[ They're even more beautiful like this: sharp and yet still impossible to fully discern, powerful and yet still entirely uncontrolled. Can he be blamed for wanting to touch them? For walking so close to something so dangerous, just to enjoy the way his heart beats in unison with their swells? Look at how they respond to him, how they move as his fingers nearly touch. Look at how they react, when their focus turns to him —
It happens fast but he senses it coming. He feels it, not unlike the many times he's felt the energy around Takiishi abruptly shift. He knows that he is too close, a hindrance, and that the wing will punish him for it. He has been through this many, many times before, and just like the very first time, he revels in all the emotions that arise. He is afraid. He is exhilarated. He is enamored.
Every time Takiishi swings at Endo's face, Endo takes it. He does not move, nor dodge, nor cower. He does not lash out in turn. He allows himself to be downed, straddled, and punched again. It's dangerous. There have been times he thought he might die. And this is no different. He knows that this could be more final than falling off of scaffolding, more complete than a fist repeatedly hitting his face. This is real danger, and it is coming for him.
But Endo welcomes it. He uses the time he has to dodge to embrace it instead, opening his arms and awaiting what may be the final blow. Because it's worth it, to feel everything he feels. It's worth it, even if it means not waking up tomorrow, not returning home to —
Takiishi. ]
Fuck —
[ Is all that he manages to grunt out as, at the very last possible second, he attempts to dart away. Remembering Takiishi at their apartment, thinking about him living there alone, not paying bills, not immersing himself in everything he likes — it's like ice cold water dumped over his head. His reverie is broken, his eyes open, and his mind freed from an compulsion that would have killed him.
But he doesn't have time to think about it, because before he barely moves before he is unceremoniously crushed by the wing. Too little, too late.
He pulled far enough back to save his head and more than half his body, but the wing captures his arm and ribs. Pain sears through his side and he knows immediately that his arm is broken, a sensation he's never experienced before. The painful looseness that follows the impact is unmistakable. He doesn't cry out, he doesn't yell, but he groans and then breathes shallowly in the aftermath. It hurts. He feels like he can't get a true breath into his lungs. He still isn't sure he's going to make it out of this alive.
And yet, pressed against pavement, under the force of a wing, Endo laughs.
And laughs.
And looks up at the sky, thinks of the moon, and laughs again. ]
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It happens fast but he senses it coming. He feels it, not unlike the many times he's felt the energy around Takiishi abruptly shift. He knows that he is too close, a hindrance, and that the wing will punish him for it. He has been through this many, many times before, and just like the very first time, he revels in all the emotions that arise. He is afraid. He is exhilarated. He is enamored.
Every time Takiishi swings at Endo's face, Endo takes it. He does not move, nor dodge, nor cower. He does not lash out in turn. He allows himself to be downed, straddled, and punched again. It's dangerous. There have been times he thought he might die. And this is no different. He knows that this could be more final than falling off of scaffolding, more complete than a fist repeatedly hitting his face. This is real danger, and it is coming for him.
But Endo welcomes it. He uses the time he has to dodge to embrace it instead, opening his arms and awaiting what may be the final blow. Because it's worth it, to feel everything he feels. It's worth it, even if it means not waking up tomorrow, not returning home to —
Takiishi. ]
Fuck —
[ Is all that he manages to grunt out as, at the very last possible second, he attempts to dart away. Remembering Takiishi at their apartment, thinking about him living there alone, not paying bills, not immersing himself in everything he likes — it's like ice cold water dumped over his head. His reverie is broken, his eyes open, and his mind freed from an compulsion that would have killed him.
But he doesn't have time to think about it, because before he barely moves before he is unceremoniously crushed by the wing. Too little, too late.
He pulled far enough back to save his head and more than half his body, but the wing captures his arm and ribs. Pain sears through his side and he knows immediately that his arm is broken, a sensation he's never experienced before. The painful looseness that follows the impact is unmistakable. He doesn't cry out, he doesn't yell, but he groans and then breathes shallowly in the aftermath. It hurts. He feels like he can't get a true breath into his lungs. He still isn't sure he's going to make it out of this alive.
And yet, pressed against pavement, under the force of a wing, Endo laughs.
And laughs.
And looks up at the sky, thinks of the moon, and laughs again. ]