Soul steps into the living room.
Heart is there. Wings outstretched, eyes closed, monopolizing the couch no one really uses besides him. They do have a TV, and he is in front of it, but it isn’t on, because when it is on all it plays is static. No one wants to hear that.
Why would they? It’s just static. Always just static. Right?
Soul softens his steps as he edges towards the couch. He doesn’t do it often. Right now, though, he wants to get close to Heart without Heart snapping his wings shut and his eyes open. Heart is too relaxed to take note, even when he ends up behind him, peering over the edge of the couch.
He casually plucks a stray feather lying on the top of the couch. Soul squeezes his hand into a fist, the feather’s softness scalding- like a punishment for daring to take this from Heart. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to know how it feels in his hand. He doesn’t deserve to see Heart lying comfortably on the couch, no thanks to him.
Yet he watches, fist clenched.
Heart’s soft like this. And isn’t that mocking, how his violence is a want, not a need- how he can turn up like this the next day, blissfully ignorant to what the line of his chin, the shadow cast by his arm over his chest, what the painting of his body spells out? Isn’t that beautiful?
It’s really something- Heart has this knack for forcing Soul to clutch at the bleeding edge of his thoughts like he would a wound. He can’t take this back any more than he can the bloodstains on the carpet. He can excuse away watching Heart for an hour straight, but when it comes to that adjective-
It’s not Soul’s fault that Heart’s something to marvel at.
That’s not an excuse either. Soul props his elbows up on the edge of the couch, and lets out the smallest sigh, but apparently that and that specifically is enough for Heart’s eyes to flutter open. “(…Soul?)” This would be a lot easier if he was actually asleep. Or a lot harder. It’s hard to wake him up, but if you do, you should probably run.
How does Soul excuse this?
“(Were you… watching me?)”
Soul sighs, again. “{It’s not my fault that you’re something to watch, is it?}”
“(Are you saying I’m pretty?)”
