ALWAYS ALWAYS OPEN !!       She played with his hair as they lay together, the low volume of the tv but background noise to them as they simply enjoyed being together in the same bed, each others comfort and warmth in that moment.

Lips part to lodge a wisp of air that brings forth a sense of repose, feeling the soreness of his muscles slipping away and thus being replaced with a tide of tranquillity. A morning of god forbidden peace, his aureate hues are still layered with the curtain of his eyelids, not perceiving the sound coming in the distance nor the feeling of dainty digits combing through vermillion locks, but he senses a feeble weight shifting beside him. With that, comes her intrinsic aroma that is naught but truculent      –      it invades his nostrils in that split second, conquers the throne with the limbs that commands his body and manoeuvres it to its own egotist needs. Thence, arms find her petite form, pulling her against his chest, mumbling something in between that is not coherent, purely inarticulate. Her name, mayhap? Regardless still... There he is, the half-beast entirely defenceless, without his armor, without the fury of his existence and the arrogance that sets him on the very top. An arrant nonsense, he would say     –      if only he could care. But he couldn't... Not when he was bathing in the calmness of her presence.

ALWAYS ALWAYS OPEN !!   " –– toughened by words before the fights, now you hurt them before they can hurt you ... "

He stands in the crevice of his heart, chisel in hand, facing another war that cannot be compared to the battles he faces daily       /       the latter has sharpened his senses      –      not destroyed, not dulled them, whilst the other, even now, still breaks through, pierces the skin, the flesh, leaves footprints of calmly untold stories... Until it finds the web of his ribcage, having no other target than what keeps him alive. Words are meaningless most of the times, but she is undoubtedly right      –      they changed him, made his blood ran cold and not by little degrees, not gradually but furtively. He rides himself of the emotions still creeping near, letting the past nip his flesh, but not to the extent of scarring       –      naught by a beast, he is solely meant to fight, to rob and then take, to claim and then abandon. Words are unforgiving, he would hear... Now he has grown unforgiving too.

❛        I cannot be hurt.        ❜         He simply says, monotone, vacant gaze. Her presence is alarming, however, and he feels she can read through the mask, through the facade, through the walls of indifference. He almost fears her.          ❛        It's different.        ❜        

ALWAYS ALWAYS OPEN !!   a disguised demoness is just gonna watch with the commoners; she doesn't care for gambling, but the bloodshed is exciting to watch!

The scent of bloodshed declares the arrival of trophies to be added to the gruesome walls of his chamber and he dares not to shed a droplet of compassion whilst rummaging through the crevices of lifeless bodies, seeking for the glory that they embraced until their last breath, only to carelessly toss it to the fabric hanging behind his back         –       no shits given to the sentimental attachment that may have coexisted. He cares less about the eyes of the survivors and the starvation for the same luxury         –        they covet the position, covet the reputation and the futility it cradles      /     if only they knew how he loathes his opulence!

Feeling naught but a smidgen of satisfaction, he looks around for one last moment, taking in the hints of subtle praises and silent promises of retaliation in between but he cares not about it for his aureate hues land upon a foreign figure. It's grace in a petite form, malice in elegant curves. All carefully concealed by a mantle of satin. Like a beast exhibits its canines to scare its prey, he shows his own to pass through the agglomeration of animated lives, finding the way back to the top of the coliseum where she lays her excellence in tides of charm.        ❛         This place isn't appropriate for a damsel. Are you perhaps lost?        ❜          He goes in, refusing distance, undaunted, invading space that does not belong to him. How careless.     ❛         A damsel in distress is fuel to many of us, so perhaps we should avoid that. May I help you, my lady?        ❜  

ALWAYS ALWAYS OPEN !!    Casually sits on his lap because she wants attention 

Graceless is the smile that creeps onto his lips albeit brimmed it is with the sweetest chants of a fondness long forged by the bond they shared. His arms are quick to envelop her in his embrace and the space spontaneously offered to her seems almost craved solely for her        –       as if faith has prepared it uniquely for her arrival, uniquely to lodge her petite form against his chest and onto his lap. Perfect, he would say         –       if the word wasn't so foreign to him.         ❛         Hey...        ❜          His vocals are rough like the wind that seems to indicate the arrival of a storm and he feels his whole body rejecting the announcement, wanting instead to bath in the sun of Ionia.        ❛         You just arrived on time... The weather doesn't seem to get any better soon, Nami.        ❜          Lips find her temple to press a feather kiss on and his aureate hues meet her gracious visage.        ❛         I missed you. Very much.        ❜        

ALWAYS ALWAYS OPEN !!    Jayce runs at him at a full sprint, sped up by his acceleration gate. And as soon as he reaches the other, he leaps heroically, tackling his boyfriend right in his abdomen. He was sure to knock Sett over this time!

Air dwindles to a trickle at the unexpected impact and lips, which once were tempted to form the sweetest beam, part instead to instantly lodge a snippet of a gasp before he collects what strength he has to avoid a very painful, yet certain fall. For a good second, it seems he is succeeding for his feet curl against the hard pavement to support both their weight, albeit soon, with grandiose horror, he is met with the crude realization that he fails to attain the necessary balance to keep both vertically steady.

Back meets pavement, back meets pain        –      a guttural growl silences the impact, followed by Jayce's name in a cocktail of surprise, disbelief and a twinge of annoyance for he knows the intention behind the flawless stunt       /      thus an arm slides around the other's waist to keep him from ever daring to escape, showing canines in disapproval.       ❛         You little sh     –     ...         ❜         A beast who dares not to roof defeat, he rolls them over to be on top, pinning the other's large hands above his head whilst trying to conceal the smirk creeping onto his lips.        ❛         No, no and definitely no! Never again! No. No. No.         ❜   

... A chuckle makes its way to her, bubbling and illuminating her face, albeit briefly at a recollection of one of many occasions of her dear friend’s teasings. Sona looks at Sett, noting the various degrees of scars that marked his arms, chest, and face. 

‘I can almost say you can foresee the future, do you not remember when you had spoken of my decorum being fit to be of a noble’s after you had rolled out of that brush?’

Aureate hues behold the night invading the skies of Ionia and he watches with a vacant stare the light launched by the constellations craved above, beneath the suffocating pain, brilliant and full of splendour     /      they contrast with the crepuscular crevices in the heart which hardens by each passing second, becoming less youthful whilst the body remains quite the same       –      without visual changes, without the fissures of the skin losing its elasticity and the past comes hand-in-hand with the hurtful breeze of silent cries, reminding him that time does not stop and the present, which is not glowing as it is expected to, is not introducing him to a gradual process of healing.

Her honeyed vocals come and vestiges of a forbidden panic come in furious tides, threatening the tranquillity her sole presence conceives with a genuine tenderness. He stares, knowing that the sight is going to break his already wrecked heart but that matters not for he proves incapable of looking away. He does not seem to reach out either, does not seem to react... Only prevails the silhouette of a broken beast, watching her tears tarnish the porcelain of her skin.

❛         I would repeat it a million times more if it was necessary.        ❜      

The past nips his flesh and he feels the fear crawling beneath his skin as if to remind him that it exists, that it always had existed... Since the moment they separated ways.       ❛        We were children... But our feelings were real, were raw... Were unbelievably strong.        ❜         The warmth of her smile coats him and he wears it like it is the finest cloak       /        fear thence slowly decays and a smile creeps instead onto his lips with the sound of her chuckle.        ❛        Glad to know I was equally occupying your mind all these years. I couldn't be the only one...        ❜         Hand twitches, wanting to reach for hers, but he fails to execute the affectionate act. It seems he does not know how to behave around her.

The tethering of the beast inside does not keep it from growling incessantly, sawing with claws as sharp as the visible canines, cutting free from the confinements of the web of his ribcage. He does not let it be freed yet, for he needs to know the reason behind such an atrocious act, such violent mass slaughter that does not seem to be reasoned and premeditated. How cruel one can be! Nonchalant to the stance it proudly exhibits, no sound coming from pressed lips, emphasizing instead the sound of blood dripping from the sharp crown of his blades, streaming onto a canvas made of human skin to show his deeds        –      droplets coursing from the corners of exposed flesh to ultimately stain a trail of gore down the curvature of a corpse, congealing before it dripped free.

The scent of demise makes his stomach coil and he has the urge to expel what resides inside his stomach, proving incapable not long after for he does not seem to control the turmoil occurring within. Lips, however, react      /     they shudder not with fear but with a vehement rage and his body becomes rigid as if iced with the coldness setting around although knowing that he is burning from the inside out.        ❛         Answer me!         ❜       A roar of heartache, despair crawling with merciless fangs! There is no response, no sound, no voice to the font of his hurt.

He steps from the shadow when he notes the slightest movement, his body a contrasting element against the shadow, a spot near glowing even exposed to the blinding abyss that swallows them whole.       ❛         Don't...         ❜        He steps near, capturing his gaze. Then, he runs... Hunting the prey that dares not to give him what he wants. Between alleys decorated with the result of a heartless man, between the death and the last exhalation given, between gut-wrenching screams of those who would never have a second chance.

Rage begins to alleviate into something far more pleasantly met, a smile stretching, relieved laughter racking the frame he has taken. An arm raises to grasp a wrist, claws scrapping to take him down, caging the figure between the pavement underneath and the gigantesque structure his soul commands.

ALWAYS ALWAYS OPEN !!         "Netflix and chill, babe?" She purrs hugging one of his strong arms

Quizzical look creeps onto his visage when her vocals bring what can be a subtle innuendo and a brow arches in a curious match whilst his aureate hues lower to be set on her ocean eyes.           ❛         When you put it that way...        ❜      A guttural purr escapes from the crate of his throat, sprinkled with the all-consuming ache in the heart that dares not to be satisfied         /       it is a unique apparatus that runs within, never stopping its function but never finding a purpose to its journey, it merely continues pumping and pumping.          ❛         I cannot help but think of more than chilling.        ❜