#liam diaz

He always did this.

He'd stand there in this solitary spot beside the metallic railing bordering the balcony of Rayne's primary building, and be leaned against it on his elbows for what felt like crawling hours that simply bled into more unending hours. With how much he disregarded the majority of people, simply put, if he wasn't in this spot all by his lonesome, he wouldn't be on the premises in general.

You never really knew what he did up there like that, to be completely honest.

He wasn't exactly the homely, people person type to begin with. Whether it was an unspoken agreement of mutual ignorance to the other's actions, Rayne never questioned why he went up there either. The balcony just happened to be stitched on the side of the building, she told you, and if the dog needs a little bit of a breather, let him. Again her words.

You even passed the question to Azrael during one of his visits and he also had not a clue why Simbako trekked up there to just, be, but out of the two, and albeit completely fitting that it fell from the seasoned hunter's lips, it didn't lessen the blow of reality when it came all crashing down onto you.

"Loneliness is a drug. People, even the strongest of us all can be dependent on what being alone can do for someone, the quietness, the air that you can control with mere breaths, no? Friend Bako is a delicate case. His person may be alone, yet the mind is clouded, crowded, and untamed. You, on the outside, witness him tending to a wound, yet on the inside, infection remains."

It's what led to tonight, you, being dutifully sat at the frame of the balcony's dual sliding doors, your arms loose, and resting within the small divot your folded legs provided as ample cushioning, and despite the subtle, little readjusting of sliding one foot out from beneath a leg, you didn't make any drastic movements, whether it was out of genuine concern that you'd potentially shatter this soundless harmony his turbulent mind was generous enough to conduct for him to listen onto. The sky was dark, some days it always felt like Daxton's clouds preferred the hanging shroud of an overcast rather than the welcomed blue of an untouched sky. Rain steadily showered down in ceaseless sheets, belting the stark white fabric of Simbako's lengthy coat, the fabric of thick enough to not become see through, however, it wasn't hard to spot where the cloth gradually soaked up the intrusive liquid and dipped downward, and rested on his skin below. The beading droplets even plinked off of the toughened material of his boots, and merely cascaded downwards onto the balcony's floor, yet, he remained still.

Your (eye color) eyes traversed down his frame, a few moments fleeting here and there to allow your gaze to linger on his shape, despite it being blanketed away by his coat.

Your fingers stirred themselves awake with a slight twitch. Gods, did you long to touch him. You lost count of how many times you've imagined a situation similar to something such as this, where Simbako would be floating listlessly, adrift within the churning, soulless waves of his darkness, however, you'd be that light, that glowing warmth that radiated safety and comfort he marked himself as unfit, and undeserving of ever receiving ever again in this besmirched existence that was stained by tainted hands covering up a mistake that they unknowingly created, and plunged into him. That despite the monster he stood before others as, those hands cradled, and embraced that pain that ravenously lashed out in unaddressed fear that his trauma was seconds away from repeating its cycle. You never saw a beast when you looked at him, and some days, it felt like you were the single living soul who did, Rayne labeled him an asset that'd give in and do whatever she'd ask, both layers of the cities referred to him as a nightmarish creature attacking and murdering whoever he damn well pleased to. That damage he's endured, that pain that he leaves unchecked by all prying eyes but his own weighted, tired ones, if it didn't matter to anyone, it'd be ignored.

Yet, you saw all of it, and while you couldn't just, magically waft away all of the pain, the discomfort, and harm he's been through already, you'd be there on a moment's notice to cradle his weary head within your lap, and have your fingers brush through his unkempt, wavy curls and assure him that you were there, and that you'd always be there, no matter what.

"…not like you to be bored with Rayne's shit." The harsh edge of his lowered tone severed through the seams of your fantasy. The short little jump that jolted through your body wasn't your proudest moment, but, after blinking a few, numerous over as if to let your lids flutter away the persistent remnants of your thoughts about Simbako, you cleared your throat with a small cough. "Well, uh, Mayhem kinda barged over with a ton of people from her, uh, slice of, everything down here, I guess, before it like, got, too loud or anything, I, I came up here and uh," your words gradually trailed off, and, while it wasn't exactly the main reason you ventured up here, there was genuine truth behind your excuse, Mayhem had a habit of arriving out of her slice of the Undercity to lounge around and party with Rayne, and while she herself couldn't particularly indulge on the copious amounts of alcohol during these spontaneous functions, Rayne was pleased with her company, the perfect backing for you to enact, all of this out.

A slow, deep, and softened sigh crawled out from his chest when he exhaled through his nostrils. For the first time in what, felt like hours now, Simbako lifted himself up from his angled, resting spot against the railing, and turned on his booted heel to properly face you.

The rain this entire time was at the precise angle to cascade down his face, and cause wayward curls of his wavy locks to gingerly glue themselves to the dampened surface of his skin, and, well, another day, and another time to properly discuss just how much the mere sight of dwindling water droplets coursing down the rolling, defined hills of his taut, chiseled frame affected you. His taloned, onyx colored hand that had stilled on the railing's surface fell from its clenched position around it so he could take a few steps closer to you. The entire time, his eyes dared not to dart away from your own. His eyes spoke a lot in his words' stead, where as he offered deflecting vileness and crassness to ward away people from interacting with him, perhaps, you were seeing something that wasn't really apparent or real but, whenever he peered downward at you, you didn't sense that same idling anger.

Was it fear?

Was it uncertainty?

Curiosity on why you bothered yourself with his overall being?

His steps paused, a mere few inches in front of your seated position. His hand began to lift from his side, but, he was, slow to do so, the movement was slight, small, almost as if he was…scared, that if he'd move too quick for you to handle, you'd be yet another person to wallow, and sink away into their never-ending terror to the Bioweapon.

Your eyes widened a little.

He was hesitant.

When his hand outstretched, with his palm turned upward to make it easier for you to grasp, you wasted not a single second to leap your hand forward into his, and clench onto it, and, with what felt like no effort at all, Simbako gave your hand a tug up to him, and he pulled you back up onto your feet, and with how close he had moved himself into your bubble, your chests were practically pressed up against one another, and it really didn't set in on how compact the shared space was in between you two till two defiant drops of water rolled along the edge of his jaw dusted with a layering of unkempt peach fuzz, and splashed onto your shirt. "This place is fuckin' huge," Simbako started, he took a moment to send his glare behind you, and bore it into the dimmed opening, "she fuckin' pays these people to leave her alone when she has to work, there's booze, there's so much fuckin' stolen Gamestop shit in there you could make another store. Hell there's dick, and pussy fuckin' alike if you wanna really get lost in something, there's no fuckin' way, at all, that you didn't have a single thing to do - and if you didn't, you would've gone home," his words paused, and his stare flicked itself back down into yours, "why?"

Your mouth parted, jaw hanging open slightly while word after word of your unsung devotion piled upon the budded surface of your tongue. You wanted to tell him so much, and that desire dueled haphazardly with the concern that even if you belted out how much you adored him, how much you cherished him, it'd fall on deaf, uncaring ears. Your gaze tore away from his, and it landed on the floor as you sifted through the jumbled, tangled strings of rampant thoughts compiling in your mind, and it was almost as if you were fixated on the ground so intently you'd find your answer within the deep grey grouted tiles of the balcony's floor.

"…I'm here. And I know that, literally, anyone, is the last person that you wanna see, Simbako, but I…god I, there's so much I wanna tell you, so much I wanna promise you, so much that I just, this was, one of the ways that I thought I could start at least showing that, I mean it. I didn't wanna press, I wanted to reassure, that, if you wanted me, you had me to help you through, all of this. That you didn't have to just, be, in your sadness on your own."

Once that first word of that entire spiel fled from your lips, the rest followed suit so naturally, each spoken letter felt as if it were another weight that was embedded so far down into the flesh of your tongue was removed, and when you finally forced your gaze to realign with his in the middle, you airily breathed out a near soundless gasp at his wide eyed, stunned expression, he gawked at you, and his lips pursed for a few swift seconds only for his mouth to hang back open. "…holy shit," Simbako mumbled out under his breath. Perhaps cruising on the rolling waves of your bravery, your hand inched upwards, and the tips of your digits grazed across the slick surface of his warmed cheeks, it was pointless to do so, but your thumb wiped away a fleeing raindrop that rolled over the top of his cheek. He peeked downward at your fingers and palm cupping his cheek before he managed to scoff out a light stutter of a chuckle, this thin, but real smile sneaking onto his lips. "You're fuckin' deranged, you know that? For me? You'd really fuckin' do all of that? You do fuckin' know who I am right?" Your fingers crept lower, and the roughened, scruffy surface of his fuzzied jaw tickled the rounded heads of your digits, your thumb caressing over the skin right beside his slightly parted lips. "I do. It's why I'd do it in the first place."

You glanced upwards at the night sky, draped in a dusting of dense, heavy dark clouds before you gazed at Simbako's face again. "It's dark outside, and it's raining." You shuffled back, your free hand circled around one of his, the two of you stepped over the threshold of the sliding doors, and without even glancing back towards it, he edged the door shut with the heel of his boot. "My arms are much safer," much like prior, his words disappeared beneath a huffed out stutter of a chuckle, he hummed out something in Spanish that resulted in that same, tiny, grin to be painted across his lips, his brow cocked with his head tilting off to the side somewhat. "You been workshopping with Rayne on this shit, the fuck was that?" Even with those words, he began to carry himself down the corridor that led to your room away from your home.

Just before you followed after him, your head turned, and you stood there in a comfortable silence for a moment or two to witness the storm through the glass of the double doors.

His eyes matched the clouds' shade.