(no subject)

[surface_level]

Lucas steps into the cottage with careful feet, each boot deliberately placed and soft. He looks nearly as if he is prowling, although his eyes are still curiously blank and impassive as they take in the surroundings. He is not even looking at Leif when he speaks, though he circles him.

"On your knees."

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[surface-level.livejournal.com]

He is silent for a moment as he sits back and reaches for the bruise paste. His long fingers then slide under Leif's chin and tilt it up and toward him, eyes seeking out the beginnings of marks where he had hit him to the ground. Thankfully, since this comes from his world, he knows that it will remove all traces. He meets Leif's eyes briefly, then looks at his cheek as he touches the paste to his skin.

"It is not a life you should wish for. I do what I am able with it. But it is not what it could be."

[holdon-together.livejournal.com]

That makes him flinch away a little, his cheekbone crimson from being struck. His skin bruises very easily, and is still sensitive to the touch.

"It could be worse, too."

[surface-level.livejournal.com]

"Shh." He sounds in the single syllable, as he holds Leif's chin still, similar to his mother, business-like. He continues to spread the paste over the red.

It could be worse, yes. There are moments now, unlike before, when he laughs and it is real. He is able to forget and sometimes, in moments, to hope. Still. He thinks.

"... It is hollow at the center."

[holdon-together.livejournal.com]

He hisses softly in pain, then falls silent, obediently. His eyes are fixed on Lucas's face, with an open, innocent sort of curiosity. After a moment, he remarks -- "But now empty all the way through, anymore."

[surface-level.livejournal.com]

Lucas is evidently still ashamed of betraying any happiness. He blankly struggles through the impulse to deflect before finally murmuring, "no."