✖. — [ @hxroccmplex / 𝟒 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐜𝐬 ]
👫 sorry ive been so MIA but i need. NEED. micah/sylas content
1. Sylas paints Micah’s nails for him.
It’s not that Micah can’t paint his own nails or that he’s super into wearing nail polish for any particular reason-- because I mean, 1) hardly anyone’s going to see his nails anyway since he’s wearing gloves 90% of the time, 2) the static membrane covering his hands gradually chips the paint away rapidly, so it’ll be gone within 3-4 days of him putting it on anyway, and 3) he only wears black nail polish, or if he’s really daring red, or if he’s really really really daring pink, so it’s not as if he’s wearing eye-catching colors or designs either. In other words he has no reason to want Sylas to paint his nails other than it gives him an excuse to feel Sylas’s hands on his hands. And that’s it. That’s the entire reason.
For him, it’s about the press of Sylas’s thumb pad against his knuckles while Sylas holds his hand steady, the warmth of Sylas’s fingers against his own as he adjusts the angle of Micah’s hand to make sure he’s covering the entire nail. It’s about how they’ll talk about anything-- or maybe nothing. And the silence will be like a blanket, settling over both their shoulders, something that prompts them to scoot in a little closer to share it more intimately. Maybe their knees will eventually touch, or one will feel the other’s breath ruffling the front of their shirt when they laugh at something stupid the other said. Inevitably Micah will do something like sneeze or his static will bite down on his skin hard enough to make him jolt, and Sylas will paint a wobbly black stripe up the side of Micah’s hand, or spill some of the polish (and it’s good that Micah brought up the idea of sitting on a ratty old towel he uses when dyeing his hair, right?), or smear a finger through still-drying polish. And if Sylas gets irked Micah just laughs and teases him, “What, you over there tryin’ t’ be Picasso?” but he doesn’t really mean it; he just thinks it’s cute when Sylas gets a little huffy over small things that don’t actually matter to either of them, and it makes him feel content, to have imperfect little moments like that.
And even beneath all that, there’s another simpler reason: Micah rarely gets to touch anyone with his bare fingers. It’s not that he physically can’t. He’s been practicing keeping the static in check, so that its bite is little more than a flicker against someone else, like walking through a small spider’s web or having a few loose fabric fibers tickle against your skin. It’s that his hands, for lack of better word, are ruined. In his eyes, anyway. They’re calloused all over, covered in millions of little scars from the the perpetual gnawing of his static, unpleasant to the touch. The idea of just asking for his hand to be held, in any capacity, makes his stomach churn. The question will start to form, but they’ll fill up his mouth to the brim before fully taking shape, and so when it spills out he’s asking Sylas to paint his nails instead. And when Sylas obliges, it feels like heaven.
2. Micah talks WAY MORE than Sylas.
It’s not that Sylas doesn’t talk. We both know Sylas has plenty to say when he wants to (stares DIRECTLY at our discord DMs and then DIRECTLY back at you). It’s that Micah’s a chatterbox. Whenever they’re out and about, it’s usually Micah who’s heard first. It’s a constant stream of consciousness from him, a rabbit trail that never really goes anywhere but also never seems to end. He’ll ramble on and on about what he’s done that day, a weird connection he made between two things that aren’t related at all, what he’s reading (or trying to; he’d like to read more, but he has a hard time concentrating on books), smack talk from work, the plot to a movie he saw a long time ago that he wants to watch again but can’t remember the name of, how he wishes he could live off pot stickers alone, how weird it is that he hasn’t had to dye his hair in months, on and on and on. I’m sure Sylas would interject here and there, and it’s not like Micah prattles without trying to include Sylas. He’d ask questions, ask for opinions, and prompt Sylas to join in on his chatter with physical and verbal indicators. But Sylas seems more the type to listen and chime in while Micah unravels all the tangled up thoughts noodling around in his mind.
But it’s not just that Micah’s a natural at talking a million miles an hour. Despite how many words come tumbling out of his mouth a day, he’s not very good at words. English and literature weren’t his forte in school for a reason. Sure, he can analyze a piece of writing to hell and back and understand exactly what it’s trying to say-- but doing the reverse? Nope, can’t do it. Everything he says is an ambling, sometimes stumbling jog. It never slows down; it can only speed up into sprinting bursts or cantering strides. When he has something on his mind that he needs to say, half the time he doesn’t understand how he’s translating his thoughts into spoken word. So he just lets the flood gates down and interprets his own prose, then interprets his interpretation, and so on and so on, until we get to his “uh-- ya know?” at the end. He wants every word to count, but that’s too much for him to ask for. Quality over quantity is the usual sentiment, but he can’t do that with words, no matter how much he practices or how hard he tries. So offers a generous quantity-- probably too generous. But Sylas listens to it all, and Micah’s grateful for that, because he knows it’s a lot. It’s just!!! the “talks a lot” “listens intently every time” trope!!!!!!
3. Neither of them are good at asking for physical affection.
This is something I’ve noticed in passing in all our discord conversations about them: whenever one or the other or both craves physical affection, they don’t ask for it. They don’t even really indicate that’s what they want. They just sort of... fall into it. Naturally, this tendency of theirs to avoid seeking what makes them vulnerable and wanting led to-- sometimes does still lead to --pining, and often times a very unnecessary amount. I can’t help but wonder how many times they almost held hands, especially before they started dating; where their pinkies were close to brushing, or the tips of their thumbs were but a millimeter away from each other. Or how many times they would steal glances, thinking the other was none the wiser, tracing everywhere they wanted to touch with eyes full of what they fooled themselves into thinking was a passing want. Or how the lifting of a shirt hem gave way to a peek of hipbone, or a bicep pressed snugly to a sleeve, or the tilt of a head bared the column of a neck, would cause so many misfires they’d forget how to breathe for a moment. Probably too many to count. It wouldn’t be until they were crashing together, be it from adrenaline or building heat or getting into mischief or any of the litany of scenarios they’ve been through, that it came to the surface; I want you, I want you, I want you.
Micah tends to initiate. He’ll be the one to hug Sylas from behind, slipping his hands down into Sylas’s pockets, peppering the side of Sylas’s neck with kisses. He’ll pull Sylas down onto him while they’re lounging together and trace over the other’s spine. He’ll move to stand closer to Sylas, so their shoulders touch or their hips bump together. He doesn’t mind being the one to start it, either; not when it’s with Sylas. There’s no room for self-consciousness or questioning reciprocation when Sylas usually melts into him, sometimes making fun of Micah for being a softie, but it’s never serious, and Micah’s learned now that that’s part of Sylas’s love language. And while he might not understand what exactly Sylas went through with transitioning, physically or socially, he knows just enough from their younger years that physicality isn’t exactly the easiest thing for Sylas. Bodies are imperfect. They are uncomfortable. They’re supposed to be a vessel for enjoyment, for existence, but they’re really very loathsome at times. So it doesn’t bother Micah a single bit to be the one to make the first move, to convey I want to share a bit of just being with you, alright?
4. When Micah is gone and the newest iteration of him emerges, Sylas’s name will be almost impossible for him to say.
At first. Lmao, what, you thought I’d finish this off without making it a little sad?
Micah is nothing. Nothing but the notion of wanting to be and trying to be and filling space between other people and nothingness. Nothing cannot hold anything. But he’s also Micah-- Micah as seen by Sylas, Micah as thought of by Sylas, Micah as held by Sylas. Micah, who was devoted to meaning it with his entire being whenever he said “I love you”. Everything he is, everything he can become again, is in Sylas’s hands the moment that metamorphosis is complete. The shell of him remains, and he will find his way back, and he will fall to pieces the moment he is held again. The first thing he’ll want to say, the only thing he’ll want to say when he finds his way home... won’t come out. It sticks in his mouth, catches in his teeth, lodges itself in his throat. He’ll fall against Sylas and hold and hold, wasting all his breath trying to get those two syllables out in one coherent sound: Sy-las. It won’t happen. He’ll hiss out the ‘s’, groan the long “y”, choke on his own tongue trying to curl it into an “l”, sigh out the last “as” in a ghost of what his voice once sounded like. Sylas’s name will be an echo that can’t reverberate, trapped inside the chasm of Micah’s chest.
In time, he’ll be able to speak properly again. Ish. It could take years for him to sound the way he used to. And when he does regain that accent he’d always wished to be rid of, the little clips at the end of certain words, his languid drawl, it always sounds a little bit crackly; like someone speaking through a radio, or a pre-recorded message played over speakerphone. Sylas’s name won’t be as much of a struggle, but there will be times it ends as a hiss, or Micah will start coughing uncontrollably and won’t be able to finish it. And he’ll hate it. How Micah will hate it. He wants to say Sylas’s name. He wants to feel and taste and hold the shape of it in his mouth, watch how Sylas responds to all the different tones and pitches he used to be able to say it, whisper it, laugh it in. But he can’t. Not for a long, long time. Still, he tries. And every he manages even the slightest semblance of Sylas’s name, he smiles the way he always used to.
BONUS ROUND!
The first few times they start getting handsy is going be a little bit disastrous. We both know Micah’s already a livewire when it comes to, well, the fact that he’s ready to get down to it like 100% of the time, and that he’s a hopeless romantic so that smothers most of it. But now this guy he’s hardcore head-over-heels for is touching his bare skin and oops! They’re both being zapped by the static on his hands because he forgot that sudden spikes in his heartbeat make it go haywire. And then Micah’s going to start tripping over his words to apologize and probably say something incredibly unsexy that instantly kills the mood, and even if it doesn’t when they try to pick up where they left off he might accidentally cut Sylas’s lip with his teeth when they’re kissing and oh no that’s actually a lot of blood. So what I’m saying is they are going to be living in a sitcom until Micah calms the fuck down.
