[ it's more than he's expecting, the kind of soft and familial love that delta's never experienced in his life. for a fleeting second he thinks he understands why he stays. every moment with his mother is a numbers game, and sometimes he gets lucky, strikes the lottery and they roast marshmallows on the beach, sharing one blanket. other times he comes home to a flooded bathroom with his mother unconscious on dirty linoleum. how many times has he patched up her swollen black eyes? forcibly taken a bottle or needle from her hand while she screamed at him? tucked her in bed and curled up around her like a child?
delta folds his legs and cards his fingers through ashe's hair, blunt nails lightly scratching into his scalp. a clear, cloudless moon bathes the ocean in silver light. waves like black mercury fade to neon blue as the water creeps up the shore, a bioluminescence only visible at night. the ocean's aurora, is what six called it.
six. there's no way to succinctly sum up his relationship with six. ]
We never really did stuff together like you and your mom. Like, family stuff, I mean. If he wasn't physically gone, he was never really there anyway. [ he'll start with the only truth he knows then, plain and straightforward. if he's bitter, he doesn't sound it. his childhood was spent learning the ins and outs of his abilities, or nights in the wight wood with six by his side, firmly instructing him how to damper his energy so as not to attract all the shadowed, toothy things that that might want to devour him alive, bones and all.
he was ten when he learned he only had twelve more years to live, if he was lucky. he's nineteen now. two more years of luck left. he might already be on borrowed time and not know it. delta doesn't know why six was so afraid of everything in the universe eating him alive when he's doomed to a bad end where his abilities eat him instead. there's no fucking difference. he's going to die. he didn't have anyone but himself to teach him how to be okay with that.
what an asshole.
delta realizes — belatedly, his hands still deep in ashe's hair — that he's shaking. ]
Fuck. It's cold, right? [ it's not. exhaling through his teeth, he leans back and pats down every one of his pockets until he finds what he's looking for, a small baggie with a rolled joint and his lighter. he lights it up with the joint in his mouth, rolling smoke through his lungs and nose like he's starved for it. he should've asked ashe for more edibles.
wordlessly, after three consecutive hits in a row and his shaking subsides, he plucks the joint between two fingers and dangles it in front of ashe's lips. ]
no subject
[ it's more than he's expecting, the kind of soft and familial love that delta's never experienced in his life. for a fleeting second he thinks he understands why he stays. every moment with his mother is a numbers game, and sometimes he gets lucky, strikes the lottery and they roast marshmallows on the beach, sharing one blanket. other times he comes home to a flooded bathroom with his mother unconscious on dirty linoleum. how many times has he patched up her swollen black eyes? forcibly taken a bottle or needle from her hand while she screamed at him? tucked her in bed and curled up around her like a child?
delta folds his legs and cards his fingers through ashe's hair, blunt nails lightly scratching into his scalp. a clear, cloudless moon bathes the ocean in silver light. waves like black mercury fade to neon blue as the water creeps up the shore, a bioluminescence only visible at night. the ocean's aurora, is what six called it.
six. there's no way to succinctly sum up his relationship with six. ]
We never really did stuff together like you and your mom. Like, family stuff, I mean. If he wasn't physically gone, he was never really there anyway. [ he'll start with the only truth he knows then, plain and straightforward. if he's bitter, he doesn't sound it. his childhood was spent learning the ins and outs of his abilities, or nights in the wight wood with six by his side, firmly instructing him how to damper his energy so as not to attract all the shadowed, toothy things that that might want to devour him alive, bones and all.
he was ten when he learned he only had twelve more years to live, if he was lucky. he's nineteen now. two more years of luck left. he might already be on borrowed time and not know it. delta doesn't know why six was so afraid of everything in the universe eating him alive when he's doomed to a bad end where his abilities eat him instead. there's no fucking difference. he's going to die. he didn't have anyone but himself to teach him how to be okay with that.
what an asshole.
delta realizes — belatedly, his hands still deep in ashe's hair — that he's shaking. ]
Fuck. It's cold, right? [ it's not. exhaling through his teeth, he leans back and pats down every one of his pockets until he finds what he's looking for, a small baggie with a rolled joint and his lighter. he lights it up with the joint in his mouth, rolling smoke through his lungs and nose like he's starved for it. he should've asked ashe for more edibles.
wordlessly, after three consecutive hits in a row and his shaking subsides, he plucks the joint between two fingers and dangles it in front of ashe's lips. ]