#been into mindbreak a lot lately cannot lie

[inwiste]

Had a dead dove mdtb idea… will explore it further later because I have been Struck

He’s memorized the wood grain now. An asymmetrical swirl on the one that crawls beneath the sole of his foot, reminiscent of a crashing wave. Dark splotches staining maple.

He remembers the sea, he thinks. The salt that stung his skin and lingered heavy in his nose. The sand gritty beneath his feet.

There’s one board lighter than the rest. An orphan amongst a sea of polished beige. It sits precisely three steps from the bedroom door. Four if he limits the extension of his legs.

The birds outside are too loud, even with the windows closed. The chirping stings in his ears. He can’t see them.

He tilts his head at a particular trill. A starling, he thinks. There are trees in the garden. Perhaps their fruit has fallen.

He wants to look outside. To find the sound of the call. Perhaps this time his feet will find solid ground. His legs ache from where they sit in the chair, dull ache flaring as he shifts, pressing into abused skin.

He walks with a limp, feet shuffling along pitted floor, heel scraping against uneven grain. The chirping has stretched. Grown. The vocalizations trail through the window, cracking on a higher pitch. It takes him 20 steps to reach the door. The distance hasn’t changed. The screeching rots in his ears, dying wails seeping through the wood and paint. It’s too bright outside. The windows are still shut.

The doorknob burns his palm as he takes it in hand. His fingers twitch. His wrists are ringed with purple. A flake of paint stains the handle. His head is throbbing, bone threatening to burst at the screams that flood his skull.

He opens the door. The voices stop.

Madara is waiting for him.

He expects the kiss that follows. He knows not to refuse when Madara’s lips find his, lingering for longer than necessary. The starling has started up again. The street is hazy behind Madara. It hurts to look.

“I didn’t expect to find you waiting for me,” Madara breathes against his lips. He smells of grave dirt and ash. Tobirama feels bile choke his throat, burning his tongue. “That’s what you were doing, weren’t you?”

The hand at his waist tightens, fingers slotting into fingerprint-shaped bruises already left behind. Madara kisses him before he can reply, tongue swiping across his lip, demanding entry.

Perhaps he could bite his tongue off. It would do nothing, he knows. He knows it would only make things worse for himself.

A particular shrill cry makes him wince, hissing breath escaping him. It’s enough to make Madara give him respite. Out of curiosity, he knows. Nothing more than that.

“There was a starling,” he finally says, voice torn and ragged. His mouth saw far too much use last night. “I thought I heard—“

The world goes silent again. The absence of noise is jarring, sound ripped clean of the space. There is no birdsong left.

“You heard nothing of the sort,” Madara finally says. His eyes flutter closed at the kiss to his jaw, lingering and sweet. “There’s nothing for you out there.”

He shouldn’t have spoken. Should have held his careless tongue. Sweat breaks across his neck. It stains rumpled cotton.

“Am I not enough to satisfy you?”