it happens slowly, happened slowly, will always happen slowly to her. twists her until the light of her weapon burns, until that golden color is seeped out of her. until she's H̿͐ͨ͂̆҉̣̰̝̙̲̤̟͙Ų̧̹̹̮̭ͨN̶̴͚̩̭͙̈̈́͆̾̂͗G̵̲͖ͧ͂ͬ͊̏̅͑ͧR̺̬͕͈͆̂ͧ̏͂͞Yͯ̑̌ͦͯͣ̅́́͜ͅ and her attempts to rip the chaos out of her are met with bleeding black and scarless skin. and so they run, leave asgard, before they can hurt someone, because what else are they supposed to do?

"I am-" They paused, shifted on their feet, lips twisting into a bit of a frown. How to introduce themselves, by number? Name? The other had asked for number, but that seemed a bit impersonal, a label for what seemed like their production status, a barcode printed onto their bodies, and they were so much more than just that, right?

sometimes, he wonders if the reason he can't breathe is because sei is on top of someone else, sharing his breath with them, and his lungs just seize up more.

( his heart is bleeding and the blood is on both of their hands
and it feels impossible to wash off )

sometimes, fenrir sees seirasam look in the mirror and he feels a rush of disgust run through him and he knows that that's not how he personally feels. he knows that sometimes, seirasam hates himself.

sometimes, fenrir sees seirsam look at him and feels a similar feeling crash through the bond, but this time with an overlaying sense of sadness and thinks: 'we're ruining each other.'

late at night, they think and wonder about the general power imbalance seemingly ingrained in the way people think, even people that are not necessarily people in the standard definition of being human. they remember the missions in the dirty grit of the city, the underbelly of mythril, the place that makes them wonder if there isn't a sweet smelling perfume masking the scent of this place and makes them think: 'when will the perfume become too cloying to handle?'

standing tall in the tunnels of the subway, adilah is almost certain that this mission will be one of the memories that keeps them up at night.