[center][img]http://25.media.tumblr.com/cb8442475db552fdbae524d0778aca31/tumblr_mvbgnkNsv91rrcxato1_500.gif[/img]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMxkSqz_MoA][color=d24dff]♫[/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr]
[center][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Blue&name=Coffee%20House.ttf&size=100&style_color=bf00ff[/img][/center]
[hr][hr]
Blue freezes when he feels Skav’s fingers in his hair; muscles tensing, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. For a moment, he wants to pull away, maybe even bark some sort of obscenity at Skav to deter them, but he can’t help the chill that runs up his spine, and he nearly melts into the touch. There’s an odd flicker behind their eyes - simple pity, or something else entirely? Blue can’t quite put his finger on it, though if he had to be honest, he really couldn’t care less. His eyes start to water again, chest tightening painfully; but before any tears had the chance to fall, Skav’s hand was gone, and he feels like he could finally breathe again.

Hastily, he rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s only after he hears what Skav has to say that he lifts his head, watching as they took another swig of vodka. Blue opens his mouth to speak, but he just can’t find the words, and closes it again after a second. He could see that Skav was thinking, their gaze blank and faraway, fingers still wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Blue really doesn’t want to push them on - not when the situation is already this fragile. It’s like walking on eggshells, like everything could fall apart with just one wrong move. The memory of Skav’s scars is seared onto the surface of his consciousness, and he almost feels guilty for even daring to tear up. What does he have to cry for when Skav has gone through so much worse? Why does he have to be so [i]goddamned[/i] weak?

Listening to Skav’s story is nothing short of surreal. Blue has a hard time picturing Skav as anything but what they are today - a strange, enigmatic figure, hidden behind a mask of jet-black feathers. What was Skav like when they were young? He imagines a nice, suburban home, complete with a white picket fence, and a crisp, green garden… well, it isn’t what he expected, to say the least. It seemed like something straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, the exact opposite of San Marzano. How did such an upbringing result in someone like Skav? Scarred, incomplete, but never broken. Then again, maybe not everyone’s as much of a stereotype as he was. The fact that their parents were embroiled in crime didn’t even matter; the mere thought of a pair of kind, loving parents sends a pang of jealousy through him, but it's easily extinguished when Skav resumes their recollection.

At least he never had anything to lose. To have your parents torn away from you like that? Blue is willing to bet that it hurt more than anything else in the world. He feels his heart clench, eyes drawn to the way Skav’s lips curl into a grimace of a smile. He’d never seen this much emotion from the other before, and he has a nagging feeling that they haven’t yet told him all there is to the story. Despite the chilling calmness in their eyes, every other part of them was painfully tense. Part of him wants to reach out, return the favour for what they did before, but he’s never been too good with stuff like this, and he’s not sure he wants to risk Skav lashing out. Like a tightly coiled spring, they seem ready to burst, promising anyone that so much as touches them a bad time. Did he [i]really[/i] want to get caught up in this?

Then, before he even realises, it’s his turn again. Blue’s eyes, however, are drawn to the other’s own with a kind of veneration that he never thought he could have for another human being. Maybe he [i]does[/i] need to be salvaged. The cogs in his mind turn furiously, trying to excavate a suitable truth to toss into the melting pot. Compared to Skav, he was already an open book. He wanted to know more about their past, but what else could he say?

[color=bf00ff]“God, I don’t know,”[/color] Blue begins, eyes darting around the room in a fruitless search for inspiration. When he finds none, he just reaches for the memory that sticks out the most. It’s not something he particularly enjoys thinking about, but it’s the least he could do, after everything Skav had said. [color=bf00ff]“Whatever, I’ll just tell you.”[/color]

[color=bf00ff]“I guess I was about eighteen back then - sucked some guy off in the alley behind a bar, then he tried to leave without paying. I asked him for the money first, of course, but he just laughs, calls me a fag, and said that I wasn’t going to get shit for what I did.”[/color] Blue reaches over to pick up the bottle of vodka, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig. It burns the whole way down, but it quenches the fire in his belly. [color=bf00ff]“I got pissed, obviously, punched him in the nose, but he was bigger, stronger, blah blah blah. Fucker broke three of my ribs, got my leg real good, too. I managed to drag myself to the Grotto after he left, figured that was the only place with people that’d actually give a shit about me - don’t know why.”[/color]

Another gulp of vodka, and Blue has to take a moment to quell the wave of nausea rushing up to meet him. [color=bf00ff]“Someone actually let me in. They made sure to fix me up, and I thought working for them would be the one thing that changed my life, but nothing happened. Every day’s the same shit as always.”[/color]

[color=bf00ff]“Can I touch you?”[/color] The query comes unbidden, uninvited, but the words roll off his tongue before he can put a stop to them. He wants to wrap his arms around the other, hold them for as long as he could, but he’s far too afraid of the consequences to do so without asking. [color=bf00ff]“I’m just - I’m so sorry.”[/color]