[for once, kavinsky does hear it. mostly because it's impossible not to, like sleeping through an earthquake as it throws your house into a canyon or sitting through a fire as it chews off your feet. kavinsky has met death before; he knows it with greater intimacy than any young man his age should.
but this is different. his guts turn to ice in his stomach. he retains his composure strictly because he's a liar, his head turning slow, eyelids half-mast. pretending this is fine.
not because it is fine. but because he's really hoping nico catches the fucking hint, and maybe actively tries to make the thing fine again. it occurs to him suddenly and without room for contradiction, that it truly is up to nico; that he's the one with the control here. the back of his neck prickles, prey scenting predator.]
no subject
but this is different. his guts turn to ice in his stomach. he retains his composure strictly because he's a liar, his head turning slow, eyelids half-mast. pretending this is fine.
not because it is fine. but because he's really hoping nico catches the fucking hint, and maybe actively tries to make the thing fine again. it occurs to him suddenly and without room for contradiction, that it truly is up to nico; that he's the one with the control here. the back of his neck prickles, prey scenting predator.]
It's a compliment. Hos is hot.
[look, he doesn't know things.]