[it starts as frustrated tears, but left unchecked it builds to a full heartbroken tantrum. he wanted to be comforted. he wanted to be reassured. he doesn't what he said when he vouched for angel devil to be meaningless. he doesn't understand.
it's the kind of crying that doesn't stop until his throat is sore and he's wracked with exhaustion, huddling against angel devil's side in the shelter of his tail.]
[ ...the worst thing he did to Muffin wasn't before the end of that ritual. It was after.
Contrition isn't words. It isn't explanations. He'd already dismissed both those things as worthless, coming from him, and in a way he'd been right, just... not quite on the mark. Instead of listening, he'd tried to cauterize away a feeling that needed, like tears, to flow.
...he doesn't have a kerchief to offer, today. He settles for never letting go of that hand, and leaning in, gingerly, mindful of the weight of his body. But there. ]
[despite it all, he notices and recognizes that careful weight for the gesture it is. there's a reason he demanded hand-holding instead of a hug— he wouldn't force angel devil into too much closeness.
he doesn't need the little flourishing gestures he always does, to do magic. With no more preamble than that, something like a lingering afterimage of vibrant blue appears in the air beside them, then becomes a placid sphere of water.
...he doesn't, like. Have a cup. So it's gonna be the weirdest juice pouch experience probably. The water tension will hold under touch except upon being drank. ]
[ extremely unfortunately for muffin, he thinks, he cares quite a bit. ]
I thought that... it would be easier, ultimately. For the pasture at large. But the only one whose convenience it actually served was my own. Because... you...
[ there's no music this time but in my HEART what's playing is THIS, thanks. After Muffin's gotten comfortable, though... when Angie thinks he may have already fallen asleep...
he does... hum, soft and meandering, not quite a structured tune. More like a dream of one, that wanders off whatever direction suits the whim, at the time. ]
[muffin's purring turns warmer, steadier, and he slips easily into a doze. comfy and comfier still...
not long after the humming starts, he sighs and relaxes even further. he won't nap for too long (a catnap—), but for a sweet while he's as deeply asleep as if he were in his own nest]
Angel Devil allows himself to think of nothing, but learning more about the personal rhythm of his breath, the sound of Muffin's resting voice, and his purrs.
Perceiving people he cares about while they're vulnerable often puts an indescribable twist in his stomach, expecting only the moment that peace ends, whether he relishes that fact or not. But right now
he merely drinks of it, as it is. Some stolen island of peace, amid the sounds of the nearby forest and lake. ]
[watching as closely as he is, he can learn the little signs of muffin waking up too. the uptick in his breathing, how his purring rumbles louder as he becomes freshly aware of comfort, and the way he streeeeetches, sighs, and snuggles his face back against angie's side.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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...at some point,
the fluffy arc of Angel Devil's tail has tentatively encircled them as a duo. ]
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it's the kind of crying that doesn't stop until his throat is sore and he's wracked with exhaustion, huddling against angel devil's side in the shelter of his tail.]
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Contrition isn't words. It isn't explanations. He'd already dismissed both those things as worthless, coming from him, and in a way he'd been right, just... not quite on the mark. Instead of listening, he'd tried to cauterize away a feeling that needed, like tears, to flow.
...he doesn't have a kerchief to offer, today. He settles for never letting go of that hand, and leaning in, gingerly, mindful of the weight of his body. But there. ]
...do you... need water?
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muffin nods]
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[ and that is all it takes.
he doesn't need the little flourishing gestures he always does, to do magic. With no more preamble than that, something like a lingering afterimage of vibrant blue appears in the air beside them, then becomes a placid sphere of water.
...he doesn't, like. Have a cup. So it's gonna be the weirdest juice pouch experience probably. The water tension will hold under touch except upon being drank. ]
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[sips his magic capri sun]
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[ the stupid person in this equation is very clear at this point. ]
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I thought that... it would be easier, ultimately. For the pasture at large. But the only one whose convenience it actually served was my own. Because... you...
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[ "handle," is the word, but he stops, and tries again. ]
I need to. "Perhaps." Try caring in a way that actually demonstrates it.
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[finishes his water so he can wrap his arms around angel devil's]
...This is a start. You were... doing good too with, um, letting me call you at night.
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I like calling you. Like um... like how you said you liked feeling like we were in the same room.
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...I won't let a Weed stop us from talking like that again. And I won't let a Rose, either.
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Rose can't stop me. Know where the Rose lives.
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Glad to have the insurance.
Ah... I've really made you have to chase a lot, already...
...
Do you... when.
Do you want to be escorted back to Daffodil, after this?
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...
I want to take a nap before you take me home. —you can stay awake if you want.
[he feels kind of greedy asking, but he doesn't want to go back yet]
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[ he does take the opportunity to shift, stretching out his legs so that the pointy boots are as out of the way as possible. ]
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I'll be safe.
[uncurls out of his huddle to a more comfortable, relaxed position, but staying where he can lean against angie]
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he does... hum, soft and meandering, not quite a structured tune. More like a dream of one, that wanders off whatever direction suits the whim, at the time. ]
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not long after the humming starts, he sighs and relaxes even further. he won't nap for too long (a catnap—), but for a sweet while he's as deeply asleep as if he were in his own nest]
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Angel Devil allows himself to think of nothing, but learning more about the personal rhythm of his breath, the sound of Muffin's resting voice, and his purrs.
Perceiving people he cares about while they're vulnerable often puts an indescribable twist in his stomach, expecting only the moment that peace ends, whether he relishes that fact or not. But right now
he merely
drinks of it, as it is. Some stolen island of peace, amid the sounds of the nearby forest and lake. ]
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5 more minutes]
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