#wow rping without icons is kinda nice or maybe i'm just in a good mood who knOWS

[onebleuth-blog]

@clovertricks

There are times when it feels as though the storm stills, and time seems to disperse ( v a n i s h ). Much like the droplets falling hard onto the cement. Rain pooling to sides of pure sleek white, soaking into the fabric and staining it grey. Grey, not red, but his thoughts, his head... 

The images seared into his brain that keep him aware that Kaito is D E A D.

He hasn’t kept up with Kid in a long time, hasn’t had to. He hasn’t been able to. The name tips on the edge of his tongue( Kai-- ), silently, unsaid. The name not even finished in his thoughts, as though it was too precious, fragile a thought to be finished.

A guttural groan crawls up the back of his throat, it’s how his body reacts to his ( surprise? pain? hope? fear? longing-- ) feelings that he hasn’t had time to process as of late. The raw air crawling up his throat cause a cough that he doesn’t even have to cover up. He’s always been good at hiding his feelings around others too ( he used to be more open, but that changed when... when... ), to the point where he couldn’t tell if he was crying or if it was just water streaming down from his hair.

Cheeks were warm, eyes stung, and his throat was raw. It wasn’t intentional to run into Kid’s heist. He hadn’t even been aware there had been one tonight ( in his world, he’d been avoiding newspapers ever since... Kaito-- ). His feet had moved on their own the moment he’d realized. He wouldn’t have even been in the area if he hadn’t gotten caught up in a nearby case. His calves shouldn’t feel sore, he’s a runner. A couple miles is nothing for him.

But for reason, they stung too. A dull, thrumming, stinging. Washing over his whole body unlike the rain, more similar to a heartbeat you couldn’t unhear in your dreams begging you to wake up ( don’t wake up-- ). “K-Kid!” Landed next to the body that had hit the ground, a small rip ( tear, blood, gunshot-- he had a gem in his hand then too-- ) through his glider. 

Even an elementary schooler could deduce that along with the rain, such a tear could cause even the greatest of casualties. ( Unlucky for Kid to have gotten caught up in this, but lucky that of all people it was someone as capable as Kid, to have been able to minimize his injuries as he had. ) Glancing over him it barely looked like he’d even been scraped from his landing.

Holding out his hand ( perhaps, a tint of desperation, pleading, in his actions and voice ), “Whoever shot at your glider will be here any minute, let’s go!” His instincts screaming at him to ask if he’s okay, if he’s hurt. Logic taking over and reminding him that would only create more danger for the other, time isn’t on their side here ( even if it had seemed like it’d stopped when he’d first seen him falling ).

“Can you move?” He can’t tell if his hand is shaking through the rain or not, but he’d like to think he was stable enough to hold it together after all this time.