We've got a job to do.

the safe house feels like a cage, bell's mind right along with it. he feels like he's trapped beneath a cave collapse, where the sun peaks through the slivers of rock, teasing at the world outside. so close but so fucking far from freedom. he's sure that he's the only one who feels this way, no matter how many times he's told certain memories being fuzzy is normal, or that he's just overly tired; none of these half-truths comfort him.

it's when the glimpses of an almost past life reveal themselves in the cracks of bell's mind that things go south. the overwhelming sense of anger, the hyper-violence he feels building under his skin until there's no pushing it back down, bell's a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. the darkroom is in disarray, and park will likely sport bruises in a few hours from the latest break before adler got to him. bell's anger is almost always exclusively aimed at park and adler. his brain is only half capable of remembering why.

                Cigarette  is  almost  forgotten,  ash  falling  from  the  glowing  red  tip  as  he  stares  at  Bell.  And  for  a  good  long  moment,  too.  Finally  he  inhales  on  the  stick  before  it's  completely  ashed  once  more  and  forgotten  about,  glowing  for  a  moment.  Smoke  flows  from  nostrils  before  it's  plucked  from  lips  with  his  free  hand.  He  stares  at  Bell  as  if  he,  himself,  had  been  empty.  Nothing  on  his  mind  except  the  compliance  of  his  little  science  experiment.

· 𓂃 ࣪˖🔪 ˖ ࣪𓂂 . There's a bit of a whine with the sudden loss of friction but his hips wiggle in place to shake it off. Making him start rolling further into Adler's lap and his legs spread a little farther when the other parts knees. Eyes are quick to drift down to growing erection and his hand comes down to palm the other over fabric. Before eagerly undoing button and zipper to pull him out and hand gives slow strokes.