#nobully01

It had been a peaceful rest at first. He had spent the last few remaining hours of last evening laughing and staring at the stars with dear Ismael that he had completely forgotten he purchased tickets to The City of Glass several days ago. Suffice to say, falling asleep in the small ferry is to be expected.

But with a sharp jolt of the boat, Ryuujin lurches forward and almost collides against the seat in front of him. It's not the sudden loss of balance that elicits a reaction out of him though, but rather the sharp ache that stretches across one side of his neck.

"Ow ow ow ow!" He cries perhaps a little too dramatically as he leans back into his seat, cradling his neck in one hand. "Ahh, curse this human form! If I could just—" He only stops himself upon remembering he is not by his lonesome. One look to his side and he is reminded of the shoulder he had used as a pillow. He was half-awake when he braved the idea of leaning against this young man and fortunately, the mortal has proven to be a kind individual!

The world comes to him in fragments. One piece at a time. The way light filters through fractured glass. A cold ache settles deep in his bones, his skin pricked by damp, biting air. Odd. He’s not meant to encounter such sensation. Somewhere above, he hears the relentless hiss of rain that thrums soft and steady on metal and stone. He shivers— another physical experience he’s never had to cross paths with before— and the fog lifts, just enough. 

Then a flash of green. It’s no more than a shimmer in his mind’s eye at first. But as he blinks more, slow and hazy, the green sharpens into something… familiar. A pair of eyes— green as young leaves, staring down at him with a gaze that evades his sleep-addled understanding. Then he sees the hair. Pink. A soft and almost disheveled mass that crowns soft features. 

Then it hits him.

Rain taps on his face and sinks through his clothes.

He’s not lying in the warm comforts of his bed, not tucked away in some dry corner, but sprawled on a hard bench beneath a sky split open. The young man with the green eyes and pink hair stands beside him, clutching an umbrella with a grip that seems to serve only to keep the rain from his own shoulders while Zariel feels every cold drop as if it’s meant for him alone. Something doesn’t feel right. A grunt escapes him as he pushes himself up before swinging his legs over the edge of the bench and looking up at the stranger before him.