape at all. The late night left him too weighted down to fly.

Dusk was Yoite's time. More now than ever, when he didn't want to be seen in the red and gold, Yoite's room was a refuge of light colors and less than heavy thoughts. Every day he was still here was a good day. They could talk about more than ever; he could bring simple foods and point out Jilly's sketches and toss stuffed animals around.

(Not Matsuri's. But the other ones.)

The glimmered sunset winked out its last reds as Tim slipped sideways through the half-open door. Sora (always Sora, in these walls, and Yoite outside of them, to others and in public) was strong enough to perch, and the sight brought a flicker of a smile to his face. He moved to alight next to his strange brother, friend, One-Of-Us.

The bed shifted as they shared the perch.

[erasemeaway]

"Hello," Yoite's greeting was always a tender, light one, even when his throat was raw and made his syllables scratch.

The end of Yoite's quilt draped around Tim's shoulder fondly, the way a wing would curve around another, or the way a cape would fall. Tired blue eyes crinkled a bit as he gave him a smile. Fingers pawed his face. Though Yoite's sight had returned, it was often touch and go, and the ritual had become familiar, comforting, another form of greeting as he checked each feature.

"How was today?" He asked, inquiring with a tilt of his head toward Tim.

[bratwonder]

Tim just tilted his face into it, long since accustomed enough to hold back any visible reaction. Anybody else would be lashed out at before their fingers got near that close to his neck, but Sora was (dangerous, lethal even, but) okay.

"Quiet." he said back, which was one way of not saying I didn't really go out. He'd removed himself enough that nobody would find him unless they were really looking, kept out of the red blur that was Impulse's day patrol, and exercised enough to blank his mind.

His smile had flown off before he even noticed. He slid a few inches closer, and shared the warmth.

[erasemeaway]

Blackened hands held death's touch in a moment. Tim was one of a handful of people that did not recoil at his mottled skin. Yoite tucked his arms idly about one of Tim's, letting himself lean against him equally, so that between their weight, they held one another up.

"It's been quiet for a while." He answered, and it was his way of saying I only just got out of bed. He sighed, rustling Tim's dark hair.

"Tim," He began quietly, "Are you alright?"