#exitvelo

it was a dangerous game they were playing, far too dangerous for hideo to ever consider, foolish to even take part in, to grant the boy this much leeway, but it was perhaps a lesson he could only learn when administered in the flesh. like stitches, best to receive without anesthesia, so you could feel the pain of every push of the sharp needle into your skin, a reminder to be more careful the next time. only the body kept the score, but the brain remembered the sensation, the pain that accompanied the memory, and set up defenses accordingly.

perhaps this was what elijah needed, rather than hideo putting up walls that were far too high to scale for anyone but never dissuaded him from trying. eli did not learn in theory, had no desire or patience for theorems, ideas, wise words, hideo had known this for as long as he had known him but never dared or dreamed for it to ever get quite so out of hand. never knew that he could be pushed this far towards the edge of himself, that violent thing that pulsed beneath his skin, begged to see the dead of the night. many of the tales told were true, some of them had never been uttered in the presence of another living thing; there were things that only hideo knew about, that had yet to enter any written record, that died hundreds of years ago on the lips of men and women that would take their experiences to their grave. it was designed to be that way, the intoxicating rush of endorphins leaving nothing but pleasure in their wake; hideo knew all about it, had seen men fall into his arms with a dazed look in their wide eyes, begging him in slurred, incoherent words for things he could give them if he were so kind. a certain death is what they desired, they just didn't know it.

elijah knew, hideo thought, he just didn't care. the boy was so addicted to danger and to physical proximity, how his blood rushed to the surface whenever hideo so much as looked at him, barely touched him. a graze of his hand was enough to double the frantic beating of eli's heart, hideo could hear it and he could smell it, too, the sweet scent of his blood when it warmed inside his veins, when it ran through him in a tantalizing cascade. a wave of desire that filled the air in between them with a spark that clawed at hideo's restraint, his best-laid plans, and his finely honed resolve. and because elijah knew about this certain effect he had on hideo's very being, the fundamentals of his existence, he liked to push and prod, to dig his nails in and demand him to stay and give him whatever he wanted. he had done it yet again, tried to catch him off guard, an impatient little thing that craved hideo's attention and the danger it brought, the violence that betrayed his calm demeanor. elijah had seen what he had done to hideo and he wanted more of it, wanted it to escalate.

fine, hideo could escalate things, could allow elijah in until he was close enough to be trapped in a cage of his own, toothless want. the boy lacked what hideo had, which was precisely why this was ill-advised to begin with, but hideo had contained himself for so long, could only hold out for so much longer, and he had been just a man once, a very long time ago. in the end, it was terrifyingly easy to give in. a soft and ancient longing laying dormant, begging for release, finally heard.

in the end, it was far too easy to drag his palm up elijah's broad back, skin hot the touch and already damp with perspiration, his scent in the air, hitting the roof of hideo's mouth with a potency that was equally as frightening as it was exhilarating and arousing. " is that what you want? " hideo muttered, a rumble in his chest, his voice a rough approximation of what it usually sounded like; he could feel the shift beneath his own skin that signaled the arrival of a monster, the telltale sign of this murderous want never laying low for too long. it was a surprise, actually, that he had controlled himself for as long as he had, as he could, when elijah was the picture of his own desires, a mirror of what he wanted whenever he indulged himself, which was practically never these days. but now, he could have it, it was readily offered to him, and hideo sunk his hand into the messy waves at the back of eli's hair, the boy so pliant as he was moved, so needy when hideo barely had to pull, gasping for breath before hideo had even kissed him. it made the corner of his mouth curl into a sharp smile, a blade, before he angled his head and kissed elijah. a word far too soft to illustrate what they were doing, more tongue and teeth than anything else, hideo breathing in the intoxicating scent, the taste of eli on his tongue enough to make him crave it, too. the sharp glide of his teeth, fangs, he let his eyes slide shut and gave himself over to what was in between them.

" wait – please. " he wheedles, if charmingly, as the strange and lovely warrior begins to turn away, as if to depart. simeon's hand tightens on the neck of his newly re-acquired lyre, tilting his head curiously and allowing his eyes to narrow. " surely even someone so skilled needs rest after such an impressive display. and surely I owe you a meal, whether in the nearest town or merely cooked over a fire. I can hardly pay back the debt, but would you deny me the chance to at least acknowledge it? "

admittedly there's little harm, too, in a stitch of extra protection until he gets his bearings again – but that's merely a side benefit.

is that really what she decided to wear? nile finds herself biting the soft insides of her cheeks at the cliché. it serves to warm florence to her though. it takes guts to hug the corners of an art display in the art thief costume.

party city looking-ass.

her smile lingers for a few seconds. when she turns to face florence in full, it doesn't quite fade but instead rearranges itself into something else. querying. maybe a little healthily guarded. but her expression is welcoming enough, all things considered.

"yep." she pops the p. "nile and florence. we got two continents between us." yusuf would be so proud of that joke. "listen, i was wondering if we could talk. i know that's, like, the worst, most ominous thing i could say, but you're not in trouble.'

◗ PROMPT COLLECTED FROM ASSASSIN'S APPRENTICE ░ ACCEPTING.

[ 𝑨 ] n unassuming Tuesday in the middle of October, the unthinkable happens. For once Samira Mohan is hanging around after the mandated hours of her shift have passed not out of any deep rooted instinct to do more, to solve another mystery and shepherd another family safely out the doors, or to prove herself beyond any shadow of a doubt — but for the sake of a friend. Waiting for Cassie to finish charting, patiently leaning against the hub despite the ache in her limbs and the hunger that grows, she watches the rest of the day shift trickle out the doors & back into the world. Her gaze catches on the retreating back of Dr. Robby, the way his shoulders tense at the sound of Langdon calling his name, and what plays out before her would be comical if it wasn't so pathetic: whatever the returning senior resident tries to say is cut off by the stern tone of the attending's dismissal. The sight of them having to stroll out the same door almost makes her guffaw, might in fact have pushed her fully over the edge into loony, if it weren't all so stupid.

❛❛ Why won't they just talk it out? ❜❜ Samira wonders aloud, though not quite so that others from the night shift will overhear. ❛❛ I thought I was emotionally ... y'know— [She waves a hand absentmindedly, as if Cassie already knows what she means.] But they're so much worse. Honestly, it's getting a little ridiculous. ❜❜

The sound of Cassie's chair thumping against the edge of the desk catapults her into action, swinging her backpack over her shoulder and zipping her windbreaker all the way up as @exitvelo says: ❛❛ You speak as if they follow the same rules of common sense as the rest of us. ❜❜

this time, it dragged a soft whine from in between his teeth.

it felt like a privilege to be with someone without any expectations, removed from the stifling borders of society, of his own history, that kept humiliating him wherever he turned, as if the glaring absence of everyone he had ever loved wasn't enough. but there were changes all around him, a warm spring blooming beyond the reflection of his window pane, the green flooding the streets surrounding the apartment, breathing new life into a year that had been crippled by a long and cool winter, frozen to the riverbed and dry to the touch. work had become more bearable, too, the rising temperatures a kindness on his aging joints; he was not twenty anymore, far from it, and welding was much tougher on his physical condition than writing had ever been. occasionally, he was grateful. the labor kept his mind preoccupied and off the path to self-destruction, and jinman had long begun to cherish those blank hours for the reprieve they were. it was better than sitting at home and drowning his spiraling despair in soju, better than listening to the endless sprawl of his brother's thoughts, which never ran out and never stopped, movies that jinman had watched with half an eye and tried to find the same magical spell in them that kept dongman tethered to the screen. he could only grasp it abstractly; the only time he had ever felt close to that sort of peace was many years ago, and it had led nowhere.

now, though, there was something else in the air. the smell of blossoming trees clung to the sticky-sweet air, the warmth of the sun gradually growing stronger day by day, and it was all contained in the person laying next to him. it had been so long that jinman had forgotten what it felt like to exist in someone else's space, to exist with them in their own sphere, what an honor it was to simply be allowed in. the invitation alone had been a surprise, so unused was he to blowing someone else's door open; a wind that had died down long ago, transformed into a gentle breeze that knocked at a stranger's window. he looked at eunah, the dark of her eyes, which seemed to swallow all the light around her, and how her hair curled into her face, tendrils of it like waves around her flushed cheeks and pale forehead, and did not fight the urge to gently brush it back. even this was foreign to him, a soft touch he had thought to have unlearned. this was new for the both of them, then, he had observed already, had tried to not make any more assumptions beyond what he knew, what he saw, what he could grasp in between his roughened, clumsy fingers.

the air was crisp and cool, the sun a warm glow in the sky, as bright as anyone would love to have it on an early spring day, and hayun was standing by the castle wall, feeling rather illicit this close to the royal guards when he had no permission to be anywhere near castle grounds. of course, he had snuck in an out of too many places to count in his lifetime but this was different: he was supposed to be here, he had just been early or the one he was supposed to meet with was running late; however you were to put it, the situation did not change one bit. it took some time to make it from their estate to castle town, long enough to warrant taking one of his steeds, stealing it away right under his brother's nose, which was now tended to in one of the stables close to the border of the town. hayun had walked the rest of the way, enjoying the good weather and fresh air, but now he suddenly felt adrift, like he was loitering, doing something he was not supposed to. it set him a little on edge, this waiting which he was not used to unless his father called for him or hajun punished him with a silent hour of tending to their tedious books, knowing fully well that hayun had a hard time with numbers. he sighed then, loud enough for one of the guards to turn towards him, so he shifted closer to the wall. really, if the tutor wanted to take his sweet time, that was his goddess given right but a warning would have been nice. a pebble, perhaps, thrown out of a window, or a leaf in the wind, or anything, really, hayun thought, staring hard at the gray stone of the wall. really, despite the many years of turmoil the castle was still standing, well-built and imposing. his brother would like that sort of thing, hayun mused, architecture and craftsmanship, boring stuff he never shut up about it. just as hayun reached out to put his palm to the wall he was yanked back by the collar of his overcoat, and he felt his heart surge into his throat. the guards had finally gotten to him-

" goddesses, " he said, louder than he intended to, closer to a shriek, but whoever had pulled him aside just slid a hand over his mouth, and then there was the heat of a body close to his back, a familiar scent, the dark, fine fabric of the royal tutor's jacket a contrast to the white of hajun's robe, and he couldn't help but sigh, stifled by the palm over his mouth. hayun wanted to do something irately foolish like press his mouth to the inside of ian's palm, but the teacher was far too proper as to not scold him for it. hayun secretly liked it, how ian always appeared to be above everything, almost frozen in time, but no, he was not one of those folkloric heroes, instead he was just one diligent man who cared for the education of the royal family. " can you let me go no- thank you, " he muttered, but ian did not give him any chance to say any more, pulling his hand away just in time to set his fingers close to hayun's collar, by his neck, and he could feel the warmth of his skin so close to his bare neck that he felt a tingle run down his spine. then, he felt a tug first on his sleeve, lower down his collar next, closer to where the two halves of his jacket were folded over each other, tied together by a braided rope of silver silk, and he looked down at ian's hands gently tucking his clothes into order. doing so with such a deftness that hayun felt as if he had done it a hundred times before, as if he had always dressed hayun, who could do nothing to fight the heat inside of him, that surely colored his cheeks pink.