#oop bye

um? lmao

The words wrench something from the cage of his ribs.

Without a key -- that long gone, taken where he cannot follow -- he has never been a good keeper of his own grief. All too easily it spills between the prison bars of his bones, drawn forth by the slightest whisper of the past.

   And these words -- soft-spoken, their cruelty unintentional -- more   than most.

How well does he know the longing of impossibility? Even when Alexander had been in his arms, he had been elsewhere. The siren-song of his glory-dreams had been too strong. 

The first breathless whispers of love had, even then, been edged with tragedy. Somehow, he’d known. At nine -- at twelve -- becoming a man -- in their embraces -- in their battle cries -- he’d always known. Alexander was not his to keep. No matter how much he had wanted him.

     And Loki? What does Loki want, his distant one?  What is it that he longs      for, what is it that the may never have?

Hephaestion’s gaze drops.

“Take your one small grace,” he says, voice low and heavy and gilded with sadness. “Revel in the constancy of it.”

A small smile, fragile. His fingers reach out, his hesitation uncharacteristic. Fingertips splay themselves over Loki’s heart.

KLAINE KISSES IN THE PROMO