he sees them.
in his dreams, on the streets.
between the sheets as he pulls the pages back and heavy eyes haunt him and he sees them in the corners, crawling up the walls and
the blood had been far too much; he toed the edge of the room and saw it all pooling, hand prints ghosting across the floor leading to bodies torn apart.
he looked to his own arms and watched the metal writhe; it wanted blood. needed blood. he resisted. although the channel, the noises, the switch, itched. he wanted to take part in the carnage.
”I almost joined,”
he tells Ivan in the dark, and those eyes focus in on the way his mouth moves,
“I almost - “
he doesn’t finish. there’s a strange silence in the room. it’s choking. his eyes are bare and he rubs them. he almost fell, he almost lost his wings and drowned in the ocean.
he inhaled the water and it cradled in his lungs as if it was home. as if it belonged. he wanted to let it swell there, wanted to let it quell the fire, the blood. the burning urge to
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