[behind nico, kavinsky's eyes water a little. there's a flinch in the wrist when the death god takes it, but it's hard to notice amid their flurry of movement toward the back room. it's not like kavinsky is refusing. he would be hard-pressed to refuse nico anything right now. he places one foot numbly in front of the next, then blinks stupidly in surprise when they end up in the back room. he isn't sure what he was expecting.
the mouth of hell, maybe. home sweet home for little boy suicides.
this is probably the longest he's ever been with nico without saying words, in absence of a dick in his mouth. but nothing comes to mind as he tracks into the shelves, listening to the terror drain slowly out of his skin.]
no subject
the mouth of hell, maybe. home sweet home for little boy suicides.
this is probably the longest he's ever been with nico without saying words, in absence of a dick in his mouth. but nothing comes to mind as he tracks into the shelves, listening to the terror drain slowly out of his skin.]