[ alhaitham/cyno ] worship
“You’re doing it again,” Alhaitham scoffed, particularly charmed to see Cyno curled up against him, his fingers hovering over the stone that protruded from his sternum.
Cyno caught his breath then, peeled his hand away. His pupils, narrowed to slits, were fixed in place, catching the gem’s glint under the sunrays. It stained the deep red of his eyes with a heavy, verdant hue.
The mind often wandered. The eyes followed, until the hand moved on its own — a song and dance that Cyno refused to acknowledge at all. It would mean acknowledging the thoughts, the questions, that overwhelmed him.
If a human was marked by something not human, what does that imply for their nature? If something not human was claimed by a human, should it be defined by them? And how did all that strike a vessel that harbored another within?
Alhaitham took Cyno’s hand in his own, pressed a kiss on its palm, and lowered it upon the green stone. Was it a heartbeat under it, or Cyno’s own pulse, that he felt?
