[ It is nothing so tremendous or imposing, the moment when Asura opens his eyes— and no different at all from when he'd awoken to find his head cradled atop her lap, Alex herself peering down at him with her river-clear blue eyes, he embodies his season's gentlest facets: the warmth of Summer rain in his smile, the radiance of the sun in his gaze. And in her quiet surveillance of him, Alex will have noticed his sheer obstinanceblatant refusal adamant rejection of the Winter cold in his state of dress. The fastenings of his brocade coat? Markedly unclosed. The buttons of his shirt? Undone. The bronze skin of his abdomen (scales, scar-tissue, and all)? On display, and proudly so. In part, it is because the King of Summer is allergic to wearing so very many layers (euch), but so too is it due to the restoration of his crystal, his furnace of a chest churning out enough heat to be felt by Alex now that she lingers in close proximity. ]
Hey, you. [ Rich and deep, his voice once the flute is lowered from his lips. Gone, the poetic nature of his words in favor of the simplicity of familiarity, because... they are well-acquainted, aren't they, in some manner of speaking. They've seen each other through the hell carved by the Rathmores in their pit of cold stone, and for it, their paths have become inexorably intertwined. It is never what Asura would have wanted (not for her, not for them), but he is not one to shy away from the truth of it. ] Wish you would've dialed me up on the Watch, instead of following me out here in the cold. Would've come the second you called, you know.
[ Now that he's on the mend, able to muster enough breath to play his flute again. ]
All this while, I've wanted to tell you that you did do something. [ "But I couldn't do anything..in the end," she'd said back then. ] That you helped.
[ When she'd leaned into his touch and reminded him of all the good humans possessed, proving to him that his choice to walk alongside mortals had not been wrong; that there would always be those who were worth protecting with his dragon's wrath and fury. ]
at alex's command (◡‿◡✿)
sheer obstinanceblatant refusaladamant rejection of the Winter cold in his state of dress. The fastenings of his brocade coat? Markedly unclosed. The buttons of his shirt? Undone. The bronze skin of his abdomen (scales, scar-tissue, and all)? On display, and proudly so. In part, it is because the King of Summer is allergic to wearing so very many layers (euch), but so too is it due to the restoration of his crystal, his furnace of a chest churning out enough heat to be felt by Alex now that she lingers in close proximity. ]Hey, you. [ Rich and deep, his voice once the flute is lowered from his lips. Gone, the poetic nature of his words in favor of the simplicity of familiarity, because... they are well-acquainted, aren't they, in some manner of speaking. They've seen each other through the hell carved by the Rathmores in their pit of cold stone, and for it, their paths have become inexorably intertwined. It is never what Asura would have wanted (not for her, not for them), but he is not one to shy away from the truth of it. ] Wish you would've dialed me up on the Watch, instead of following me out here in the cold. Would've come the second you called, you know.
[ Now that he's on the mend, able to muster enough breath to play his flute again. ]
All this while, I've wanted to tell you that you did do something. [ "But I couldn't do anything..in the end," she'd said back then. ] That you helped.
[ When she'd leaned into his touch and reminded him of all the good humans possessed, proving to him that his choice to walk alongside mortals had not been wrong; that there would always be those who were worth protecting with his dragon's wrath and fury. ]