[AUREO] meet me at midnight

[aureolin rafiel lyrian]

Aureolin was not at all very heavy. He was unreasonably light, even with the massive wings at his back. He could feel the bones through Connor’s skin, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. The boy looked so worn… had they…? His thoughts were broken as he was lain down, and he allowed the tiredness to seep into his body, hardly able to breathe his thanks, before curling up under the blankets. Aureolin looked so peaceful, with his wings hidden by the blankets. Too innocent. Too sorrowful. Like he never belonge din this hell of a place. “Did they torture you too?” he asked in hardly a whisper. “The cold metal table,strapped down…” his hands curled around the covers, “So many people jabbing at you, slicing into your skin with hardly a sedative…” He looked up at the other, his bagged eyes hollow with sleep deprivation and pain, “I wish I could just die. Maybe if I just cut a little deeper next time, maybe I could just cut at my neck…” he shook his head, “But I fear pain. I’m a coward. They only keep me alive with vitimins and stimulants…” he closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the pillow, “I haven’t eaten in a month… ghh…. I doubt I even can now…”

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor raised his head slowly, looking over the other. His blonde hair reminded Connor of his brother. His kind face and attitude. But Adam was dead, and Connor could only blame himself. He let out a shaky breath. "The t-tests..a-and surgically cutting me open t-to get the wings out, yeah.." He mumbled softly. "But the l-loss in weight i-is my own fault..starving mys-self, cutting, taking dr-rugs." He shrugged. "When you're dying y-you lose the will to care." A husky cough passed his lips. Connor didn't think he was afraid of dying anymore, wasn't afraid of pain. If anything, he was afraid most of being forgotten, never having something to live for in the first place. He looked the other over quietly, biting his lip at the words of suicide. Telling him no would have been hypocritical. But with the tilt of his head, a rugged scar across his own throat gleamed in the dim light. It wasn't by his own doing, but the memories themselves were a killer.