[Hands say a lot about a person. He's noticed that over and over, through the years. The hands of the elite, the rich men, the powerful ones, were more often than not unblemished and perfect. Too perfect. It almost made him sick. Men who never worked hard a day in their life, dictating other's lives from behind a desk with a flick of a wrist.]
[The fact that Kaspar's hands, in comparison, are calloused, makes him feel warm. His own hands are rough from years of farm work, dotted with miniscule scars from fights and self-injury for the sake of his power. Kaspar's hands being similar reassures him - it feels like glancing at someone across a bar and meeting their eyes as they look at you.]
[You and I, we're alike, aren't we?]
[A healthy blush settles in his cheeks, moving up to his ears, more warm than the fire in front of them. And at the man's last statement, a smile crinkles over his distant, pensive face, attention resting on Kaspar's face like a bee on a flower.]
Come on. [His own hand slides to tickle behind Kaspar's ear. He needs to reemphasizewhat he said before. Perhaps tomorrow he would wake up at home, consider it a dream, but even with his own tendency for self-destruction and denial, he wouldn't let go of an opportunity like this. Something genuine, a fire to stoke the endless night. He wouldn't deny himself that. He wouldn't deny Kaspar that.] I'm already there, silly.
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[The fact that Kaspar's hands, in comparison, are calloused, makes him feel warm. His own hands are rough from years of farm work, dotted with miniscule scars from fights and self-injury for the sake of his power. Kaspar's hands being similar reassures him - it feels like glancing at someone across a bar and meeting their eyes as they look at you.]
[You and I, we're alike, aren't we?]
[A healthy blush settles in his cheeks, moving up to his ears, more warm than the fire in front of them. And at the man's last statement, a smile crinkles over his distant, pensive face, attention resting on Kaspar's face like a bee on a flower.]
Come on. [His own hand slides to tickle behind Kaspar's ear. He needs to reemphasizewhat he said before. Perhaps tomorrow he would wake up at home, consider it a dream, but even with his own tendency for self-destruction and denial, he wouldn't let go of an opportunity like this. Something genuine, a fire to stoke the endless night. He wouldn't deny himself that. He wouldn't deny Kaspar that.] I'm already there, silly.