#cxffexngel

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‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ `` And I'm sure it won't be the last for either of us. ``

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍— contrary to the chiding he's certain his newfound company must have had an inkling he'd be subjected to.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍no. Six was no stranger to sleepless nights.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍he knew them as well as the back of his own hands — ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍as well as the sins that hung over his head with every breath.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍they have kept him awake more times than he can count.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍he was in no position to be telling anyone to retire when they could not.

‘’ I don’t get it… ‘’ it was the woes of the current supreme primarch as he could barely feel his throat. The burn of alcohol much too great and uncomfortable compared to the pleasant one of freshly brewed coffee. Sandalphon was unsure how he got roped this time to try the alcoholic drink after many times refusing - even after that time that one draph woman had the audacity to pour a whole bottle of that into his coffee back at the stall he once set at that one campsite some months ago. It was disgusting, too strong, sour and simply not even something he finds the so mentioned ‘joy’ of drinking at it. It made him feel heavy, dizzy and simply miserable - which he accentuates with a drawn out groan exhaled as he slumps into the table in front him, cheek flushed into the welcome of cold wood and hands at each side of his form. ‘’ What’s even the point of this drink, the culture around it if there’s not even an ounce of ‘happiness’ this even brings? Truly, I don’t get mortals sometimes. ‘’ yet what he fails to admit the entire time is about how all he’s done is drink not even half the glass he had been offered by none more than Eugen himself, the old skyfarer plenty of times having tried to offer the archangel drinks, to party and drag him as if Sandalphon was a junior under his wing rather the multimilenia primal beast, that will even outlive the old man at any point given - but he couldn’t complain, no. Not even when the four primarch themselves also, while now respecting him given his role he didn’t ask for but has worn with pride , there’s still that familiarity and almost friendliness they thread around him. Uriel almost like an older brother when they cross paths, to Michael’s understanding and lending each other an ear over regrets and guilts that hang over the two, to Gabriel almost terribly dotting nature and sometimes scary way  that she’s, out all the four, the most blended with skydweller culture than he’d be able to. And Raphael that stands by, but always offer the best advice when the winds blow in his direction. And oh how much of a fool he was, as he had singlehandedly seen Gabriel and Europa that time also delight themselves with drinks too while he was just perplexed at the crime happening before his eyes without a power to stop it. ‘’ Maybe I just wasn’t cut for this… Lucifer, what do I do with the glass? I could sneak and throw the rest into the sink but that’d defeat the purpose of a gift despise how… unfitting it is to my tastes. And the pile that the mortal has been piling for me and this ‘enlightenment’ I see nowhere despise my attempts. ‘’ And if he was going to be utterly honest, Sandalphon definitely wanted to just burn them all and just lie that he had drink them without trouble - but knew that he was much of a bad liar and it’d be found out easily even if he left no evidence of the matter due to how easy it’d be to spot the fallacies of his claims. Maybe, just maybe Lucifer would have an answer to his pleas; so a tired sharp, crimson eye perks a bit from the collapsed from of the archangel and oh; was that a frown on Lucifer there? ‘’ … Lucifer? ‘’

A sympathetic frown creases Lucifer's delicate lips as he listens to Sandalphon lament, and then watches the other melt against the table. The archangel has barely made a dent in the drink Eugen had given him, but Lucifer, though not quite as vocal about it as Sandalphon, can understand the other's woes. He finds the taste of alcohol rather detestable, and tends to turn it down or avoid it whenever it's offered to him. Though, unlike poor Sandalphon who got roped into trying it in the middle of a party, the first time he had tried was with Gabriel on an outing some time ago--she had claimed the drinks were delicious, and the flavor might even inspire him to conjure up a new type of coffee. Needless to say, he eagerly agreed to join her, and was sorely disappointed with the results. At first he had simply believed that his tastebuds weren't made to stomach such a thing--after all, the genetic make-up of primals and humans differed, but, ah, well, he had watched Gabriel easily chug down several glasses without batting an eye so that theory had been thoroughly debunked. Perhaps this aversion to alcohol was limited to just himself and Sandalphon for some reason, but he shakes his head. He would need more evidence to back up that claim, so he turns his attention back to the ailing archangel. "Perhaps some mortal customs are simply beyond our comprehension," he adds softly, not wishing to speak too loudly when he knows the effects that drink can have one. "There is no need to push yourself to take part in all of them." Usually Lucifer is eager to try new things, and learn more about humans and their lives--his response to the whole ordeal makes it abundantly clear he enjoys alcohol about as much as Sandalphon does--which is, not at all.

His frown deepens just a tad at the question. Ah, it would be a bit rude to throw the glass away as it was a gift. But he doesn't wish for Sandalphon to torture himself further by forcing himself to drink more of it. His eyes drift over to the glass--watching as the liquid inside sways back and forth, almost like a monster circling its prey. It's only when Sandalphon calls his name that he realizes just how long he had been staring at it. With a soft sigh, he reaches out to gingerly push the other's messy bangs away from his eyes--his skin is warm to the touch, and there's a slight flush painting his features. And it makes his heart ache for the other. Slowly, he runs his hand through the Supreme Primarch's messy hair, and leans down to place a soft kiss upon the freshly exposed skin. "It will be all right, Sandalphon, I will take care of it. Just take it easy," he reassures despite how his nose twitches ever so slightly at the pungent aroma wafting up from the glass. Truly, he's impressed Gabriel can tolerate the taste so well, perhaps there's some sort of trick to it he's yet to learn or master. But, ah, for now, he simply has no choice but to fall on the sword for Sandalphon.  

✴ ;

   Were people still watching?  

    The thought pops up randomly, as he moves to glance down to the deck of the Grandcypher.   Indeed, the other crewmates seem enraptured by the ‘fireworks’, as they were called.  They were interesting to look at, but after seeing more than a few times it felt repetitive.  In the end they were just noisy lights in the sky to celebrate the New Years--  

    He turns when he hears footsteps to see the brown-haired angel and only stares at him for a few seconds before turning back to the sky.  

[ cxffexngel ] || aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes — for gran!

Writing Prompts || Always Accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

                                                        ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ― ☽ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

      Some days are worse than others. Some days he can hurl himself full force at a rampaging primal and come out with just a few additional scrapes and bruises to add to his seemingly endless yet always growing collection. Other days he can barely drag himself out of bed because he, despite everything, is only human and old aches flare up to the point where it hurts to even breathe and the thought of rolling over to settle feet against the ground is enough to make him nauseous. Today is one of those in-between days, but very much bordering on the latter, where he can feel his joints pop with every step he takes and scars years old now feel fresh where they tug against his skin. His mind is a hazy mass of disjointed thoughts that he can just barely make sense of and, frankly, with the turbulent day he’s had, he’d prefer if he couldn’t make a lick of sense of everything eating away at him. A silent sigh forces itself past his chapped lips, rigid fingers full of calloused shaped in the picture-perfect image of his staff lift to ruffle up messy locks as if doing so will somehow soothe the budding headache that was beginning to chip away at what remained of his clarity. Auburn irises cast a fleeting glance out the window to check the time - dark skies stretching out as far as the eye could see. Pitch black save for a small handful of glimmering stars that were nestled in the moon’s meager shadow. One or two in the morning, if he had to guess. 

     Hands come back down to his side where fingers curl and uncurl into useless fists and dull nails dig at the thick skin of his palms. This is always the longest day of the year by far, and he’s already starting it bright and early. And by that he meant so early that there was’t even on ounce of light seeping in through narrow halls that creaked softly as he dragged himself towards the desk because he was in desperate need of fresh air and wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t his room at the moment. A stupid thought, because what difference did it make where he was when he had mercilessly shoved old, crinkled letters into his pocket when they were the source of what he wanted to avoid at the moment? Lips purse, and he yanked the dark fabric of his hood over his head. He’d like to think he wasn’t the sentimental type or that he was over it, but every year the anniversary of the day his father had abandoned came like a storm - like cracking thunder and blinding lightning until it took all of the air out his lungs and left him feeling miserable and haggard. And the logical part of him could talk himself down from the shallow breaths that made his chest heave, but the emotional part of him didn’t care about whether or not the overwhelming feelings of self-loathing and sorrow made sense. 

      Teeth pull his bottom lip inward as boots clank lightly against the deck - frigid air whipping at his cloak and making his cheeks sting where it nips at damp skin. A shiver runs down his spine as he inhales sharply against it - lungs filling up with cold air that makes them numb. It was cold that day too, though he can barely recall it - when he had opened that door to nothing but a letter that he’s rolled up into a ball and nearly thrown away at least a hundred times since then. He flopped down, gracelessly, near the rails. If he breathes in enough times maybe his lungs would freeze. He reached out to yank his leg to his chest so he could rest his forehead against his knee. He could count the number of breaths he took, but it wasn’t enough to stop the ringing in his ears or the clamor of his heart or the fog in his head. Dread and anxiety bubbling up on the pit of his stomach until it made his palms warm and he felt sick. It showed where sweat made bangs cling to his skin. Where thick bags were nestled beneath moist eyes. Where stains could be seen upon his skin. In how his lips quivered; dried blood clinging to them where he had worried at them too much. In how his body ached and how he felt like he might just puke if the ship made too big a turn. Frown where smile always found itself.      

       Another hoarse breath. He was counting down the hours by the seconds now and they couldn’t slip by fast enough. This day hung over him like a guillotine each time it arrived. How many years had it been and he still couldn’t stand the thought of it? Still couldn’t think of it without anger and dread and sadness washing over him. He can’t decide if he despises the man with every fiber of his being or just wants to hear him acknowledge his existence. Fingers grip at the thick fabric of his cloak - knuckles pale from the pressure he uses to grip it. Until the faintest of sounds breaks him away from the turmoil of his mind, head snapped up almost painfully from where it had been resting as fingers tighten until they threaten to tear and pry themselves loose from his cloak. He swallows around the bitter lump in his throat as he tilts his head back and any color that had still been present upon his features drains in its entirety upon seeing Sandalphon. Eyes widen; slick lashes still clinging to their damp corners and his body protests the meager act of turning around to face him properly. Teeth gritting around the curse that fluttered into his head. 

☀ ;

        "San-chan, is... something the matter?" Lucio asks as he glances behind him at the primarch, eyebrows wrinkled in a spot of confusion. He will not pretend that he doesn't feel the other's intense gaze on his backside, like beams of light shining upon his build. It did not particular bother him, but it was out of the ordinary for Sandalphon to even spare him much of a glance to begin with, lest it be something akin to annoyance.