[ falco had reacted before he could stop himself, brows beginning to pinch in apology by the time peter had settled in front of him. he nods and extends his hand to the older teen’s bent knee for a gentle hold— partially for comfort as much as apology, and partially to make sure what he was seeing was real, pulling the gifted headphones from his ears to a ring around his neck. it had occurred to falco that his fingers could be dirty, oozing something nasty (that, to a spirit, would reek of the parasite he’s hosting), so he does snap them back once he realizes, out of worry— his shoulders slump from tension when his hand, upon a quick inspection, was clean. apparently, it only came with cold sweats, or any sweats.
freddie mercury continues to belt about finding somebody to love, now more easily heard between the two without the ear cuffs snug against both sides of his head. falco hesitated to look up, wanting dearly to meet peter’s gaze and smile but missing the courage to. it raked behind a rock or two of his body in preparar, with fidgeting fingers clipping at nails already too short to do anything with, bitten down to the bud and starting at skin around it—
the relief that washes over him once he does peer up and ahead is a lifeline for him, a savior; he sees a smile and a young man that only wants his wellness. there wasn’t anything to be afraid of, coming from him.
regarding the silence, he had his doubts— which doesn’t leave him completely at ease. despite returning a smile deprived of its own kind, falco continues to seem rigid, the indigo tint to his sclera still present and returning his hands together. he chooses to pick at the skin of his thumbs, dry and flaky like the rest of his joints, keeping him occupied enough once he pinched a flake and carefully tugged. ]
I like their ballads. [ he pronounces that like a foreigner, bale-lads, but it’s got a child-like charm to it he doesn’t quite realize is there despite a solemn gaze above tight lips. ] We don’t have this kind of music back home.
YOU’RE GOING TO JAIL
freddie mercury continues to belt about finding somebody to love, now more easily heard between the two without the ear cuffs snug against both sides of his head. falco hesitated to look up, wanting dearly to meet peter’s gaze and smile but missing the courage to. it raked behind a rock or two of his body in preparar, with fidgeting fingers clipping at nails already too short to do anything with, bitten down to the bud and starting at skin around it—
the relief that washes over him once he does peer up and ahead is a lifeline for him, a savior; he sees a smile and a young man that only wants his wellness. there wasn’t anything to be afraid of, coming from him.
regarding the silence, he had his doubts— which doesn’t leave him completely at ease. despite returning a smile deprived of its own kind, falco continues to seem rigid, the indigo tint to his sclera still present and returning his hands together. he chooses to pick at the skin of his thumbs, dry and flaky like the rest of his joints, keeping him occupied enough once he pinched a flake and carefully tugged. ]
I like their ballads. [ he pronounces that like a foreigner, bale-lads, but it’s got a child-like charm to it he doesn’t quite realize is there despite a solemn gaze above tight lips. ] We don’t have this kind of music back home.