Work Text:
𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟༺ ♰ ༻𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎡
Vampires can't sleep.
Every time he had closed his eyes to even get a wink of serenity, they came back open. so for the past 200 years, in the grave he dug himself, without air to breathe of sun to see, he was awake.
He was never able to settle as his mind thwarted through illusions againced his better judgment should have forgotten, forcing his anger to persist under his skin, forging it into his very bones. Never abetting him to soundly sleep.
A restless beast roams the woods, one hundred meters from the castle gates. And four hundred from the steady town of Oakhurst. This forest, which Owen was very familiar with, was the only thing that stayed true to him. The town nor the castle for him to be fitting true. For it was his domain, and the rough patterns of bark and limb matched his complexion more than any human or vampire could.
Here was darker, shadowy. as the sun did not thwart its godly radiance here; the light was filtered through the pine like tiny stained glass windows of green. faded and golden from the canopies of green needles and thick gnarled branches, hiding him, making him able to jaunt out in the day without so mutch as a tickle of sunray induced pain.
He had sauntered through the forest until it opened into a glade, the surrounding pine greedily reaching inwards to attempt to swallow up the light.
an old grey-barked tree he had approached. And He had drew his hatchet like second nature, sucking in a useless breath from his useless lungs.
He wondered how the forest had gotten to this point; it was choked by its old wood, so many of the old trees hadn't yet rotted. The dead leaves from last year's fall and the year before that stayed plastered to the ground; the forest had nobody to cull or pull away at the old dead things and forced the new to grow angry: force their way into an unruly existence instead of softly. He wondered if the forest had ever missed him, then he cursed himself for thinking such a thing; the forest has no mind, nor has it any remembrance of him. He had resided here once and then had gone. There is no use in silly things as such.
Nevermind. The lumberjack came here to escape his thoughts, not indulge in them.
He settled, gripping his axe firmly in his hands, his shoulders and muscles shifting as he swung. The blade's wood handle was steady, sanded down perfectly to avoid any splinter. It was made from this very forest. The axe was at its arc, being angled just correct enough to enter the notch in the wood he had preemptively made with his claw. gritting his teeth as he swung, the forest held its breath as the crack rang out and the wood forebodingly snapped and broke and fell all in one go, to be a thump heard throughout the forest.
He had forgotten his strength in his nostalgia. He had forgotten that the axe had been weightless in his hands, and his steps, his strides, longer and faster and more powerful. His vision is clearer, and his complexion is now simply scarred, rather than shaking with wrathful wounds.
He flexed his claws, brushing them through his white unruly hair. He approached another tree, this one growing mushrooms at the base of it, its bark old and dying; this one had to go. "For the good of the forest," he said, but as he went on, he found himself cutting down at least four or five of them unnecessarily. He didn't need wood; he didn't need to cook food or use it for warmth; those things were past him. Vampires don't need such things as warmth. He let a small twinge of regret rest on his face before wiping it away on the back of his sleeve.
upon the hour of high noon it was. and the sun shone brightly in the heart of the glade. Where The trees couldn't greedily hide the grassy spot in the middle away. He sat in the edge in the shadows. drawing with a stick in the dirt. It was childlike, but what else is he to do? to talk with his coven? (a 'coven’; he did curse himself that he even conceived of them as kin, for it was all but a feigned act; they were no family.) They others were either asleep or patrolling; converting, and such, not that they would be any good conversation anyway. and the humans were an obvious no, except...
He tutted himself. The damned doctor.
Admittedly he was one of the more tolerable ones; he wouldn't consider him a friend, but... he made sense, he was agreeable and not as driven by pure emotion, and he admired that in him. He was smart, level-headed, and logical. And he trusted him, a small amount. Alas, the man was deluded. His reluctance to accept the inevitable vexed him to a horrible extent, but he was sure he could fix him up, in one way or another.
Shuffling was heard, his ears perked, and the air smelled of blood and dirt and cattle and...human. He whipped 'round, with a most fierce growl. rising upon his feet.
“Who goes there?” He shouted, and the wood echoed back.
There was more shuffling, and as it approached, it smelled more strongly of soap and concentrated alcohol and the retching smell of holy water.
“Show yourself!” he exclaimed once more, though he had known who was approaching. Only a would hear his voice and approach, and that's exactly who it was.
A slow-walking man emerged from the shadows, walking into the sunlight. From the other side of the grove was a pale man with a white apron.
Speak of the devil and he shall come’
“Owen.” the man spoke, a greeting, nodding his head.
He looked only a bit different from their last parlay. He had the same steady apron upon his attire, but yet, concealed in a discreet wrap was his wrist, the place where he had last placed his hearty fangs his sleeve cuff was fastened somewhat higher. And though, His stride all the same, he was beholding a small picnic basket. Which didn't exactly match the man quite well.
“Legundo,” he responded, struggling with that level tone the other man had used so easily. not mimicking it fully.
“How long were you watching me?”
“Not long. I had just seen you crowch near the sun”
“Is anybody with you?”
“No. Owen.”
“...Are you still trying to cure me? I've told you, it's a fruitless endeavor.’”
“No, I am not here to argue with you, Owen. We are both too stubborn for this.”
“Then what is your business here?? Or do you fancy yourself a stalker?”
“I was already here. the forest is not claimed by either human or vampire. and I promise you I am no stalker. But for some of your vampyric friends? I'm not too sure.“
“They aren't my friend's doctor; they are barely acquaintances.” He spat
He paused, watching. The doctor looked as if he struck a nerve, and he did. But he'd never admit that.
“Anyways, shouldn't you humans know not to approach when there are loud noises in a shadowy forest?”
“I'm confident enough in my abilities to keep myself alive. But, to answer your former question-“
legs wrung his hands.
“My business here is…well truthe be told we are running out of my more.. commercial medicines; I have to resort to nature.”
Legundo held out his basket.
“Home remedies? I wouldn’t have put it past you!”
“I work with what I am given, and I know a thing or two… All modern medicine starts from somewhere."
Owen hummed at that, inspecting the basket. Wolfsbane, lots of red and brown cap mushrooms, an apple, some assortment of herbs and wild berries, and a notepad and some type of metal object. Thin like a pencil but mechanical looking. Whatever it was it didnt seem important enough that legs woudnt put it directly on his person, the rest of the things were all familiar to him and yet not at the same time.
“...I see you were chopping wood. For what?”
He shouldn't say that he did it out of pure boredom. That was fledgling things, not something a grown vampyre of two hundred years would do.
“Well, of course, I was a lumberjack before I turned. I don't want to get How you say... “rusty?""
“oh..Truly?”
“Why would I lie to you about something so trivial? He felt a twinge of agitation at his question.
“I mean… You don't look the part.”
He laughed at that. Only feeling a bit embarrassed, he was skinny, due to his human life, he looked better now in comparison, his wrists werebt broom sticks anymore, but he knew he still was in human standard emaciated.
“Oh! So do you think that because I wear a fancy blouse and vest that I am some sort of aristocrat that has never done manual labor in their life? I'm no Scott? Frankly, I'm hurt.” He brushed it off fine, he wasn't agitated at all.
“Well, no offense, but yes, that was my impression, but I stand corrected,” Legundo replies, looking only a bit embarrassed. Owen ceased his laughter.
The air was thick
Legundo set his basket down and plucked an apple from the basket, sitting down. Owen stayed standing before hesitantly sitting across from him, before Legindo drew a silver knife. Slicing the apple in two, than that into thirds tossing one into his mouth
Owen tightened, snarling
“What are you playing at doctor?”
Legs looked as surprised as he had before he followed his gaze to his pocketknife.
“Owen-“
"You dare bare a silver knife here?! What is your motive?”
“I had forgotten that it was silver clad! I would have never used it.”
“Did you also forget that the trees have leaves? Or the dirt has worms?
Legundo quickly cast the small knife behind him, landing somewhere in the brush.
“Owen, please. I meant nothing by this.”
“How do I know you don't have more? Maybe a convenient pair of surgical scissors? Or maybe in your apron pocket, a silver scalpel?!”
Legundo untied his apron, casting it aside too.
“...Owen, I promise. Do no harm. “There is trust here.”
The blood that boiled underneath his skin slowed to a simmer.
Owen had never seen legs without his apron on; he was sure nobody had ever seen him without an apron on. It was odd and weirdly intimate, and it was like seeing a performer out of costume. Almost uncanny, but to him it was somewhat intriguing. He was wearing all black: a blouse that seemed almost too informal, slack dress pants, and a worn dark brown leather belt. His clothes were form-fitting. And he didn't look…bad. That's all he's going to say.
Legs looked at the apple in his hands, almost looking to offer him one than quickly retreating from that idea.
“legs.”
He hesitated, peeling his eyes for a second.
“Why did you.. approach me?”
“Curiously… and well... I remembered when we had our last meeting-”
He had paused when he said it, rearranging his collar. And swallowing his apple
“-You had an illness before… well, he guessed to him, and he furrowed his brow in response.” And I would ask you if you wish to tell me your symptoms. And well.. I wanted to see how you were"
“ Are you trying to scrutinize me? If so, I'll take none of it. I'll let you know I'm far from entertaining that.”
“No, no,” the doctor paused. "I would wonder if a proper diagnosis would be of any help to you.”
“It's been centuries...how would you manage that?”
“well if you give me a chance I could help..”
“Well… Fine then.”
The doctor picked up a notepad from his basket and a the mechanical thing.
Human memories were not something he enjoyed exploring.
He was abominable, they would say. The nobles would scoff, and the priests would look on in pity. disliked and disgusted by everyone. He ran and hid, struggling with the pain alone, and dealing with the struggle with his axe, he would provide his own home and the town with lumber, and that was all that he was good for. until…
“Owen?”
Louis
“Owen, are you alright?”
“L-Legs- yes, I’m…I’m fine, it’s just-”
“hard remembering?”
“...Yes.”
He remembered Doctors draining the ‘bad blood’ out of him and how it would never work .but they always insisted. He hated it. It was the bane of his existence, really. He remembered how dizzy he would get; after some time, he would throw up too and then pass out, usually ending up in some confusing place he couldn't remember where he had gone
“I understand, looking back at bad memories is tasking. But...if you can describe anything, you don't have to, but it would be most helpful if you do."
“Well...to start...it was boils, like a growing burrowed deep and full of fire that would ravish my skin like bullet ants,” he spat. Disgusted with himself. “They would infest my muscles, my legs, and my arms. forcing them to start relentlessly shaking despite where I directed them; sometimes they could barely even write anything down.”
“..You said you were a lumberjack?”
“I never said I was a good one; half the time when I would attempt to cull the trees, I would pathetically miss or even drop my hatchet. On bad days when the winter would come, I wouldn't be able to even hold things or sleep. I would rot in my quarters wishing for death until the pain decreased, but it never really went away, just came in different amounts, well…until I met Louis."
The doctor wrote something down.
Oh Louis, he never treated him like he was fragile under his gaze. He was gentle, never stared, and never pitied. But then he was taken from him. His fists curled up, his claws digging into his palms enough to bleed.
Louis, please speak to me! please, please don't be gone. I can't-I can't lose you!
Legs edged forward, snapping him out of his spiral. “Owen?”
He grunted, fumbling from his position. The stress made it more difficult to use his claws correctly or just to focus in general. He would have been fine if there wasn't a damned human so close, so intent on… on whatever this was.
“What is on your mind?”
“Nothing. Doctor.”
“It gets better if you talk about it… I’d know.”
“I spent two hundred years grieving alone; I do not need to your wretched sympathy now.”
The man sighed, shaking his head. Owen didn't dare look at him.
The doctor handed him a satin bag. It was palm-sized and a purple-black color.
“What is this? If it is a sort of remedy you expect me to take?” Or would it be a god-forbidden shrapnel of silver?”
“It's just herbs; it helps calm nerves.”
“What could your weeds possibly do-”
“Just smell it. It helps.”
"This is wildly neurotic legundo"
" its worth a shot."
“-and I am not nervous; I am simply uncomfortable with the thought of a human near me-”
"I understand, but you could at least try-"
“Fine! Whatever, just don't plan on trying out leeching my blood next to help something else you decide to make up.”
It was childlike, and he almost hit himself for saying it. But This was stupid; he felt so jittery it hurt. And a bag of leaves was supposed to help him?
Legs eyelids blinked slowly in response; he had such tired eyes, a somber expression carved into his face like a constant look of worry. The man looked at him with an almost pleading look, egging him on. He reminded him of an old sheepdog, they had such tired eyes.
He never liked sheepdogs; they always barked at him when they would chop trees near where the forest would border farmers' land. thinking him a coyote. They were never scared of him though.
He smelled the bag, rolling his eyes as he did. But surprisingly the smell was present; lavender wasn't as obnoxious as he was expecting. It was warm and light, like an old memory, with a melancholy rosemary smell, along with lavender. And it reminded him of Louis (like everything did, but this was more direct); his home was always filled with that smell of lavender and rosemary. It was sweet like honey and milk. It reminded him almost exactly of when he would be spending a day in the lounge doing nothing but lying on his sire's lap letting him comb through his curly hair. And that was it domestic. Mundane, but pure like gold.
“…do you mind if I keep this?”
“No, I do not mind; my ‘weeds,’ as you say, are plentiful.”
Silence. he'd ben bested again.
“ you insist on yourself being nothing like a human, and yet it worked… I'm not surprised.. you still hold memories, safety, and warmth; you're still a person." He paused when Owen's glare sharpened. "-In your own ways, I mean..”
"I am not going to correct you in your delusions; we already know that arguing gets us nowhere."
“Okay , but know that I do not care what you think of yourself; I don't care how gross or wretched you insist you are. I am only here to help you.”
"..."
"..."
“Do not pretend you do not fear me.”
The doctor grimaced.
“I do not fear you.”
“Your heart is pounding out of your chest. I can smell the sweat of fear from here, that damn instinctual smell you humans are putrid with.”
The Doctor let out a long sigh.
“...I am not so inclined to convince you of my motives.”
"You fault so easily doc'"
The doctor paused, readjusting. And clicking his pen(?), and then tucking it behind his ear
“All you have is my word, and if you want to believe me, please do. Because I trust you, Owen. And i do not fear you.”
There was silence. He didn't like how familiar this was sounding, and he cursed himself for thinking it.
“If I were to bite you now, would you be afraid?”
“No Owen, I’m not afraid of you.”
“How would you know I wouldn't turn you? I could, you know?"
“I trust you not to.”
"How are you sure of that"
"I dont. but thats the point isn't it?" Legundo grinned as owen heard his owen words repeated to him.
“..would you let me feed now?”
There was a pause, but it was long enough for him to silently sneer at the man.
“…I wouldn't stop you.”
“This is not a place of hesitancy, Doctor; it's either a yes or a no.”
“Yes then, I will let you.”
Lagundo rolled up his sleeve, offering his wrist delicately, a gesture of reaching that they should have in some baroque painting a grand noble would commission: the dramatic lightin the shadow that cast over his own face and the light that cast onto legundo's.It was perfect for that. But Owen wasn't planning on taking blood from his wrist.
Owen grabbed onto his hand, pulling Legundo out of the light, quickt forcing proximity to be chest to chest with him, holding his face with one hand and unbuttoning the first button of the man's blouse with the other. He relished in the loud startled gasp that escaped the doctor’s lips; it was funny how easily a man's composure would slip. Sure, mankind can be gaudy and hellbent on things, savior complex or not, but in the end, They can all crumble underneath the right pressure.
But he didn't want to question too much right now how easy the doc was with him.
“oh-”
“Are you scared now, doc?” He said adding a growl into his voice. It was only half intentional, as the smell of prey this close was intoxicating. But it seemed to put a feeling into legundo that he couldn't pinpoint. He could see the goosebumps rise on the man's skin. With the slight quiver in his hands. His heart stuttering like a dinner bell
"-No.”
And as mutch as hed like to call the man a liar, He did not respond, His teeth aching at the possibility. Not being able to wait before he was eagerly sinking his teeth into the medic. The man gasped high-pitched and stifled and then slumped ,his heart galloped in his chest. He gave in too easily. Owen wasn’t sure if that made Legs brave, stupid, or suicidal. Or all three.
fresh was the blood in his mouth now that he was biting from the neck. It also felt nicer; he'd never admit that it felt good being this close to the doctor, but it was a pressure he could crave, a taste he could get drunk on. to feel the other man's baited breath in his ear or hear the blood rushing to his face. The man muffled a groan into his shoulder and the though of him acually enjoying it slipped into his traitorous mind before he could stop it. And for the umpteenth time he was glad he didnt have blood of his own.
He almost choked when the doctor slipped his hand into his hair. It was startling. And it was more startling when he didn't immediately rip away from him and shout.
He moved into the man's touch, and Legundo seemed more than content with that.
A human openly desiring a vampyre's touch was not something Owen wanted to think about, not anymore; he couldn't bear think it no matter how nice it felt.
But he did anyway.
His hands were rough and thick with healed-over calluses and a bit bigger than his, but they felt soft on his skin. It was warm; Owen couldn't help but notice how cold he was because of the doctor's hand on him. He finally understood why Louis was so fond of him before he turned. Why was he always so… physical, for lack of a better word. always holding a hand or combing through his hair or tracing his facial features in a mind-numbing, lulling-to-sleep sort of way. Vampyres were cold, and human was like a hearth to his frozen heart. Some primal part of him wanted to latch onto Legundo, wrap around him like a python, and never let him go siphoning the heat out of him until it was his. But he knew better.
He unlatched from his neck, wiping his face with his sleeve in an attempt to clean himself, but it just smeared. The doctor stumbled back. The man looked unraveled, his composure ripped from him as the strongest of blushes grew on his cheeks, which confused him, only a little. It reminded him of the first time Louis fed from his neck. himself being flustered and wide-eyed, a bit too mutch, and one thing led to another- nope not thinking of that now not while uhm-.
This was a normal reaction probably.
The man's eyes blinked in rapid succession before his hand shot to his neck as the bite quickly healed into scabs and then scars.
They were at a standstill.
“Owen-”
“Legs.”
Silence
Legs shook his head, composing himself.
“I was… not expecting that.”
“Scared yet?”
He let out a small chuckle.
“…never”
They stare at each other for a moment. The forest is awfully quiet.
Owen wonders what he's looking for in his eyes. Surely Something to pity, surely.. Some reason to save him so he could sleep at night. Whatever it is, he won't find it. He allows the doctor to scrutinize him, meeting his gaze head-on.
“You don’t rebuke me,” Owen says. Quiet now but loud enough for him to hear “You say you think of me like a person and not a monster, but.. why?.”
With any other human, he would fray away from this sort of conversation. bite or hiss or scratch, growl at the man's dissonance, and flee from the rage and angry fighting words and swinging of silver swords. with every other human. Somehow, though, the doctor never elicited that avoidance in him; he was kind and inviting, and he has always felt… familiar.
“You know what I think? I think you're lonely. Too monstrous for humans, too human for the vampyrs."
"..You know nothing."
He willed himself defensive, though it fizzled out quickly.
"I don't know. It's true… But what I do know is what it's like to be something ‘other.’ I am just trying to prove-”
“What? That I am to be redeemed. That you fix me?!-?”
Legundo raises his voice to speak over him “-ALL that I am trying to say Is that we have a lot more in common than I know you think we do.”
Owen bristles. “...You’re reaching, doctor.”
Legs’s fingers wavered near his, daring to wrapp loosely around his own.
“Am I?”
He wanted to roll his eyes or scoff, but he was utterly frozen, staring at the weightless cloud of contact between them. It was too much even, and yet it felt… good, and Energy hated that it did. She hated that tiny part of him, that part that still felt guilt for what he did..
It's stupidly, unpleasantly vulnerable. He has spent so long building up layers of rigid, tough scar tissue wrapped around his heart. Just to have someone reach in and rip it all apart.
“I am not afraid of you.”
owen raises an eyebrow
“..You have a weird way of proving yourself.”
“do you need me to prove myself more?”
The man stepped forward, being only a foot away from each other now, maybe less. His expression was stoic as ever. How could he just stay so composed after everything? He was just unraveling right in front of him, and somehow he was composed again! His upper hand had been for naught! It was simply unfair!
“There is..no need… doctor.”
He took his hand back, pulling it from the man's grasp, and stomped out the butterflies forming in his gut.
Why did they have to be so much alike?
Every fragment of Louis Owen found in Legundo felt like a stake stabbed right through his chest.
The man moved past him, into the light again, stumbling only slightly despite the amount of blood he lost. Prompting him to button his collar back up even more than it was initially.
“..Very well then.”
The doctor grabbed his basket, rummaging for his cloak and not really bothering with the knife. Throwing his apron over his dark clothes like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He has the potential to be a good vampyre. Why cant he just accept it, accept fate as it was, ..and accept him? He could be like him if he were to just…
But he wasnt him
He didn't care..... No, no, Why did you ever think he did?
The man brushed himself off, looking content; he could feel the manipulation waft off of him, that smile showing like sharpened demon teeth and those hands in gloves concealing horrible claws of deceit.
“..This isn't fair.”
“Come again?”
“This isn't fair, doctor.” loud enough for the man to hear.
Legs turned around, Spinning on his heel.
“What...do you mean?”
That villiam
“...Don't, don't pretend...You…” his mouth couldn't form The word.
This man wants nothing of you; he's using you
The doctor edged forward closer to him, he stepps backwards.
“I'm not pretending, Owen. I-”
deceit
“I can see right through you! You're just trying to get into my head. Change me and manipulate me into needing that damn cure of yours.”
“No, Owen. I wouldn't do that! I only want to help you”
you're just a reason for him to be able to sleep at night, owen. nothing more.
"Legundo." How many times do you think a doctor has said that to me? He didn't wait for an answer. “Thousands! Doctor, thou wilt NEVER make a difference to me. YOU WILL NEVER FIX ME.”
"Owen, I just want to help, I promise, and I can if you just-"
“I'm DONE with promises, doctor. The only man to follow through on one died before my very eyes.”
He felt a tear dare to jerk at his eye. No, no, he mustn't cry now.
“Owen, please!”
Quiet.
“You only pity me, doctor! Do not try to reach your hand when you have no fingers to extend. I have as much belief in you as you have a brain in your elbows. There is nothing you can do to fix me. Now leave.”
“Owen-!”
“Don't say my name- don't say anything, don't even speak, leave this place at once!”
He turned around frantically, wiping at his face and eyes and forcing his teasing back down, nicking himself with his claws as he did.
“Owen-”
“Hold thine-be quiet, I beseech thee!!”
His words felt numb on his tongue.
“Owen?
“SILENCE!!”
He screamed. The forest echoed it back at him maybe four times, an entire flock of birds taking flight in panic. All the anger and fight in him flared and danced in him, ready to strike at any moment as his body shook as he dug his nails into his own skin, his mind screaming at him.
Just kill him; .
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, the man's warmth radiating into him like striking a tuning fork made of molten lava. and Owen hated, hated, that he didn’t immediately pull away. His cold skin buzzed where he touched him like tiny needles. He hissed.
kill him now
“I care about you. I'm at your will; I'm always at your will, Owen.”
Spin around and slay the man, and watch him bleed out onto the forest floor. Stain this glade with bloodshed!
DO IT, OWEN.
“-and if I have to do something, anything, to prove it to you, to finally get you to trust me. I'll do it because I care for you, Owen.”
“I hate you-I hate you, I don't understand you! You're rotten and cruel. Die in a ditch, and I wish to bestow upon your dying corpse. I will! I pray thee I will!” he hissed the last line.
There was a pause.
“...Well I doubt that.”
"And what gives you that impression? that I dont I give thou hatred wilt anything elece.”
“ i think You would have attacked me by now.”
This man.
“…you lie.”
“Then kill me.”
"Your playing a dangerous game here doctor"
"Why don't you? Then?"
Damn you legundo!!
“What is it with your eyes? What do you see in me?! potential, Legs? a new man I could be? Why me? And not Shelby-she's worthy! Maybe even Apo; Apo has a maiden to return to. Why me? I have nothing, no kin, no destiny, nothing to go home to but a hole in the dirt, so why me? Why care for a broken man?!”
“Because I know what it's like to be broken".
All the fight in him seemed to fizzle out like a fuse in water. He let a tear drip down his face.
“... but we're the same person, me and you. Both monsters, wearing a man’s skin..”
Legundo inched closer, wiping the stray tear with his thumb. Owen pursed his lips as he leaned into the touch; he'd never admit that he liked it.
“You put me on a pedestal and tell me I'm good, but that is just not true; I am just as rotten as you are. And I think somehow, together, I can help you from drowning in yourself.”
“…I'm too far gone.”
“I think we both know that isn't “
The doctor leaned down, lifted the vampyre's hand
“It's destined for disaster.”
There was a palpable silence between them, and if he had a beating heart, it would be pounding at his ribcage by now
“you can pave our own path, it doesn't have to be destiny.”
He lifted his hand and brought it to his mouth, leaving a chaste kiss on his wrist. An Ernest expression that ignored the scars and wear and tear of his bandaged skin.
Owens' body responded with a full-body shiver. His hands felt sweaty; it was weird. He didn't like this, and yet he couldn't help but fall into it.
Air whizzed out of his mouth. and if he had any breath, it would be knocked out of him.
“...It's rotten work,"
he muttered, eyes narrowing as if suspicion could protect him from his heart.
“Not to me, Owen, not if it's you.”
𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟༺ ♰ ༻𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎡