we scream our very souls free
Time is such a strange thing. It eddies and flows, but never at a constant rate. Like Haunt, it pays little attention to the foibles of the mortals enslaved to it. Time is indifferent to the fate in which Misfit had stumbled. But that is where Haunt and Time differ. Time does not care for this mortal just as it does not care for the rest, but Haunt cares for this one.
Even if they are forgetful in their affections.
If there is madness in Misfit, Haunt does not notice. But then, many might say the shadow is mad as well. There is tension in their gray and blue lover, a fierceness in the rumble of his voice. It rattles through Haunt’s very chest in the most delightful way. The savage that consumes their childhood friend is beautiful and intriguing, a new thing to tempt and toy.
If Misfit seeks to instill doubt, the fury he now wields like a blade does the very opposite. If anything could draw Haunt like a moth to flame, it is the feckless and tempestuous emotions coursing through their companion. The beast that now rises in Misfit is new and wondrous, intriguing in a way little else could be.
Haunt laughs again, a trilling and lovely sound in the darkness, completely at odds with the monster wearing a skin of shadow. Their mouth and teeth move along dusky, supple skin, thrilling in the feel of the fury and tension coiling through him. Haunt does not accuse or blame, does not fret or worry. Does not even seem particularly bothered that the boy they had once known had changed into the man beside him now.
“Tell me to go and I will,” they whisper into his ear. Despite the benevolence of the words, there is something dark - something dangerous - in that soft voice. “Tell me to stay, and you are mine just as you were then.”
@Misfit