[private] shook like some old souls when our bones broke

[brigade]

I was a poor boy; you were a bright light
I was a sinner and you were a snake

Brigade was no stranger to tense encounters, but he had never been able to pinpoint exactly what had started the anger with the two of them. Were they simply two mirrors who couldn’t escape the truths that the other showed? Were they too eager to slip poison onto the other’s tongue? It was one of the mysteries that haunted him, chasing his every step, and it does not get easier now, standing before her like this.

He doesn’t hide the way that he appraises her, his stormy gaze cutting across her—taking note of the heat that blooms on her flesh. A muscle jumps in his jaw and he swallows, but doesn’t say anything else in regard to the way she looks. To the impossible beauty of a flame that could burn you down.

Would it be purifying?

Or simply pain?

Would he know the difference?

“How have I been?” he asks, incredulous, and he doesn’t bother to hide the pained amusement. How they are pretending that they are friends—that they were anything but knives angled toward one another’s throat. He laughs bitterly and shakes his head but doesn’t drive here away yet—doesn’t run. “I was dead for a while,” he says, dropping the bomb with little ceremony.

He wasn’t going to start pretending now that he had any kind of tact. 

“But I’m obviously not now, so that’s always a plus.” His voice is dry, like kindling just waiting to set fire and he almost baits her—just wanting her to prove that he is just as as despicable as ever.

“What of you, Brinly? How have you been?”

His eyes crackle to life like a thunderstorm nestled deep in the clouds, and he waits.

shook like some old souls when our bones broke
swallowed the sickness, a fever, a flame

BRIGADE