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you were the veins inside my arm;
Sep. 6th, 2017 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
criomHe doesn't belong here — more for the fact that it's his own curiosity ( read: nosiness ) that has brought him here in the first place above all else than the fact that there are several other places he could possibly be at the moment, but he doesn't heed them, if only for the moment, because the death of an officer might just garner the attention of those that know better, or those that might find themselves suspicious.
( He isn't, mind. Just curious. It's a good enough excuse, isn't it? Of course it is. Because it's the only one you're getting, and the only one you'll find yourself in need of. )
The service is over, because of course he'd arrived just a minute or two too late ( because that's just his nature, fashionably late in terms of everything else, stepping in when he feels like his presence might make the most impact, though it's never on the level he thinks, or assumes, and that's just one more shot to his ego ), but he makes the most of it, milling through those that find themselves in mourning, appreciating the respects paid, sneaking a finger sandwich or two for the road —
When he feels it. A low-level ding on the edge of his radar that has him turning sharply on his heel in that direction, the beat of his heart attuning itself to it as easily as it's ever done anything else before it, the breath in the back of his throat catching for no reason other than. Hey. You. You? Where —
There's something —
And it's only when his fingers close lightly around the bend of Ash's elbow that he finally breathes, though it's little more than the smallest growl in the back of his throat as he gives the smallest pull of the other's frame, not so much begging his attention as demanding it, peering upward as though he's. Finally. Yes.
It's you, isn't it?
( He isn't, mind. Just curious. It's a good enough excuse, isn't it? Of course it is. Because it's the only one you're getting, and the only one you'll find yourself in need of. )
The service is over, because of course he'd arrived just a minute or two too late ( because that's just his nature, fashionably late in terms of everything else, stepping in when he feels like his presence might make the most impact, though it's never on the level he thinks, or assumes, and that's just one more shot to his ego ), but he makes the most of it, milling through those that find themselves in mourning, appreciating the respects paid, sneaking a finger sandwich or two for the road —
When he feels it. A low-level ding on the edge of his radar that has him turning sharply on his heel in that direction, the beat of his heart attuning itself to it as easily as it's ever done anything else before it, the breath in the back of his throat catching for no reason other than. Hey. You. You? Where —
There's something —
And it's only when his fingers close lightly around the bend of Ash's elbow that he finally breathes, though it's little more than the smallest growl in the back of his throat as he gives the smallest pull of the other's frame, not so much begging his attention as demanding it, peering upward as though he's. Finally. Yes.
It's you, isn't it?
