you don't need to run // nico & reggie.
Feb 17, 2019 3:31:59 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽♂️kaitlin. on Feb 17, 2019 3:31:59 GMT -5
Do they know I
was grown with you?
Nico can feel his hands trembling.
He'd thought that this would be easy, that this death march would be something that he could handle as easy as he handled everything else in his life. Standing up on that dais, hand in gilded hand with Dynamo, there was something pounding in his chest.
Something he thought he'd lost.
Something like fear.
It was a foreign emotion in his chest, something that he hasn't allowed himself to fear for... he doesn't even remember how long anymore, can't remember the last time that the world allowed him enough spare moment to consider his life, allowed him the space to consider whether or not his actions were something that he ought to be afraid of. Doesn't remember the last time that he got to just breathe.
Nico had been born for, well, not this moment exactly, but something like it. He had been raised for blood, had tasted the copper and iron tang of it before he learned what it was to break bread, had been taught how to palm the knife in his shoebox of a kitchen at the tender age of seven, when his mother started crumbling more and more quickly, her lullabies at night getting more and more gruesome with each passing night. She'd tell tales about men in white suits with too much power and too much money and too many weapons in their arsenal to even be fought against, the strongest of their weapons being the very people they oppressed.
Standing here now, in the middle of a room that he's never been in before and could very well never be in again, he's suddenly struck by the fact that this is what his life will amount to.
This is where his life was destined to go.
His chest is heavy and his breathing is heavier when someone pushes open the heavy wooden door that he'd come through, a gruff voice calling out "five minutes" before pushing through the door the only person on this earth who might know Nico better even than he knows himself.
"Reggie," he says on a heavy exhale, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders. He crosses the room before he can think twice, wraps his arms around the other--one around his neck and the other around his waist. "I'm glad you came."
He pulls back reluctantly, but does not move away.
Quickly, he puts his palm against Reggie's jaw, cupping the hard line there with a tenderness he'll deny he ever felt later.
"Who better to send me to the bloodbath than you, eh?"
If you find yourself in a lion's den
I'll jump right in and pull my pin
song: my blood
by twenty one pilots
