#lifecircuit

He waits for the punchline, narrows his eyes when there isn't one.

    ‘ Huh. ’

------ Pff. Of course not. He's grown complacent with the knowledge that he can't understand Clear: not that there was ever an attempt in the first place, but that's beside the point. For now, his gaze flicks back to his coil. 

‘ Friends,  hmm?  Now you've really tickled my fancy.  ------ If you're so keen on getting intimate,  why don't we penetrate all those corpulent walls between us? ’

The tip of his tongue glides across a jagged incisor,  crooked grin mottled by the likes of pallid malice.  ( And well,  well,  well,  he thinks,  how enticing a morsel he truly is:  the jovial disposition,  the face enshrouded perpetually by that tempting,  teasing shroud  ------  he could go mad imagining the myriad ways with which to make him ache ).  He takes one step,  two steps,  three;  a silent test of the other's resolve.

the sight of blood made his bones ache. it was quick and unexpected, the sharp and deep cut followed by running crimson. kaneki had acted immediately despite the roar in his stomach, the discomfort it set in him. he fretted over clear, insisting he lay down before going to get him a band-aid. “of course i’ll worry,” he replied, coming back with a bottle of water, one of the few things he had stocked in the kitchen besides coffee and sugar. “the cut was so deep.” he sat down beside clear, offering the water bottle and peeling the paper from the bandage. “let me see it,” he insisted. however, the moment he said it, kaneki let himself truly sniff. he hadn’t wanted to, in fear of feeling hungry before this bleeding human. yet as he breathed in, the scent concerned him. his eyebrows furrowed. he had never realized it before, this tang that did not quite match the ordinary. 

He can’t even work out a simple ‘shut up.’ The butterflies in his stomach are still such a foreign feeling. It makes him feel childish and stupid yet… warm and happy. Eyes cast downward to the sweater hanging from him, sporting a white-and-blue plaid design, certainly too big on his thin frame. That’s not really a concern to him, he just likes how soft it is, how warm it is, how it smells like Clear because, after all, it is his sweater in the first place.

          ` You always say that,` he mutters while tugging at the ends of the sleeves anxiously, feeling his face burn under the other’s enamored gaze. It’s not something he thinks he’ll ever get used to, being looked at with so much love. After years upon years devoid of any love from anyone, just false hope and empty promises, latching onto the smallest amount of care revealed to be no more than means of manipulation; it’s so strange to him. Even the meeting of eyes or the tangling of their fingers can be too much for him to really process.

Even kind, loving words… Saeran never knows how to respond outside of little huffs of fond exasperation or soft grumbles under his breath while his cheeks burn red.

           ` a - ah. ` would abruptly cease her song, the realization only just hitting her that she was indeed singing. out loud. shyness would be her first instinctual feeling, causing her tug at the side of her hoodie a bit. embarrassing. she’d take the compliment regardless. a crooked smile makes its way across her lips, before slightly bowing to the stranger.