[ The hand curled over his is foreign, and in no small part, unwelcome. He tenses at the contact, a barely perceptible twitch in his jaw as teeth set into a firm line.
(And this too makes no sense. Lavi gives casual affection freely and without thought; he'd hug a stranger if he felt like it and not think much of it beyond the basic safety checks. But Sion's touch makes him feel cold, as if the other man's digits reach through the dense walls of rib and lung to squeeze at the humming bird heart.)
Lavi breathes out the discomfort, draws his composure and calm in the press of lashes and lids; a sanctuary formed in the darkness of closed senses, if only for a few precious seconds.
When he opens his eye again, Sion's grasp is receding from him, and fearlessly amber bores into impassive green, meeting the judgment there almost as if he thinks he deserves it.
That, more so the quiet accusation of his choices (not, he knows, an accusation for anyone else, but for one so tasked with neutrality and noninterference as he--) or gentle extension of touch, rattles his heart. Regret, sure and swift, shoots through him, racing up to his throat to bind him in temporary silence.
It's not like him to lash out like this. What has Sion truly done to warrant it? His crimes against Lavi have been the actions of phantoms, stirring the pain of a buried wound by happenstance alone.
An apology waits at his tongue, but he swallows this back. Resolves to do better. Actions are worth more than words, even to a man whose discipline deals in the currency of speech.
Instead, Lavi tips his head slightly in a nod, a voiceless acquiescence to the request. His smile is still pressed to his lips like a waning moon, but there's more light to his eye for it now.
The apology he doesn't say is conveyed instead in the slightest shift of shoulder, nudging against Sion's arm as he moves past. ]
Good. I don't want Yu to lose another precious person. [ He says over his shoulder, sliding away like a shadow from the glare of Sion's sun. ] At least someone should stay a constant for him.
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(And this too makes no sense. Lavi gives casual affection freely and without thought; he'd hug a stranger if he felt like it and not think much of it beyond the basic safety checks. But Sion's touch makes him feel cold, as if the other man's digits reach through the dense walls of rib and lung to squeeze at the humming bird heart.)
Lavi breathes out the discomfort, draws his composure and calm in the press of lashes and lids; a sanctuary formed in the darkness of closed senses, if only for a few precious seconds.
When he opens his eye again, Sion's grasp is receding from him, and fearlessly amber bores into impassive green, meeting the judgment there almost as if he thinks he deserves it.
That, more so the quiet accusation of his choices (not, he knows, an accusation for anyone else, but for one so tasked with neutrality and noninterference as he--) or gentle extension of touch, rattles his heart. Regret, sure and swift, shoots through him, racing up to his throat to bind him in temporary silence.
It's not like him to lash out like this. What has Sion truly done to warrant it? His crimes against Lavi have been the actions of phantoms, stirring the pain of a buried wound by happenstance alone.
An apology waits at his tongue, but he swallows this back. Resolves to do better. Actions are worth more than words, even to a man whose discipline deals in the currency of speech.
Instead, Lavi tips his head slightly in a nod, a voiceless acquiescence to the request. His smile is still pressed to his lips like a waning moon, but there's more light to his eye for it now.
The apology he doesn't say is conveyed instead in the slightest shift of shoulder, nudging against Sion's arm as he moves past. ]
Good. I don't want Yu to lose another precious person. [ He says over his shoulder, sliding away like a shadow from the glare of Sion's sun. ] At least someone should stay a constant for him.
[ It won't be Lavi. ]