[ There was no erasing the years of combat from Kaspar's body either, aged as the worst scars are now. He still relishes the rarer spots of softness. Refugees like the tenderer parts of his soul, they eked out a gentle survival beside the rougher. Cuts, blood losss, the force of unforgiving strikes, Kaspar was pushed to his physical limits from a young age for his country, his parents, his brothers, for Orm himself and for the blessed Avus whose rings he'd kissed; a state sanctioned childhood smeared with structured, controlled violence, blood, and enough pain for his light to develop by force.
He learned as a child, how to let the scariest and most violent memories slip away like blood stained grains of sand between his fingers. Flashes of blurry color viewed through foggy glass as Kaspar turns his focus toward the future. Not that his body could ever truly forget the hardships; complicating his relationship with pain and touch. It only intertwined it forever with feeling wanted, needed, and loved for more than his ability to bring swift ends in dark depths.
So it is far more than Steinbeck's smile that keeps him in the present. Yet the way he looks at Kaspar, makes it even easier to naturally float above it all. His warm presence is a salve, a bandage-- only ruined, affectionately, by the tickle to his ear. It sparks a laugh from Kaspar, fuller like he just fell on a slide slicked with lube. The bright, warm amusement makes it easy to miss the slight shiver that precedes it.
Kaspar's eyes well again with relief at the confirmation. His hand moves to slide his along the back of Steinbeck's. Aiming to hold it there against him, sandwiched between flushed warmth while he seeks words that never come. It lingers, just like his eyes upon Steinbeck's, until he gives his thanks in the best way he can express it in the moment. He returns the smile. Without breaking eye contact, he turns his head slightly enough to press his lips blindly to the palm of Steinbeck's hand. ]
cw: past violent militaristic childhood mentions in here (also dont mind this unfinished icon orz)
He learned as a child, how to let the scariest and most violent memories slip away like blood stained grains of sand between his fingers. Flashes of blurry color viewed through foggy glass as Kaspar turns his focus toward the future. Not that his body could ever truly forget the hardships; complicating his relationship with pain and touch. It only intertwined it forever with feeling wanted, needed, and loved for more than his ability to bring swift ends in dark depths.
So it is far more than Steinbeck's smile that keeps him in the present. Yet the way he looks at Kaspar, makes it even easier to naturally float above it all. His warm presence is a salve, a bandage-- only ruined, affectionately, by the tickle to his ear. It sparks a laugh from Kaspar, fuller like he just fell on a slide slicked with lube. The bright, warm amusement makes it easy to miss the slight shiver that precedes it.
Kaspar's eyes well again with relief at the confirmation. His hand moves to slide his along the back of Steinbeck's. Aiming to hold it there against him, sandwiched between flushed warmth while he seeks words that never come. It lingers, just like his eyes upon Steinbeck's, until he gives his thanks in the best way he can express it in the moment. He returns the smile. Without breaking eye contact, he turns his head slightly enough to press his lips blindly to the palm of Steinbeck's hand. ]