#SONSHINE

                    ❝     I DIDN’T SAY I DISLIKED THEM  .     ❞                               tepid sigh  ,    fingertips dragging back through    e b o n    strands  ,    pause to glance at the bandaids scattering across each digit                       (    each one like a small restraint when he flexes  ,    a    FROWN   !        he dislikes the sensation more than most things  ,     draws in a harried breath  ,    shoves away memories that rise like    SICKNESS   in his throat  .    )                           his head tilts down  ,    shoulders taken a familiar slump  ,    attempting to look smaller  ———-     GENTLER  !      ————     around such a sweet presence  .    eyes hold within them a familial fondness never known to him before  ,     a sight for only this    SUNSHINE SON    to behold  .     breathe a laugh                              ❝     get me my sense of touch back and i can attempt to not get hurt  .     ❞                           hears a chatter behind him  ,     shoulders tensed  ,    a scalding and warning look given before looking back and sighing                   ❝     oh  ,    i do  ,    trust me  .    i would rather these  .  .  .    power rangers  ?      than whatever that last thing was  ,    did you say it was japanese  ?      either way  ,    it had evil eyes  .     ❞

      THESE HANDS WERE NOT MEANT TO HEAL !             they could not fix that which ty cannot understand, is broken.   touch seems so simple...   so easy to forget, until it’s gone.  in a way, the son of apollo understands.   he too loses feeling whenst sucked into prophetic visions of new.           { {      but what summer suffers, is seemingly permanent       } }.                 and these hands which can do no more than apply bandages to scrapes and bruises, clench into small helpless fists at his sides;   large guileless blue eyes, open like windows to a soul pure as light.    

“ i don’t think i have bandaids for that ... “                  like the sun extinguished of ever molten rock, and fires erupting-   the boy’s once chipper enthusiasm disappears quickly.  his prophetic sight, who did it truly help? all those he had tried to aid,  HAD NEVER ONCE SURVIVED.  and now, unlike some of his siblings, he cannot heal what was broken within his friend.   

                       ❝     RUINS THE  .  .  .     AESTHETIC OF IT  .     ❞                         gruff voice      *  (       though it is breathed out with such care    !     he takes heed  ,    if only for this boy  .              brow is furrowed  ,    fingertips flexed with care  ,    a certain    CURIOSITY   at the stretch of   strange colors  /  strange fabrics  over his knuckles  .               onyx hangs in his eyes  ,    allows the touches to befall the                 SUFFOCATING  /  BURNING  /  BRIMSTONE AND FIRE                of his skin  .                  exhaled  ,    only trained ears knowing the tune of      a m u s e m e n t       that hangs so achingly unfamiliar in the air  .           shifts forward so that elbows are resting on his knees  ,       face tilted upwards                   a mocking prayer  ?                relinquish your trust in the hands of such a       GENTLE     being  .                         ❝      careful  ,    i know you just bought more of these  ,    too many and you’ll have t’go back out again  .      ❞

                             ( &     @leohtly

❝     you    play   well,       for one so young.  ❞ praise from a deity whose patron was the arts, now that was a rare thing – but then again, had this meeting truly been within the nature of coincidence? likely not. ❝ who is it that taught you? ❞ 

@leohtly ♥ this for a starter.

                     rory [rawr-ee, rohr-ee] : teutonic meaning, famous ruler ! in irish gaelic, RED KING.

       son of boreas, yeigh, neigh?