[ah, there's another of his undercity roots coming to play, that willingness to fight for someone you cared for. he's never cared for violence, avoided it as far as he could manage but he can recognize the care that comes with it. what it is to have someone you snarl and bear your teeth for. to be the subject of that is a little novel, hits him in the chest again like an unrelenting series of blows pal keeps piling on simply by caring the way he does.
he can't bring himself to do more than focus on the piece of sandwich in his hand, letting the warmth of pal's fingers ease some deep ache rather than feed into how much he is allowed to enjoy that. the silver has vanished from anywhere visible now, perhaps off his skin entirely. he still feels a faint chill down his back, under his makeshift brace, but it too is receding to a gentle warmth.]
... I'll say something, next time. [because there will probably be a next time, one way or another. he turns his head to regard pal.] If you'll let me have your back as well. Equivalent exchange.
[incredible bullshit, though the sentiment in general is there and strong. strong enough he even gives into sentiment to say,] I'd have it anyway, whether you agree or not. But an agreement would make things easier.
[a glance to the tether and he can see it all but crumbled where it sits, a state of decay without the actual rot, a little on the nose given the state of his life but he choses to see it as the dying of something he's needed to cut out of himself anyway. the way it's faded now makes it difficult to tell who it's staring at anymore, and when viktor raises a hand it follows shakily.]
In truth it's for the best, I think. To let go of everything of our old worlds would be denying ourselves something integral. When I moved to Piltover it would have been easier to do that, let go of everything the undercity made of me, but I would have been greatly lesser for.
[he moves his raised hand to rest on pal's arm, around his elbow, the one still at his neck. he watches his tether touch something that isn't there and feels the oddest sympathy for the briefest moments before his attention and gaze turns to pal again.] For what it's worth I'd sneak you any books you'd like, if you were locked up for such crimes. [more for what it's worth he's glad pal lets himself be who he is, regrets and all.]
no subject
he can't bring himself to do more than focus on the piece of sandwich in his hand, letting the warmth of pal's fingers ease some deep ache rather than feed into how much he is allowed to enjoy that. the silver has vanished from anywhere visible now, perhaps off his skin entirely. he still feels a faint chill down his back, under his makeshift brace, but it too is receding to a gentle warmth.]
... I'll say something, next time. [because there will probably be a next time, one way or another. he turns his head to regard pal.] If you'll let me have your back as well. Equivalent exchange.
[incredible bullshit, though the sentiment in general is there and strong. strong enough he even gives into sentiment to say,] I'd have it anyway, whether you agree or not. But an agreement would make things easier.
[a glance to the tether and he can see it all but crumbled where it sits, a state of decay without the actual rot, a little on the nose given the state of his life but he choses to see it as the dying of something he's needed to cut out of himself anyway. the way it's faded now makes it difficult to tell who it's staring at anymore, and when viktor raises a hand it follows shakily.]
In truth it's for the best, I think. To let go of everything of our old worlds would be denying ourselves something integral. When I moved to Piltover it would have been easier to do that, let go of everything the undercity made of me, but I would have been greatly lesser for.
[he moves his raised hand to rest on pal's arm, around his elbow, the one still at his neck. he watches his tether touch something that isn't there and feels the oddest sympathy for the briefest moments before his attention and gaze turns to pal again.] For what it's worth I'd sneak you any books you'd like, if you were locked up for such crimes. [more for what it's worth he's glad pal lets himself be who he is, regrets and all.]