BRIGADE
Maybe this entire interaction could have gone differently had they just approached it differently.
Maybe they would have found that middle ground and been amazed at the way they could understand each other so well. Maybe he would have found that the rhythm of her heart so perfectly matched his own and she would have traced the edges of his bruises until they mapped the borders of her own. Maybe, maybe, maybe—but it doesn’t matter because they were knives at the throat and poison on the tongue and whatever sweetness may have lived between them has long ago withered into nothing.
He turns his head slightly, the muscles in his jaw working just slightly.
When he looks back, he too has managed to control the blaze in his eye and he is more subdued. He has not completely lost the edge to his voice, but it is more internalized, his gaze no longer a weapon. “I try to stay away too,” he admits, even though that much is obvious. “I don’t think I ever learned how to just be normal,” and this confession is softer as his brow furrows, as he looks down to the ground.
He always loved that he had been raised by wolves.
But now—well, he couldn’t blame it on them, could he?
Brigade shakes the silken red of his mane out against his curved neck, his wings pressing heavily into his sides. “Maybe we can start over,” he offers, even though it feels like lead on his tongue, “or maybe it’s better if I just leave you alone and hope that the next soul you run into is a kinder one.”
There is something that flickers beneath his light grey eyes that looks like regret.
But before anyone could parse it out, it’s gone and his face is carved from stone again.
the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do
@[Brinly]