Characters: Ace, Machi, Yukimi Setting: Cricket Bedroom Time: Day 14 Summary: There is such as too much music. Machi can smell your blood. Warnings: Yukimi and Ace? Machi being defensive. This thread will contain bickering.
Ace didn't quite register what was happening until his fingers had closed around Yukimi's wrist, eyes still clouded with half-awareness. "Don't go."
His? Machi's? He wasn't actually sure, maybe they had both rejected the idea as hard and subconsciously as they could, and Ace had moved without thinking about the owner of the possessiveness.
Yukimi couldn't go. Yukimi needed to stay.
Nothing else really mattered at the moment.
His fingers were locked around Yukimi's wrist. Human wrist. Oh shit. But he couldn't let go. Yukimi would leave and he couldn't let him leave. But he couldn't hurt him by holding on. He almost whined, He was too tired to figure these things out, and finally settled for loosening his hold and grabbing the blond's sleeve instead.
Yukimi stopped short and turned around, somewhat incredulous. He got what was coming off Machi, whether or not he really understood it, but Ace... It wasn't like him to do this kind of thing. I mean. Not that he was really acting like himself since the incident, but still.
"...What?" he asked, rubbing his wrist where the cold had left it numb. He didn't try to pry Ace off his sleeve; didn't really matter, and the guy might grab his arm again. He wasn't a masochist or anything. "It's not like I'm not coming back. Just going to catch some sleep for a bit."
"Don't go." can'tprotectyou,needyouherepleasepleaseplease. Packandsaftyandneedmine Not his emotions, not really, not all of them. But enough of them. Enough of them that he didn't fight the surge, just bowed his head and hung on with all his might. distressandneed.
"We'll get you some earplugs, or something, with the crickets we all probably need them, right? I mean..." he was babbling, but Yukimi couldn't go. His half-awake brain was sure of this. If he let him go Yukimi might vanish.
The surge of possessiveness definitely wasn't his. His fingers tightened on Yukimi's sleeve, eyes glazed and pupils dilated. He wasn't himself, but he was enough of himself not to fight the panicked need. "Please, Yukimi." Some small shard of me kept pleading with Yukimi not to leave him alone. Because Yukimi was all that was keeping him just enough grounded not to lose it completely.
He was babbling. Yukimi didn't really get it; it would only be for a few hours, and near as he could tell Machi didn't want him around anyway. He figured that Ace might like giving the kid a bit of a break. But on a deeper level, he kind of understood, even if the whys and wherefores were lost on him. Ace-- and maybe even Machi-- they still needed him, even if they were too scattered and broken to show it most of the time. And how could he refuse that kind of flattery? Not to get all mushy or anything, but it was kind of nice. He'd been doubting it recently. When Machi acknowledged him at all it was with a glare, and Ace had formed some weird bond with Machi. Felt like they'd become some kind of exclusive "we-were-tortured-more-recently-than-you" club and he was just kind of that guy who shared the room.
"Okay, okay." He and sighed ruffled Ace's hair with his free hand. "If it's that terrible for me to go, I guess I can babysit a bit longer." He shoved his hand in his pocket and turned back towards his makeshift bed, shaking his
( ... )
It would have been an understatement to say that Machi didn't understand what had just happened. He'd felt it, seen it--the churning metamorphosis of emotions, the confrontation, the conversion, but he didn't understand, couldn't even begin to, and he pulled back a little, perplexed and unsettled and disoriented even as relief, a small, budding glow trickled through, a moment--
For whatever reason, Yukimi wasn't going to leave.
He settled back, burrowing backwards a little in the den of fabric, his hand pressed onto the inlaid wood of the music box, indenting the skin and sending a sharp cut of pain up into his arm as he watched, disconcerted and critical, but... mollified. His emotions and Yukimi's jumbled up, bouncing off each other and catching edges, fragmenting him, and he shut down a little, trying to wall off and contain as he tried to sort through what was his and what wasn't.
Beneath the blankets, the music started to wind down.
Comments 11
His? Machi's? He wasn't actually sure, maybe they had both rejected the idea as hard and subconsciously as they could, and Ace had moved without thinking about the owner of the possessiveness.
Yukimi couldn't go. Yukimi needed to stay.
Nothing else really mattered at the moment.
His fingers were locked around Yukimi's wrist. Human wrist. Oh shit. But he couldn't let go. Yukimi would leave and he couldn't let him leave. But he couldn't hurt him by holding on. He almost whined, He was too tired to figure these things out, and finally settled for loosening his hold and grabbing the blond's sleeve instead.
"Please."
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"...What?" he asked, rubbing his wrist where the cold had left it numb. He didn't try to pry Ace off his sleeve; didn't really matter, and the guy might grab his arm again. He wasn't a masochist or anything. "It's not like I'm not coming back. Just going to catch some sleep for a bit."
Reply
"We'll get you some earplugs, or something, with the crickets we all probably need them, right? I mean..." he was babbling, but Yukimi couldn't go. His half-awake brain was sure of this. If he let him go Yukimi might vanish.
The surge of possessiveness definitely wasn't his. His fingers tightened on Yukimi's sleeve, eyes glazed and pupils dilated. He wasn't himself, but he was enough of himself not to fight the panicked need. "Please, Yukimi." Some small shard of me kept pleading with Yukimi not to leave him alone. Because Yukimi was all that was keeping him just enough grounded not to lose it completely.
Reply
"Okay, okay." He and sighed ruffled Ace's hair with his free hand. "If it's that terrible for me to go, I guess I can babysit a bit longer." He shoved his hand in his pocket and turned back towards his makeshift bed, shaking his ( ... )
Reply
For whatever reason, Yukimi wasn't going to leave.
He settled back, burrowing backwards a little in the den of fabric, his hand pressed onto the inlaid wood of the music box, indenting the skin and sending a sharp cut of pain up into his arm as he watched, disconcerted and critical, but... mollified. His emotions and Yukimi's jumbled up, bouncing off each other and catching edges, fragmenting him, and he shut down a little, trying to wall off and contain as he tried to sort through what was his and what wasn't.
Beneath the blankets, the music started to wind down.
Reply
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