( the first cut gives nothing but a feather-light sting, and his shoulders seize up all the same. he had been expecting— more, it seems, from the breath that comes out in a slow exhale. the moment is short-lived. there’s no grace in esi’s touch, as he’s moved and rearranged and sawn through, the red of his blood dripping onto the green of the sheets and mingling until he cannot tell the difference anymore. to his credit, perhaps, kirma does not scream; he does lean forward, body starting to double over on itself, though his arm stays extended for esi’s sake.
why is he doing anything here, for esi’s sake. )
You— ( he chokes out, finally, sometime in the midst of things. it feels as though it’s been an eternity and yet, it can’t have been long at all, from how little progress has been made. of course, there are multiple reasons for that; his free hand reaches out, trembling, finally seizing esi’s wrist in a grip that takes all of his strength.
there’s a moment here in which he realizes how easily he could put a stop to this, but he pushes that aside. regardless of how it might seem, that isn’t why he’s making a move, now. )
The blade— is edged.
( it’s such a simple detail, one easily missed by those who care less for the mundane. not all knives are meant to be used in either hand. in the kitchen, certain assumptions are made; his knuckles are white with strain as he rotates esi’s hand, angling the trajectory of the knife. it’s a subtle difference, and one that hardly makes up for all the shortcomings of the situation, but in theory… well.
all this for mediocre dick from a twink
why is he doing anything here, for esi’s sake. )
You— ( he chokes out, finally, sometime in the midst of things. it feels as though it’s been an eternity and yet, it can’t have been long at all, from how little progress has been made. of course, there are multiple reasons for that; his free hand reaches out, trembling, finally seizing esi’s wrist in a grip that takes all of his strength.
there’s a moment here in which he realizes how easily he could put a stop to this, but he pushes that aside. regardless of how it might seem, that isn’t why he’s making a move, now. )
The blade— is edged.
( it’s such a simple detail, one easily missed by those who care less for the mundane. not all knives are meant to be used in either hand. in the kitchen, certain assumptions are made; his knuckles are white with strain as he rotates esi’s hand, angling the trajectory of the knife. it’s a subtle difference, and one that hardly makes up for all the shortcomings of the situation, but in theory… well.
everything counts, right now. )