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Of Psychosis and Salvation

Nico

Nico

Star
Joined
Jun 7, 2012
This'll be your new room, son. The heavy metal door clicked open, a rush of warm air running over his ankles as they pushed him over the threshold. Like sneaky little bunnies, rubbing up against you in all their furry innocence when really- "You'd do good for yer'self if you play nice now." The bag was removed from his head. Immediately Red shut his eyes. White, white… so blinding white. Dear Gott, was he… Dead?! "Don't do anything funny to the nice people trying' to help ya, and the doc might just be a li'll lenient with yer pills." Pah! Of course he wasn't dead… There weren't irksome accents, and aggravating old men threatening pills in Heaven. Silly. Slate grey eyes opened slowly and leveled against the security guard's. He tried to move his tounge, tell the burly man he'd rip out his spleen if he didn't stop yammering, but the muscle stuck thick to the roof of his mouth.

Oh?… Oh fuck no.


Fists clenched in the cuffs behind the madman's back as he took in his current situation. They had the audacity to drug him! The bastards. Him… When he had been so close to glorious escape. His hands relaxed, and he lent against the second guard who held his lean frame propped up. Red sniffed, mournfully looking down and away from the man who was spewing what protocol was mandatory. Not to grieve the nurse he had stabbed, nor the pervious doctor that he had almost blinded, but that faint glimpse of the sky. Beautiful… "-And there's ya toilet.. You shit anywhere not in that, you'll be cleaning it up with yer shirt. Un-der-stand?" Was that buffoon still talking? Why were they here? Disrupting the tranquility of his lovely… white-washed room…

At least it was better than the stuffy mental ward with those sickening nurses coming and going, doctors prodding and poking. Pretty spacey. "MHhrrgghghghah." Red managed, opening his mouth wide and raising his eyebrows. The guards must have been offended by the news, as he was yanked towards the small bed attached to the right wall of the room, and forced to sit. Not that he really refused; his legs still felt like they were filled with gelatin from whatever sedative he had been given. "Listen, ya basket case." The man bent to glare into Red's eyes, a scowl twisting up the old grizzled face. Red sat quietly, twiddling his thumbs behind his back. These metal binds were getting rather uncomf- "You may act like yer "touched" or whatnot, but somin' me an the boys think different." Ah? "You talked all mighty fine and proper up at yer hearing, so I find it hard to think ya stupid." Red nodded, shrugging up a shoulder. The simple man wasn't wrong, but that was the difference between the mentally retarded and the insane. He was insane, previously stuck in a mental ward; hence the recent change of scenery. "You pull another stunt like yer last one, an I'ma get me a chunk of yer flesh, jus like you cut off of dear Ms. Mally." Mally, was that her name? What a stupid name. Fitting for a stupid woman. She had been fun.

Obviously the guard didn't understand. Red tried a different tactic. "Urgurururrg." Slap. Eheheheh. Nope… Didn't work. Red's head bowed down towards his knees as he felt the rough tugging at his wrists. The handcuffs were released. Only after the sound of boots clumping out of the room ceased did Red raise his head. A smile plastered on his face, he drew a finger away from his lip to find it a tint bloody. The man had a hefty backhand. All that for telling you the slut had asked me for it? He chuckled, eyes whipping over to the door that had swung shut only moments before. They'd hang a sign on it, just like on his previous bed. Evander Riis. Male. 20. Blood type, medicine, condition, psychotic breaks, history… The works. He would have flung himself against the metal to protest his lab-like captivity, but the fuzziness in his head and limbs told him he'd eat cement before he got halfway across the room. Come to think of it, I wonder what it tastes like. No wait- not cement… Red's eyes narrowed as he studied the floor carefully. It was some of that new stuff- almost rubbery in texture, like spilled latex paint. Mm. Easy clean-up for the maid if he made a mess. Red set his mouth in a grim, dissatisfied line, flopping backwards on the bed. At least the grey cotton clothing didn't itch, and the room was heated so he wouldn't freeze… No more nurses to bring him tea. Oh well.



He lay there, humming and staring at the ceiling until the lights flickered off. Red's humming cut off in a choke as he sat up immediately- disoriented. Grey eyes searching for any sort of light after being subject to the cold, burning bright whiteness of the lit room. It must be curfew.. A faint yellow light flickered on, near the alcove that lead to his toilet. Red sighed with relief, standing. It cast just enough light to illuminate the windowless room to a degree. Carefully he made his way from the bed to the small table in the middle of the room. The drugs had worn off almost completely, but his bare feet were still shaky and his stride precarious. Pulling out the single chair with a flourish, Red sat promptly. He ran a hand over the white-painted wood with a smile, before lacing his fingers together and staring at the door. "Why, this is nice… Nice room…" He paused, realizing his tongue was moving again. "You've locked me away here forever, now have you?" His questions were directed at the metal door's meal-slot, though there would most probably be no one on the other side to open it. "I'm not sorry, you understand. You all had it coming… Liars and thieves and beggars please. No better than the wretches you "served"." Red hissed, his fingers digging painfully into the backs of his palms. "Do you hear me?" The man's pitch rose through clenched teeth. "Let me-… LET ME OUT!" He roared, standing and slamming his hands down onto the table.
Still…


Finally, Red broke his paralysis and moved, sighing. He toppled the chair, shuffling back to his new bed with it's pristine white sheets. Curling up on it, he ran his hands through the short locks of his brown hair, freshly washed from his recent shower. Red bit his thumb. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to slow his breathing. Why why why why why why why why..

He didn't try to explain it to himself again. It took far too much effort and time. He only had all night after all. And all the nights to come.
 
He had been beaten. He had been bruised. He had been punished, wounded, and cursed. Yet he still remained in the Heavenly Light and the others hated him for it. Why hadn’t he been cast out? He had heard them whisper. Why wasn’t he without his Light? They had murmured behind his back. He didn’t understand it much himself, but apparently their Maker had decided to keep him around, despite how different he was from the mold. Perhaps he had been designed that way. Perhaps HE had wanted him to find his own path and be his own individual. Yet he wondered how much forgiveness he could warrant. How much love and acceptance he could hold onto. And yet…yet…

He still didn’t give a shit.

The worst pain he had ever experienced was when one of the other Angelus had ripped one of his wings off while he had been chained up for a misdeed. Unable to defend himself, two Angelus had ganged up on him and pinned him down, taking one of his precious dark wings. No matter how strong and determined he was, he hadn’t been able to stop the tears from escaping his eyes as the wing was torn asunder. He hadn’t been able to hold back the screams. The feathers had laid in bloody heaps around him as the others had laughed at his plight. Blood had soaked his back, forming a pool underneath him. It had felt like half of him had been stolen. It felt like half of his being had been destroyed. And part of him had shattered. None of the others had been prepared for his scream of outrage and anguish.

None of them had been prepared for him to rip his own wing off.

Even through the pain and the anguish, the tears and the shattering of his heart, Athrun had laughed. Laughed! And claimed that he didn’t want to dwell with the self-righteous, deluded, corrupt masses that spouted hatred and judgment from their place on high. He had claimed with utter conviction that he wanted to Fall. Instead, he had been given another wish of his heart- to be free enough to be on his own and still have the backing of his Maker. His wings would not be restored. But he would still be allowed to fly. And so with his own blood, their Maker had created a tattoo to replace the beloved wings he had lost. It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

But he could still disappear.

That had been about twenty-five years ago. He could still feel the throb from the removal of his wings, but he didn’t let that bother him now as he sat on the edge of a rooftop over-looking an insane asylum. He did his own tasks, helped whoever he felt like helping, but his Maker had asked him to try to help this one. Why? He hadn’t bothered to ask but the question still spun in circles about his head. What was it about this one he needed to try to save? He seemed like any of the other crazies: just wanting to kill and be free. Yet Athrun felt drawn to him. Just what was it that pulled him like an invisible string? Tapping off the ash of his cigarette, the Angerous, the name given to One Who Has Not Yet Fallen But Tilts, stood up and stepped off the building’s edge. Maybe he could find his own salvation here. It seemed odd, but the thought didn’t leave his mind as he dropped from the building and disappeared from sight.

Using his abilities, he walked through the metal door and looked at the curled up human on the small bed. At least it was better than most crazies got. Glancing around, he took a small puff from his cigarette before sitting at the desk and looking at his charge. The man wouldn’t be able to see him unless Athrun wanted him to and for a moment, he just looked at him. He was a pretty thing, not too feminine but not too masculine. Just a right amount of captivation of face and body. Grey eyes and brown hair was uncommon but not unknown amongst humans. Athrun himself had black hair and bright yellow eyes - like that of a wolf. Pale skin was common amongst Angelus and he was no different. However, he was leaner and taller than most and stood at a solid six feet. Most Angelus were warriors and while Athrun could and would put up a fight, his fighting skills weren’t necessary for his duty. He only kept himself in shape to fend off Duras or ‘demons’ and other Angelus. Though, the Duras had more respect for him than his own kin.

Whatever.

“You seem awfully agitated for a crazy person,” Athrun said, allowing himself to appear. Taking a drag from his cigarette, he knew what the human would see: A man with his eyebrow pierced, long black hair, piercings in his ears, covered head to toe in dark colors. He looked like the combination of a gentleman and a member of a biker gang. Especially with the way he spoke - soft and elegant but with a touch of sarcasm. His eyes never wavered from Red’s face, wondering just what the human was thinking with the weird man in his room.
 
Why why why why why.. FIFTEEN! “You seem awfully agitated for a crazy person,” Red jumped, wide eyes flicking to the source of the smooth voice. Adrenaline shot though his system, but he didn't move for a good five seconds, sizing up the strange occupant in his room. "I'm not... Crazy..." He whispered. More to himself than the tall man who sat languid in his chair. His chair. Red sat up, his face warping in confusion. Where had this man come from? He hadn't heard the door open, or the lock click shut. It dawned on him that it might be a hallucination of his own traitorous mind's accord... but then he'd have to admit he was crazy.

"You- and the... And.. wh-." He stopped, taking a breath, then rose his eyes back up to the bright yellow of the person who sat facing him, tapping his finger against his thigh in a soothing rhythm as he spoke. "I am not crazy. I am Red. You-" He sniffed at the air, looking at the man's cigarette. "... You are in my chair."

Jumping up from his bed, Red swayed slightly. "Get out. Get out of my chair." Then he pointed to the stick in the man's fingers, face morphing into a look resembling longing. "Is that a cigarette?"
 
"See, the thing about me is that I know you happen to be crazy. It's the crazy ones that usually fail to admit to it. Especially after stabbing someone." Athrun grinned a little bit, watching the play of emotions on the man's face. Confusion, agitation, maybe a little bit of fear but it was soon crushed under the heavy look of longing. Ah, so he wanted the cigarette. Taking a long drag and letting the smoke out through his nose, the Angerous spoke.

"No, it's a pencil. Of course, it's a cigarette. Question is, what's it to you? Would you like one?" He didn't get up out of the chair as much as that seemed to bother the human. Some people and their need to possess objects. Part of him understood it but a lot of him did not. He wasn't raised to be material. He had the clothes on his back and some scattered belongings but most of his things could be tossed and replaced. Yet he couldn't fathom why the man was agitated...over a chair. Athrun softened his grin into a smile.
 
Red disregarded the man's comment about stabbing the nurse, inching closer to stare into the bright eyes, and over the strangely pierced, sharp features. The slitted eyes almost glowed in the darkness, the man himself almost melting into the shadows. Curious... He was far too curious about this specter, he'd have to be careful. It wasn't wearing a doctors garb, or a nurse's outfit but somehow it had gotten into his prison... Silently.

"You think you know me. Just like them." An unexpected smile quirked on the corners of his lips, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of his shirt. "With their needles and probes, and those beeping machines that drive you insane.." He chuckled quietly at his little joke, before he let his eyes roam around his room. "I'm not crazy." He repeated. "Not crazy."

"Ohh..." Red's smile widened. "Yes... Yes I would like one. Or I would like that one... A lit one. One that's already lit-" His mumbling tampered off as his face fell slightly. "You're still sitting in my chair." He frowned down at his hands, then glanced back at the man. "If you move, I'll tell you why I'm not crazy." Grey eyes challenged reflective yellow, then his hand shot forward. Red uncurled his palm reaching his fingers for the cigarette in the stranger's grasp. "I would like that one."
 
"I don't claim to know you at all. I know about you, but I don't know you." Athrun watched the nervous twitching, the need starting to spread across his face. He needed Athrun to give him the cigarette and get out of his chair. He listened to him almost speak to himself that he wasn't crazy yet his movements and own words betrayed the state of his mind. It was almost sexy, Athrun mused. He'd always liked the ones that were a little off-kilter. Yet this one...there was something about this one. Taking another puff, Athrun noticed that the cigarette was almost half gone. Red wanted the one that was in his mouth though since it was already lit. Mulling over the little dilemma, the Angerous wondered if he even should get up or not.

"I'm rather comfortable. I'll trade my cigarette for sitting in this chair. Or, if you ask politely, I'll give you the cigarette and get out of the chair." Athrun gave him the choice, staring up at the grey eyes that spoke of challenge and need for the cigarette. But it was more than that. He wanted him to move and think he wasn't crazy. But no, he could see that his beautiful little charge was just that: crazy.
 
"Politely?" A laugh bubbled up past his lips, Red giving the man a look as if he was the crazy one. "Ask polietly?" Oh, what a joke. This phantom was funny... funny. Too funny. He swung his outstretched hand towards the door. "Why be polite to an intruder? You didn't even knock." Red paced past the man, along the wall that stretched between his bed and the toilet's alcove across from it. "You come in my new room, sit in my chair, talk about me...to me." His voice was rising in agitation, until he cut it off, looking back at the calm, black-clad man. "No one's talked to me in so long..." his whisper peaked, throat straining as he swallowed. Sure, they talked at him. The medical staff. Ordered him to be good, not to cause "chaos". Hypocrites. But who was this stranger who had the verve to talk to him? Allow him to engage in a casual conversation... of sorts.

"You get- you get comfortable, and expect me to ask politely?" The distain dripped off of Red's lips as he spat the word, huffing and turning to face the wall. He lent his forehead against the cool stone. "This is my space... Mine. Everything in it is mine. That cigarette... is mine."

A pause, and then Red turned. "Who are you?" He asked suddenly, previous woefulness gone. "I don't like you here." Oh... he'd have to be careful. He was getting angry. "No, don't tell me. Don't tell me your name." Red waved his preceding question out of the air. He did not want to know. If it had no name, it wasn't real. If it wasn't real it couldn't hurt him... couldn't hurt him psychologically. Get inside his head and mess around with it. He was afraid it's name would be familiar, perhaps culled from some sort of latent memory of his life before the asylum, proving the man was of his own making. If he was a creature of his imagination... well. He supposed he should be proud to have such a appealing mind. The man was attractive, long limbs that looked strong, unlike his own slightly malnourished frame. Skin white like his... Perhaps the man had not seen the sun in a while. Perhaps he was a patient too. His clothes said otherwise. The piercings and black hair like silk.. The confident tone, the steady eyes... no, he was no patient. He did not own the shiftiness of those who knew injustice, nor the quakes of so many of the stupid logs who gave in to the "treatments", unable to go a day without moaning for drugs.

Questions ran like turtles through his head. It was infuriating. Red settled on how he didn't care where the thing came from, but why. "What is your purpose here? Why have you come?" He advanced back to stand in front of the man, tilting his head to study him further. "Ah. And I choose..." The cigarette was dwindling... "I choose you give me my cigarette." He smiled evenly, holding out his hand for it again.
 
Athrun had closed his eyes as soon as Red had started to ramble, listening to that voice. It had an odd tone to it that the Angerous could only say belonged to those who were crazy and it always caught his attention. It reminded him of a human woman who had been haunted by her dead lover. He had murmured in her ears that his death was her fault when it had been her twin sister who had actually killed him. It had been quite a trippy experience but he knew that tone so well and it still intrigued him more than it probably should have. And yet, he was already being pulled in. Even when anger started to trickle into Red's tone, he still didn't open his eyes, focusing his attention on the way he pronounced words and how quickly his moods could shift. He would have to be careful with this one, but he couldn't help but think of how much fun it would be to see what he could do. Would he push him over the edge? Or try to save him? He had been ordered to help - and part of him certainly did want to - but another part wanted to fall into that pit.

"I could always light you a fresh one...And I'm not imaginary, Evander Riis, also known as Red. And my purpose, well....we'll see what my purpose is." Athrun took a small drag this time and as he let the smoke free of his lungs and mouth, he handed over the still-burning cigarette and removed a new one from his jacket. He didn't care if they didn't want Red to be smoking. It wasn't his duty to follow human rules or human protocol. Lighting up another cigarette, Athrun looked at Red evenly, focus never wavering.

"You're beautiful." The words weren't said with a blush or hint of sarcasm, or any kind of joking tone. He was serious as he looked at Red, seeing perhaps what the others did not: a tormented but beautiful soul. It didn't matter that it was stained with blood and agony. Maybe that was why it was so much more beautiful to Athrun. Because it was tainted and warped. Either way, Athrun had been given his assignment. He just wondered if he himself would remain intact once it was over. If it ever ended.
 
Red blinked, slightly thrown by the man's words. Two words. Or two and a half... they sounded strange to his ears. Did he just- did he compliment him? He held the cigarette precariously, the other hand that lay limp against his side clenching slowly. "I'm... Beautiful?" Oh, he was curious now. So so curious... "Beautiful? Like the sky?" It was the only word he could think of to describe the sky. Just that lingering glimpse. It taunted him from the edges of his mind, threatening to slip away and leave him alone… left without it's beauty. Fazed, Red looked up at the dark ceiling, bringing the cigarette shakily towards his mouth. He dragged the smoke into his mouth, but not into his lungs. Poison. Slowly he exhaled, opening his mouth and watching as the tendrils of smoke crawled through the air towards the dark specter. Something flashed behind the grey eyes eyes, making them darken and narrow. He stepped forward suddenly- pressing the burning bud of the cigarette fast against the man's neck. The only part of his flesh that he could see was exposed. Besides his face… But Red didn't wish to burn such a pretty face.

"You're wrong." The cigarette was dropped, the man retreating slowly back to sit on his bed. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Dark eyes flickered up to the bright yellow, watching the man's reaction before he began to speak. "There is no beauty here." Long fingers clenched and twisted into the cotton pants as he squoze his legs tighter. His voice dropped into a whisper as his head dropped onto his knees. "They've taken it. All of it." A strangled sound escaped the shuddering form, before his head snapped back up, eyes locking back on the strange man. A lyrical humming flowed from his lips. "Your lips are bloody, you wet yourself…" He continued on, eyes passing over the blank walls. "They try to think, but their minds are wrecked… Their thoughts are dead children, their gazes so empty… would you "live" that way?"


The question wasn't directed at the man, Red simply felt like babbling, and he continued on. "They suspect they feel, they suspect they are nothing. In that wondrous "Grand Plan". That there is no room in heaven for them. Then they beg for mercy, whine at the end of their time, and say they're "sorry for everything." He giggled, finding that exceptionally funny. "Where is their god? Great and powerful? Where? He does not interfere, he does not save them from people like me who force their sleepy eyes to open…" The man tapered off, studying the door in contemplation, his voice falling into a hush. "When will his kingdom come..? Cold and magnificent?" His fingers clenched once more, setting his jaw. "Start praying and shut up!" He yelled at the door. His anger quickly dissolved into laughter. "...There is no sympathy. Your 'God' has no sympathy."


There was a long pause, before the brown head of hair turned back to the shadow man. He grinned, gesturing with one hand towards heaven as if to call down divine judgement upon himself. "Touch your wounds and stroke the embers!" Red sang; dying down into a fit of chuckles. "What was that saying...? "You may lead a man to water, but he will only poison it." Sounds about right." Muttering incoherently, he wrapped his arms back around his legs.
 
"Like the sky..." Athrun murmured, watching Red with a curiosity he couldn't contain. It was like he had never heard the words before and the way he paced like a caged animal just added to what Athrun felt towards the human. It was like being pulled on a cord and knowing you were tethered firmly. He hadn't been exactly prepared for the burn from the cigarette pressing against his exposed skin and it did make him wince from the pain of it, but his skin began to heal as soon as the cigarette hit the ground. Marks from humans healed. The wounds inflicted from the Angelus and Duras did not. And Athrun had his fair share of scars. The words about being wrong still rang in his ears, but he didn't let them faze him too much, especially when Red retreated and sat on his little cot, and pulled himself in a fetal position. It was almost sad to see a human so broken in this manner, but he hadn't been lying. Red was beautiful.

“I could give you some beauty back…if you wished for it,” the words were spoken softly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the atmosphere in the room. He let Red ramble on, yell, laugh, do whatever he pleased as he sat and smoked his cigarette, eyes shut to drink in all the words more firmly. Perhaps he was being too passive, but he knew that Red needed some space. At least a little bit of space. Shifting slightly, he reached down and picked up the cigarette, crushing it in his hand until it turned to dust and vanished into the air. When Red spoke about God having no sympathy, Athrun didn’t find himself debating it at all.

“Perhaps you are right…he has no sympathy, but maybe he still has a heart. Albeit a cold, fragile, shriveled up husk of what a heart should be.” Athrun kept his eyes on Red as he spoke, though his eyes did move to the side when he came to the end of his sentence. He hadn’t asked for his lot in life. He hadn’t asked to be bred so differently from the others. Yet, he was thankful to be alive to meet beautiful individuals like Red because their insanity and crazy beautiful ideals made sense to him. For some crazy reason, they always did. Maybe he was crazy and that was why he fit in so well with their crowd.

“You really are beautiful. The way you are sitting right now makes me want to grab you by the hair and pull you into my lap. To hold you close and tell you that as much as this is all you’ll have until you die, you get to have some semblance of peace and escape with me. But you wouldn’t let me touch you right now, would you?” He asked, taking a deep drag as he adjusted his position, propping his arm up by his knee. Combing a finger through his dark locks, he stared at Red and wondered what sort of reaction he would get this time.
 
The man spoke like he knew the existence of God was verified. Soft voice carrying smoothly over to him, but Red sought no comfort in it. He didn't like this shade. "I don't believe in God." He said bluntly, turning his head away. He wished the pretty intruder would just leave... Just leave his chair alone. He wished he had a knife..

The man called him that word again, Red raised his head to listen, quirking a brow at first at the stranger's "want", but soon let out a wail. "Why do you say that? Why…" He moaned, cradling his head in both hands as his features twisted in agony. It terrified him; the thought of being stuck in this prison until he was cold. Dead, cold, Ice-cold. Alone... Red bit his tongue, looking down at the back of his hand. "He who sees understands how mercilessly time goes by. How the hand turns, it never stands still." He turned his hand over, studying it, then holding it out towards the black-haired man. "They say a person's fate is written in their palms. Tell me, what do you see in mine?" Grey eyes held the steady gaze of the man's. Red sat completely still, as if any sudden movements would frighten the specter away... Leaving him without an answer.
 
"I think I've startled you enough for one night...Perhaps you would like it if I returned tomorrow?" Athrun asked, looking at Red's face. He hadn't bothered to say anything up until Red was done talking simply because he liked to hear him talk. But it was also that he didn't have any answers. He didn't know what Red's fate was, but he wanted to believe that perhaps he could make it so that Red would at least be able to stand outside even if under a close guard. That was all he wanted, wasn't it? To see the sky? The Angerous wasn't sure but he wanted to try to make any of Red's dreams reality. Even if it meant losing himself to the madness. Taking a drag and standing up, he reached out to touch Red's palm but then took his arm back slowly. He wanted to touch the pale skin that was outstretched toward him like an offering but Red was unpredictable. He didn't want the poor man injuring himself.

"I don't know your fate but perhaps I can try to change what it could be. If you wish I will be sure to let you see the sky...not just once, but as often as you'd like. Even if only in dreams." Athrun stood there, looking over Red, wondering if he would be banished for the night. His charge had at least that much power over him even if he had no power over anything else. If he said he wanted him gone, he would truly be gone for the night.

"What do you wish for more than anything?" He asked, smoke drifting out from his lips as he spoke. His bright eyes focused on Red's grey ones, seeing and yet not seeing. He just wanted to hear that voice - the voice that would guide him in whatever direction it chose. It seemed unreal, but then again, perhaps everything to the young man was unreal. Reality was a far cry from what Red experienced.
 
Red kept his hand outstretched, completely frozen as if showing in good faith he would not harm the man again. He had to be still, quiet… Like one would inviting a skittish animal closer. Red's lips twitched downwards at the mention of leaving. No, no… Answer me. He watched the man as the man watched him, attentive eyes catching every minuscule movement. The stranger took a moment to respond, filing the air with smoke as he spoke.

"Ah…" Red nodded slowly, looking down at his proffered palm. "Yes. I find it blank…" He murmured as the man talked, smiling in reverie. His hand tingled where the fingers had brushed like a feather across his flesh. It felt nice. Why did it feel nice? His brows knotted. Perhaps because touches he knew were always rough and painful… "Yes!" Red shouted suddenly, eyes snapping up to stare fixedly into the predatory one's above him. "Yes… I want- I want to see it again…" He beamed, as giddy as a child.


Red's hand shot forward, grasping the man's. "You-" He stopped, looking down at the fingers he held, perturbed. He's warm… It threw him, as he'd believed the creature was of his own making. He didn't dare turn the man's palm over to see what it held. Not yet. If it had warmth and corporeal flesh … Then it had a name, a fate. It existed in his space. Not in his mind. Red stared at the hand for a long moment. He heard the man's question, but didn't answer right away. Instead he frowned, reaching up to use the shade's shoulders to help him stand. The black-haired shadow was tall… Taller than him, but on the bed he was tallest. Satisfied, he looked down at the intruder.

"More than anything?" Red whispered, reaching a hand up to tentatively touch a strand of the silken black hair that fell beside a porcelain smooth cheek. He expected it to disappear, evaporate into the shadows the man seemed to be made of... But it stayed. He rubbed it between his fingers slowly, contemplating. Thinking hard. Grey eyes turbulent and unsettled. He wanted to be free, certainly. But those people who put him here. Locked him away. Caged him like an animal… They took away what a human needed most. "I don't want to be alone…" For a moment he sounded like a sane man, hushed voice steady but full of pain. All of his pain, all of his isolation pouring out in that one moment. Just briefly.
 
Athrun blinked in surprise as Red grabbed his hand. His outburst at wanting to see the sky was expected but the contact was not. Red didn't really like to touch people unless he initiated - at least from what Athrun could figure out so far but this was a little different for some reason. It just struck him as different especially when Red focused on his hand. Perhaps he had thought that Athrun was an illusion. Had that been his original intention? Perhaps it was, but now he could longer attempt to be a figment of insanity's imagination. Yet that beaming look was imprinted. He would make sure Red saw the sky. It was part of his mission now as surely as he was standing there. It was like being filled up with raw emotion and just waiting to bubble over. Right now, it was dark and the stars were vast. Perhaps he would take Red out when the sun was setting, even if all he could do was show him the sky through his room.

When Red reached up and used his shoulder as an anchor to pull himself up, the Angerous didn't move but instead watched with a steady gaze. This one was definitely something else, he was sure. He waited patiently until he felt that Red was settled with standing above him and looking down on him. Perhaps he was always made to feel small and weak and this made him more comfortable. Well, whatever suited him, he supposed. It didn't bother him in the least. When Red reached out to touch a strand of his hair, Athrun felt that feather soft touch caress his cheek and he let out the smallest of sighs. It was always different to be touched by a human. They had variances in their touches, heat, softness or hardness. The Angelus were always too cold and smooth-skinned with burning touches while the Duras were closer to humans with their variances but still burning hot and unpredictable. They could be hot or cold with a very small window for inbetweeners. Probably because they were from Hell and meant to be able to seduce. Perhaps...perhaps...His attention snapped back to Red when he heard that anguished voice say he didn't want to be alone and Athrun felt the need to wrap his arms about him and hold him close again. It was palpable, the pain in this room. He wanted to obliterate it. Destroy it. Crush it into oblivion beneath his boot heel. But first, he had to soothe the agony in this young man's voice even if it meant anger.

"I won't leave you alone. I will watch over you. Promises may seem fake and desolate to you, but I keep my word. Will you believe me, Red? Will you believe I will stay until I am no longer necessary?" He stared Red straight in the eyes, feeling like he needed the confirmation himself. Would he be allowed to stay? Or would he have to go? Would he always have to go? It seemed like some of his charge's psychosis was already setting in. It made him smile just the tiniest bit.
 
Red's eyes searched the bright one's before him. Watch… His lips slowly set into a hard line. The lost boy disappeared, replaced with a sneer of distain. Fingers clenched on the man's shoulders, sing-song tone returning. "Promises, promises. Trust. Blind faith." He laughed; the cold, scornful sound resonating off the walls of the room. "Never any sympathy."

Glacial grey eyes met burning gold, giving the man a hard glare. "Who are you?" A whisper demanded. Deadly quiet, as suspicious eyes searched the porcelain face. "A man who appears from thin air. Who knows my name. Who tells me to trust and hope." A scowl. He turned his head and spat near the man's boot. "You tease me. Play in my cell. Sit in my chair. Do you find this funny?" Red barred his canines. He wanted to pull the man's cheeks tight away from his pretty, bleached teeth, but the fierce eyes kept his twitching fingers at bay. "... Because I do." He burst back into laughter, the hysterical chortle tapering off into a final bitter sniff.

"Do you understand?" The young man sighed, all the wild wind seemingly taken out of his sails. "No... You can't understand. You don't hear me. See me." A pause. Bemused eyes flicked back to the man's face. "Why are you still here? For what? What more do you want from me?" Red shoved the man away from him, then scowled. The shade was too graceful. He teetered precariously on the edge of the bed as his lip curled in scorn. Exasperation rising to the surface again. "Who are you? Who! What are-" Strange yellow eyes. "I-I don't want someone watching me! They're always watching watching. Always..." Finally his legs gave out, and Red did nothing to adjust his crumpled position on the sheets. All the questions swirling in his head, mixing and melding with the room's shadows... "Go away." Wide grey eyes burned with anger at the man's knees. "You don't know... You don't know.."
 
"I am Athrun...and I will always come when you call me. Will you call me, Red? You'll only have to say my name. But if you wish for me to go, I will go." He said, lips pressed into a thin line. He had lost what little of Red's sanity had bubbled up to the surface and that had been a misstep on his part to think that as long as he had phrased his promise into a question it would be better received than an outright promise. Stupid. He had felt that Red's emotions had boiled up enough to make him want to hurt him but he had managed to keep from doing so until he had been shoved. He had allowed his body to be moved until he stopped just a few feet away. He watched his charge fall into a crumpled position like a man who had lost everything. It tore a little at his heart but he managed to keep away. He couldn't crumble as easily as Red had. His foot steps were light as he walked closer.

"I know what it is like to be cast out from the light. To be hated for simply being. To be different from others because those were the cards you were given. To feel so isolated without knowing what you could have done wrong...But know this...I will return to you tomorrow." His fingers brushed the soft hair ever so gently before he pulled back and clenched his fist. He knew not what was in store for him and Red, but he had the feeling they would both retain more scars than when they had first met. And he wondered if the bruises and wounds would heal. Perhaps they would both be insane by the end of it all. But whatever it would be, Athrun was finding himself more interested with every word Red spoke.

"Try to sleep. I will give you back the light." And with those words whispered in to the darkness, Athrun walked back through the metal door and faded from the hospital. Once he was upon his previous perch, he re-lit his cigarette and took a long drag. This was going to be tough but as his lips curled into a sinister smile, he knew he had to have found a kinship with Red. It was going to be an interesting ride.
 
Red listened, although he didn't want to hear. There was pain in the shadow's voice. Pain that spiked more questions buzzing through his brain. No! He didn't want the shade to return.. No no no. Red couldn't make his lips move to tell him so. The feather-light fingers brushed over him again. His hair. The man shut his eyes tight. Sleep... Light... Oh, how he wanted light. The dark crawling in on him. He hated the darkness. And shadows. But he wasn't too sure how he felt towards this shadow, with his low, careful voice and whispered promises. Footsteps retreated. They always retreated.

Red cracked an eye open. The door had not budged, but the man was gone. Alone. He bit his already wounded lip, tasting the iron that washed over his tongue. Questions. Questions. Maddening questions. He didn't stir but to close his eyes again, shivering in the cold air, his pillow and sheets forgotten. Finally, somewhere around midnight he drifted off into a uneasy sleep.


-----


Blinding white. "AHGAAAH!" Fingers clenched in sheets as a bedraggled head of hair shot up from the bed, wild eyes whipping around the room, then squinting in pain. Red dropped his forehead back to the bed, slowing his breathing. Oh blessed light. Chasing the darkness away. Groaning, he sat upright, cursing up at the lights for betraying him and blinding him. There was a bang on the door that made him flinch, a gruff voice growling out some sort of order. Red's eyes flicked around in panic, before he scuttled to the far corner of his bed against the wall, watching the door with narrow eyes. It opened. A white coat. Ah, so the doctor had come calling...


"Red. Please have a seat." The monotone carried over to him, almost hurting his ears more than the banging on the metal had done. He shook his head. "Evander..." The doctor warned, the door opening a little further to reveal the guard accompanying him. "You must be new." Red slid off the bed, sauntering over to the table in the middle of his room and sat in his chair. Grey eyes slid over the doctor. "Using my alias won't earn you my cooperation, doctor." He placed his hands flat on the table, as was protocol. "You know what they say about playing into your patient's fancies." The doctor shot him a cold look. Red smiled pleasantly back. "Hold out your arm." "They assigned you to me, because the other doctor refused. Am I right?" "Hold out your arm." "But you... You wanted a raise. They offer you a lot of money to babysit me?" The doctor gritted his teeth, gesturing to the guard outside. "Oh, do I bother you? Not used to patients talking back, are you? No need for that." He held out his arm slowly, hiking up his shirt sleeve. The doctor crossed the room in a clipped stride, stopping beside Red and pressing cold, gloved fingers to his neck. He flinched. He hated the feeling of doctor fingers almost as much as the dark. A medical kit was set in front of him and opened. Red's eyes wandered over the contents. The doctor caught him looking, and pushed it farther out of his reach. Red sighed.

A cold pad of alcohol was set against his arm, a glint of a needle flashing in the doctors fingers before he could fully look away. The pain was the same. Prick and then the fuzziness started to set in. His arm was wiped clean, the doctor the proceeded to check his ears and nose, his eyes, reflexes, as Red slipped slowly into a daze. His mouth was opened, a wooden tongue depressor inserted. The doctor frowned, angry blue eyes flicking up to Red's. "Did you bring in contraband?" "Mhhh?" Red asked, smiling stupidly. The wood was removed. "Your breath smells like a cigarette. Where did you get it?" "Ohhh..." He snickered, rubbing his head. It was fuzzy... "A shadow brought it. Into my room. He shared it with me." "A shadow." "Yes. A man. A man with yellow eyes... He wasn't a doctor, or a guard, or a nurse..." Red's laughing eyes rolled back up to the doctor's "Say, doctor. How did he get in?" The doctor's jaw tightened. "Cigarettes are not allowed, Evander." "I know..." Red snorted, "That's why it's so funny you let him in." The doctor scribbled something onto his clipboard, face set in stone. The young man's eyes followed, curious. "What are you-? No, no I don't want pills. I'm not crazy."

The guard was called in. "It's time for your walk Evander." "I-Im not... I- I.." Blue eyes shot him down with a cutting tone. "There is no way to get past our security and into these cells, Evander. These are for permanent patients. No visitors. Ever." The man's conviction was absolute. Red shrunk back, his head spinning. A rough hand pulled him to his feet, dragging him towards the door. "I'm not mad! I saw him- Touched him! He was real! He wa-" Red was dragged down the hallway as he yelled back to the doctor who was searching his room. The man would find nothing.




A walk. A haircut. A shower. Scrubbing his skin off. New clothes. All seen to by staff. All within the white building. It smelled of disinfectant. So sterile. No lovely flowers to sniff... He was thrown back into his room. By now the shot's effects had worn off, and Red was left to worry about what was to come. Pills. Horrible pills. No doubt, that evil, evil doctor... They dragged you away from your mind. Made you slobber. No, no, no... He paced.


There was no sense of time, no way to see the sky, so when the lights shut off suddenly Red froze. His legs hurt from walking around his room for so long, but the wail was not one of pain. He stumbled blindly in the direction of his bed, bruising his shins against the frame before burrowing under the sheets. Only when the small yellow light flickered on did he stop shaking.
 
Athrun didn’t know how to sleep or at least, he didn’t know how to sleep like humans did. His eyes would close and he would dream, but it wasn’t refreshing like it was for humans. It was more like a settlement for his mind than his body. He didn’t grow tired except when he overused his abilities and then needed to go into a sort of hibernation to regenerate. Yet even then, it didn’t seem like sleep. He’d watched humans sleep, seen them toss and turn, smile and cry, and he knew he did none of those things. He supposed that was normal since he wasn’t human. What would he actually dream of when he couldn’t control what his mind decided to dream about? Would it be good things? Bad things? Or would it be empty and black like a void that sucked out the goodness from your soul? It was questions he had always asked but never found the answers to. He probably never would. Yet as he peered out over the sleeping city, he found that he did have a little bit of envy. Eventually he left his perch and went to his run-down apartment to rest, read, wash, and change his clothing. Reading was the only escape from reality that he truly had.

His book of choice was called The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde. He found that it was an intriguing book about the downfall of an innocent man who turned into a deviant and hedonist, and eventually a murderer. It was all very captivating until Athrun saw the sun begin to rise above the horizon. He needed to rest now. Closing the book, he stripped his clothing off and settled into the small bed. It wasn’t a big apartment. It was more like a studio with just the small things he needed to survive in the human world. As he settled under the blanket, he rested his head on his arms as he thought about Red, his hair fanning over the pillow. Some part of him had wanted to stay, but he had seen Red’s distraught disposition and knew he had been ordered to leave. Red was the last thing to go through his mind before he shut down until nightfall.

-------------------------------------------------------------

As the sun went down again, Athrun’s eyes opened to look at the cracked ceiling above him. He didn’t yawn but stretched out his body from lack of movement. He felt like such an odd out-of-place thing in the human world. Even Duras seemed more suited to the environment than he did and yet he was here, and with a mission. He already felt that strong pull to go to Red and he ignored it for the time being simply because he needed to get himself situated with cleanliness and clothing. Once clean, he picked out his boots, a rough pair of jeans, belt, fingerless gloves, and a vest jacket that showed his scars and tattoos on his arms. It buttoned from his collarbones to his waist before flowing out the back to brush against his calves. Lighting a cigarette, he took a drag before disappearing from the apartment.

This time, he appeared in the hallway of the hospital and listened to some of the other patients screaming or crying. He didn’t understand the things that humans did, but the Angelus did something similar to their crazed. They were locked up and usually never heard from again until they managed to regain their sanity which took a very long time – if they ever did. Smoking his cigarette, he watched the smoke drift into the air before dispersing. Would Red welcome him today? Or would he try to chase him away again? He could only wonder as he stepped through the door and looked at his charge huddled up on the bed.

“They cut your beautiful hair…” he whispered, looking at Red. It was too short, he mused as he moved to sit on the very edge of the bed. He didn’t reach for Red or try to talk anymore. Instead, he just waited for Red to either deny or accept him for a little while. He felt like he was holding his breath.
 
He smelled the smoke, body tensing. It's not true.. Not true... But then the unmistakably smooth voice came.

"You! You-" Red scooted away as soon as he heard the calm voice, felt the dip in his bed. He turned around, pressing his back into the corner of his bed. "You- you're not real. Can't be..." He mumbled. "Security.. They said.." A shaky hand reached up to touch his hair. It was shorter, the locks cut close to his head, but not buzzed. "Hair?" He asked, vexation passing over his face. "Hair?! Why does it matter? You- You!" He lunged forward, trying to strike the man, hit him, bite, anything... but his legs got tangled in the sheets. Red fell pathetically onto his stomach and into the man's lap.

He didn't move for a second, then pressed his hands onto the man's thighs, lifting himself up. "They said you d-don't exist." He huffed. "They said there's no way- and punishment for your cigarette.." He swatted the stick out of the man's hand. Sitting up onto his knees, He looked into the intruder's face. "Why did you come back?" Red studied the shade's bright eyes. "Why are they gold?" He murmured all of a sudden, bringing a hand up to trace over a black brow, feeling a piercing.
 
As soon as Red started to lose control, Athrun really started to wonder if coming here was a good thing or a bad thing but he couldn't help but feel a bit of amusement at how he was reacting. Maybe it was cruel, but he felt at home with his little bit of cruelty as he watched his charge. When the man lunged forward and then awkwardly fell into his lap, Athrun remained completely still, a tiny smile plastered on his face. He didn't want to laugh and so he held it in until he felt Red raise himself up and look him in the eyes. He was so close he could make out the individual flecks of color that made up Red's grey eyes. He knew that his existence was real and yet not real -so to speak- but how could he explain that? When the cigarette was flicked out of his hand, he frowned the slightest bit. Why did he come back? Why were his eyes gold? The latter question was something he had been asking himself since he could remember. Most Angelus had green or blue eyes. He was the only one with gold. Perhaps that was some of the reason why the others hated him- he was unique. Yet his train of thought was stolen when he felt his charge stroke his eyebrow and touch his piercing. A shiver went down his spine and his eyes narrowed the slightest bit, yet he held still.

“I’m sorry you got into trouble…but I can assure you that I am real, especially since you are touching me and just knocked away my cigarette. Which, by the way, I enjoy as my secret vice.” He had to give him a tiny smile but soon felt his lips thin back into that line as he stared into Red’s eyes. How was he to answer the questions presented to him? It was a precarious slope that he was standing on. And so he decided to answer at least as honestly as he could.

“I’m not human and that’s why my eyes are gold,” He said with complete seriousness.
 
"Vice. Huh." Red smiled, "I have many vices. A cigarette isn't all too bad..." He looked down at the floor where the stick lay, frowning. "Until it gets me in trouble." He turned his head back, only to be caught in the man's molten gaze. Red blinked. Oh not funny. Not funny this time. "Not human..?" He whispered. Red fell silent. Simply staring. His mind working out all the circumstances, matching all his questions to the answer he was given.

He stirred after a long moment, his scrutiny falling to examine the man's body. "Not human..." He repeated, eyes wide and trying to hold onto his distrust, but curiosity won out. His fingers left the raven-haired man's face to fall to a shoulder and trail down an arm. It had a body, and flesh, like him. Tattoos, not so much like him. Scars. So, this creature had lived. His souvenirs as painful proof. Red shifted so he straddled the man's legs, running his hand down the other arm. Curious. So many scars... His palms came up to the man's chest at once, pushing him with effort onto his back. Then he started to undo the buttons on the front of his vest.
 
He felt Red start to look him over and that was when he started to feel boxed in and tense. He didn't try to shuffle the man off of him, but he felt that overwhelming feeling of exposure start to ride up. It wasn't that he was ashamed of being naked or even showing his scars, but what the Angelus had done to him....he couldn't quite let go of the agony and sense of loss that had ripped through him like fire through gasoline. He felt Red's fingers trail over his skin, raising goosebumps as he did so and making him shut his eyes at the touch. It wasn't invasive like the other touches had always been - perhaps the two of them had that in common. He couldn't be certain but he knew that Red wasn't just satisfied with seeing those scars.

When he was pushed at until he went onto his back, Athrun grit his teeth the slightest bit as he felt the buttons come undone. Should he stop him? Could he stop him? That boxed in feeling was bubbling up again despite knowing that Red probably wouldn't see him differently - well he was already inhuman anyways so it didn't really matter- but he felt his hand gently grip Red's wrist and look up at him with what he knew was pain in his eyes.

"You won't like what you see..." He said, the words whispered. Red would come to his own decisions but Athrun couldn't help but think that the scars and words carved into his body were true. That he should have been erased. That he was truly "RUINED" and an "Abomination." He had had strips of flesh removed from between all of his ribs, making them more pronounced. There were whip-thin lines all over his back that the tattoos of his wings managed to dull and cover up to a degree. The word "Ruined" had been carved in large letters just below his collarbones, while "Abomination" had been seared into his stomach. He had ligature marks around his neck that had managed to fade and several chain marks on his wrists and ankles from being chained up off the ground. At one point, his hair had been cut to shreds- which amongst the Angelus was a terrible offense and a sign of being Outed - and had had "Denounced" carved into the back of his head. He had been battered, burned, bruised, cut, carved, and tattered but he had still managed to survive. The scars remained but he had been able to heal. And it may not have been apparent, but his vision was tempered in the slightest from blows to the head which is why he slept during the daylight hours - it was too much for his pale eyes to take in completely.

"As I said...I am inhuman...and no human could have survived the scarring and suffering I endured, if that will give you more evidence to my existence," Athrun said, shutting his eyes as he remembered the beatings, the agony, the cries that were never answered without scorn or hatred. Being different had its perks. And its downfalls.
 
Red sucked in a breath, eyes going wide. A hesitant hand reached out to touch the white skin; tracing along the faint scars... to the deeper, ragged ones. So many.. It ghosted over the branding on the man's stomach, ran through the valleys of the torn ribs, up to the ragged R that marred the smooth skin beneath prominent collarbones. "Ruined." He whispered, voice breaking. His fingers started to tremble, not entirely sure what the strong emotion that rushed through his veins was. His head hurt. Red brought a hand up to his forehead where the tension seemed to pool, taking in another shaky breath. "Ruined..." It hurt. It hurt saying it. Looking at it. The words this shade carried on his body... so much more than the burns and carvings and missing pieces of flesh the man bore. Red closed his eyes, feeling something wet run down his cheeks. They plopped onto the man's mauled abdomen, and he looked down to stare in surprise at the droplets.

He sat there silently for a while, hands pressed flat against the mans chest. Feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing. A memoir of agony. Agony written in a bloody, merciless insanity. Red had cut people... To harm them. Mar them. Make them hurt as he did. Get them away... Away. But on this man's body was carved a different story. Scars of torture and struggle. Overwhelming odds and bondage. His eyes finally rose to meet the golden one's that he'd been avoiding.

Without hesitation Red grasped the bottom of his own shirt- yanking it off himself. He threw it to the side, his pale, unabused flesh rippling with lean muscle as he lent over the man; hands on either side of his face. "You understand." Red whispered, lifting a hand to brush through the black silken strands. A comforting touch. He didn't smile. Didn't break out into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. The paranoia of the dark that brought out the worst in him forgotten for a moment in the eyes before him. Eyes bright like the sun. He caressed the man's hair again. "You hurt..." Red placed his palm over the man's heart. It beat like his own. "Tell me." With a slight hesitation, the man pressed his warm torso down against the shadow's. Laying over him. Covering the wounds and scars with his own flesh. He stroked the man's face again, fingers trailing past burning eyes. "Tell me why. Tell me what-.... What you are."
 
Every touch made Athrun's eyes wince in the slightest. It wasn't that it hurt, but the phantom pains still remained when someone touched his marks - like the soldiers he had helped move on with their crazed visions driving them towards insanity of a war that had ended long ago but for them was still alive and well. Eventually the pain faded as he heard Red's anguished words slip from his mouth as if the very word was painful and foreign to say. His eyes opened then and he saw the crystalline tears sliding from the grey eyes like rain drops. He saw the surprise and couldn't help but be surprised himself. Very few had ever wept for him, and this was a first from just seeing the scars. Some had had to hear the story before being able to garner the capacity to cry. Just sight alone had moved him. No wonder he was still beautiful. Even crazed and raw, Red could still make himself even more beautiful. Was it cruel to think his tears made him a stunning sight to behold? Did it make him cruel that he wanted to see those tears more than just once? Perhaps it did. Human tears were just beautiful like a rainbow after a storm: Rare but stunning.

When yellow eyes met grey, there was no judgment, no offense, but an understanding and acceptance of the mentality that made up who Red was and a softness as he looked at the light tracks left by the tears. As Red took off his shirt, Athrun saw the kind of man that Red could have been without insanity creeping up over himself and the abuse he had been through. It was a comforting sight and yet he knew that Red would have his moods and his changes in thought and behavior. Yet Athrun looked forward to it. He wanted that insanity mixed with normalcy. Red was never dull. He surprised him at every turn. He was tempted to touch the tear-streaked cheeks but held back as Red combed his fingers through his hair and then spoke before placing a hand over his heart. It beat slower than a human's, but it still beat and Red was making it skip at his delicateness.

"I'm known as an Angerous...These scars and words are for my sins amongst my kind. Some humans are brutalized for their skin color, yes? I was given the same treatment for my eyes and hair. I did not choose it, but it is what I was given. I also did not follow their codes and so they took out their anger on my flesh. My ways could only be forgiven so much before my differences became my downfall. When my kind injures one another, the wounds heal as scars as you can see," Athrun said after Red laid over him and stroked his face with light fingers. He couldn't help but use one of his hands to stroke the wet cheeks very gently, feeling Red's heat soak into his skin like the rays of the sun. It was warm and inviting.

"You're beautiful to me, Red. Will you stay with me?" What that implied could be taken however Red decided to interpret it. Athrun would never overstay his welcome, but he was like a butterfly in a net- caught and held secure in the man's embrace. How long would it be before that insanity bled in through his skin to his brain? It didn't seem like it would take long. He was already letting the man touch him and it had only been a day. He wondered how much more information would be shed; how much more pain would they endure? How much more cruelty would they live through? It seemed like endless questions but Athrun could feel a small smile curve his lips as he watched Red.
 
"Angerous..." Red repeated the word softly as he listened. Carefully, carefully broken china doll... When the shade finished, it reached a hand up to touch his cheek. He shivered at the cooler touch, but didn't move his face away as the tracks of his tears were wiped clear. "Scars." He nodded. The shadow hadn't been hurt by his burn. There was no cigarette mark on the pale white flesh of it's neck. It... Scared him. Frightened him that this... this.. Angerous wouldn't be hurt by him. Couldn't be.

"Yes, scars..." Red took in a breath in the slow silence that lay deep between them. Though he touched the man's flesh, the remnants of his horrible past, they remained such strange strangers. "You and I," He let the hand covering the man's heart slip off to the sheets beside him, eyes trailing after it. "... Both know the scars within will always be the one's that never truly heal."


He blinked when the man called him beautiful again.. asking him... asking him to- "Stay?" His solemn eyes lit up with a faint light of mirth. "Stay? But I... I have nowhere to go.." He chuckled, musing over the other's face for a moment before he slipped a hand over the man's brows and down- trying to close the shadow's eyes. "Why did you come, golden-eyes?" Red murmured almost inaudibly, frowning. When blocked, all the burning light went out of the smooth, pale face. He released the shadow's eyes, to press both his palms to either side of the man's face. Red giggled and lent down, knocking his forehead against the other's. He held it there, searching the bright, reflective eyes. "So, so many questions. You and I." He hummed, his eyes closing. It was hard to keep staring when the closeness made his eyes go fuzzy and his head hurt. Red's grip remained to keep their foreheads together, but he softened his hands, beginning to murmur on again.

"Twisted, crumpled, ravaged, bleeding
Crushed and grieving.
So alone.
lost and leaving..." Red took a shuddering breath, his head falling to rest on the man's shoulder. "Blackened skies of burnished lies..."
 
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