sterngaze | kenos

[Liem has been sleeping a little better, these last few nights, than he often has previously. His blood-rich diet during the tail end of the Oracle trial alleviated many of the aches and illnesses that tend to plague him — and somewhat surprisingly, he has continued to feel well even days after the event’s conclusion. It is so unusual for him not to feel ill, he’s not used to getting so much done. He’s not used to sitting down to tackle paperwork and just… concentrating on it easily, finishing it at a normal hour, and being able to go to bed.

He’s also not used to sinking so easily and restfully into slumber, but then, the months he’s spent in Springstar have actually done him some good as far as his sleep routines are concerned. He’s always had trouble resting during the true dark of night. In that way, at least, the ever-vigilant twin suns are a blessing.

But no matter how soft and peaceful his slumber, he cannot help but wake when he feels the mattress shift ever so slightly beneath him, and the blankets slide just so above. There is hardly any sound, but the quiet still seems different somehow. When Set’s arms slide warm around his waist and his face presses into his hair, Liem’s eyes are already open, staring out into the well-curtained dark of his room.]

Set.

[His tone is dry and unbothered, but the body tucked against Set’s is tense in its motionlessness. Liem has never been comfortable with touch that comes unexpectedly, which this most certainly is.]

I didn’t hear you come in.

[To his private dwelling, which Set does not live in. Supposedly.]

[ At the very least, Liem knows who has slipped into the privacy of his home without asking. ]

Liem.

[ He hums the other's name, grip upon his body loose and warm no matter how tense that Liem becomes. Set is one to prefer dominance, to enjoy putting someone off or on the back foot — even those that he likes. Following the Oracle, he felt wrong-footed and rubbed raw in so many directions, like someone had taken him and raked him across the coals. ( That would be Gen, notably. Fighting someone who might want to be shut of him, or cause him the most excruciating pain, would take its toll on anyone. Dealing with Amos was a secondary strain, but one that was more frustrating than it was painful. )

Being alone is good, for him. The solitude he craves, he finds in the cool depths of the Beyond — tucked in his shrine or deeper still, in the bruised and tattered temple that belonged to his sister. And sometimes, being around Liem feels like being alone. Being calm and quiet, and thoughtful. Not that he lacks connection with him, but that they do not always have to fill the atmosphere with conversation. Sometimes, he can just spend time around him. ]

If you had [ 'heard me' ] I would be surprised. I am adept at sneaking, after all.

[ IS IT SCARY ]

I was tired of looking at my plants.

[No one else Liem knows would appear without warning in his own bed, to wrap themselves around him as though it was a normal thing for them to do, but that is not why he identifies the god so easily. It is the smell of him, that barely-there desert scent of a man who lives, but does not sweat or stink of humanity. He is desert made flesh, and no one else Liem knows smells anything like him, not even Quetzalcoatl.

Perhaps he should be more unsettled. His home, which he prefers to think of as his private place, has been suddenly invaded by someone who does not know — has never known, he thinks — the meaning of personal space. But the warm drape of Set’s arm around him and the solidity of the other man at his back are a balm to the quiet violence his solitude wages against him. Even though he didn’t invite him in, he doesn’t want him to leave.

He dares to breathe again, subsiding against the other man just a little.]

Is that the only reason you’re here?

[Boredom? A lack of anyone else convenient on whom to inflict his company?]

A change of ambience?

[ In retaliation to that question, Set immediately delivers a punishing little kick to the back of Liem's ankle. A sharp little pop against him, the way one might squeeze a clicker to disabuse a dog of bad behaviors. His arms tighten around Liem, face pushing deeper into the curve of his neck and the join of his shoulders as he breathes a huff, a scoff of derision. ]

Absolutely not.

[ Not wanting to see his plants, heavy and green and growing strong upon the upper-floor veranda he's transformed into a balcony-style bungalow where he rests and studies and takes the occasional social call is an excuse, not a reason! Set's abortive little kick seems punishment, for Liem allowing his mind to connect to his brain and deliver such a silly question to him. Of all things to think! ]

I wanted to see you.

[ As easily as breathing, he thought 'I want to see Liem Talbott' and so, unwilling to deny himself any sort of pleasure, he did. ]

And, [ he curls a little more tightly around Liem, hands spreading low across his ribs and belly. ] We were a bit robbed of the ability to support one another, during the Oracle.

[That little kick startles Liem a little, making him twist in Set’s grasp, cool hands sliding over his arms, trying to see him over his bare shoulder. The angle doesn’t really allow for it, though; mostly all he sees is red hair. He thinks, the next time he makes such a displeasing comment, his nighttime visitor may just bite him.]

Well, that much is true.

[He had not ended up seeing Set for a while after he left him there in the hosta, given that Liem was almost immediately ambushed and carried off by ants. And then, in subsequent days, neither of them had been in much of a state to seek support from anyone. If Liem had regretted that — and he had — his desire to hunt down the members of Zenith still troubling them had proved stronger.

That priority had seemed not only sensible, but preferable in the thick of the struggle. But now, he feels so wearied of violence and spite. He is starved for the warm, unabashed intimacy that Set offers.]

Were you… able to reclaim from Gen what you needed?

[ ( Flips a coin to see what the State of the Jars is, at this point. It was tails, so they're not yet back. Ruby will return them on Gen's behalf very soon, at least. )

Liem will feel Set convulse, when he brings it up. The thing he has been trying to ignore, to overlook. To not consider, because it has torn his heart into pieces and he vacillates between manic grief and abject fury. But, Liem asks, and Set's fingers bite into his belly, his arms tightening around him and his snarl building immediately; like an animal, caught in a trap. At the least, he is not tooth and claw. The answer ought to be tangible in the tension of his person, the way he constricts against Liem —

and then pushes away, off the bed.

The sound of his feet on the ground and the pale path of his bare skin as he paces across the floor of Liem's bedroom, hands flexing and unflexing. Meridian's warmth ( the desert's arid heat — ) pouring off him like a small star, a distressed one at that. ]

He threw one off the side of the island. I saw —

[ Gen did not REALLY do that, but Set is not exactly sane nor attentive to the delicate lie that was a Silent Image spell. He did not discern the lack of sound, the rasp of clay on stone. All he knew was that Gen's heart was not fully in it, and he thinks that he'd almost had him — almost been able to sink past the oily sheen of Gen's emptiness and have him and his child both.

Instead, one of the jars ( to his knowledge ) has been cast into the darkness beyond Kenos's island. ]

They were canopic jars. Four of them, two of which he returned to me after I gave him Reiji's shard. The other two he held onto, and commanded me not to get in his way for the rest of the battle for the Oracle. I did not heed him, and he chose not to make good on our bargain. He corrupted it, lied to me, tried to control me further. And after our win, he still had them.

[ Poor Liem. He's asked the painful question, and robbed himself of that warm intimacy. It's not his fault. ]

[Set doesn’t have to speak a word for Liem to know the answer to his question. He feels it in the convulsion that goes through his body, in the sudden dig of fingers against his flesh. He sees it in the way the man prowls around the rug-covered floor of the room after he’s abandoned Liem’s bed. His news isn’t the good kind.

Liem sits up when Set leaves the bed, bare down to his hips, watching him pace with worried eyes.]

He—

[Threw one? Off the side of the island? Liem doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than smashing it on the ground. Perhaps, if it’s still out there, floating in the blank tapestry between the stars, it can yet be retrieved. But it does not seem a comfort to imagine something so precious drifting around outside the boundaries of Kenos’s islands, lost in the cold, airless void beyond.

Did Gen even know what he’d tossed so callously into the dark? Did his spite really run that deep?]

What are you going to do?

[Gen had (allegedly) thrown one jar beyond the world’s boundaries. Does he still have the other? Holding onto it for some last shred of leverage over the god? Liem cannot help but note that Set came here, seeking his company (and perhaps his comfort, more fool him), rather than going in search of Gen.]

[ Set's hands curl, uncurl. His claws come to bear as he squeezes the life out of an imaginary foe — his pacing sharp and fluid, circling the sides of Liem's bed like a shark that is desperate for a catch. For blood. His eyes wide, dark pupils thinned to cat-like slits; an atmosphere of threat, but also the image of a stricken man. One who had been desperately trying to rest his mind, because he has spent so long considering what to do next. How to retaliate, how to be decisive and precise in his blow, so that nobody would ever think of doing such a thing to him again. ]

The last man who threatened my son was Osiris himself. And I killed him.

[ The words are hollow. ]

Gen wants to die, more than anything else. He wants Zenith to win, he wants to die, and he loves the shard of "Reiji" most of all. These are the facts I am working with. I want to ensure he never gets anything he wants. I want him to live forever, I want him to be forgotten by Reiji. I want him to regret betraying our promise to one another!

[ There are so many ways he could have done that, if this was Egypt and he were a god. He could curse him, right now. He could summon enough power, he thinks, and lay a curse upon Gen that as long as he loves Reiji, he will never know the peace he desires most. That way, Gen would have to abandon his love to get what he wanted. ]

I want to find the shard of the one he loves, and I want to punish the person he loves. I want to control him using that love, the way he controlled me.

[For all the years that Liem has been an agent of judgement, he has scrupulously avoided ever letting himself be an agent of vengeance. In his mind, such a thing carries no purpose among the living. Crimes are addressed as best as possible to prevent or discourage the repetition of the misdeed, and to deliver restitution to the wronged. The matter of punishment is left to the gods themselves, to mete out once the soul has reached the afterlife to be judged.

But then, he already agreed to leave Gen’s punishment to Set. Although the desert god is clearly out of sorts, his vengeance is not something Liem wishes to trifle with, in opposition or assistance.]

You will do whatever you must.

[This, he is confident of. The only question is, who will be caught up as collateral?

As Set paces, Liem slides over to the side of the bed, folding the blankets back so he can perch there on the edge. His folded hands rest between pyjama-clad knees.]

Set. I am sorry you became involved in this business. I am sorry Anubis became involved in it. The trial for the Oracle is well concluded and yet the fallout still lands on you.

[ In his core, he knows better than to wail against Anubis's involvement. This is war, and he knows all of the rotten things people will do to gain power and become victorious in war. As a war god, he is so infinitely pleased to see the lengths to which people will go — it fuels him, feeds him, empowers him! And as a father, he wants nothing more than to see his child left innocent of it. Not used ( again ), not abused ( again ), not made to suffer ( again ) for the crimes and failures and weaknesses of his father.

Set holds handfuls of his hair, winding his fingers into the red length like he needs to grasp something to ground himself. Tugging at the roots inflicts a little burst of steadying pain, better for him now than it would be to slip into his favored seat in the alleys of the Last Dance and imbibing drink and drug until his mind was faded and rotten. His teeth work at his lip, even as he hears the sound of Liem shifting below his covers.

Slowly, he peers through strands of red — an injured beast unwilling to slow down, unwilling to rest because it feels unsafe. ]

He is the reason I did not go to Zenith, at the start.

[ With Liem, he feels he can be honest. ]

We made a promise to one another. That I would atone for my crimes against the natural order, and he would wait. He would wait for me to "come home". I am not capable of being Meridian, without that promise. I am false.

[ A fake, a heretic, something waiting to betray everyone.

Even Liem, who he steps closer to. Whom he settles on the edge of the bed next to, subdued and wrung out. ]

Do not be sorry for what you did. It is the nature of war, to use and be used. And I am a magnificent weapon, whether I am willing to be wielded or unwilling.

[Liem takes in the pained restlessness of the clenched hands in Set’s hair, of the teeth biting into his lip, and he has to suppress the desire to get up and cross the floor to him, to reach for him where he is instead of waiting for Set to alight on the bed next to him. Waiting is always harder, but he knows how very necessary it is, especially at times like this. Even when the mattress dips under the god’s weight, Liem is careful in his movements when he shifts gently against him, reaching one hand closer to seek the clutch of those restless fingers.]

But, you would have helped Gen without the need for him to wield you in that way. Isn’t that right? Because you’re not only a weapon.

[Hadn’t he said as much in the greenhouse, leant over Liem’s body in the green embrace of a garden plant? That Gen had wronged him, insulted him, with his manipulation. That they were close enough for such things to have rightly been unnecessary.]

I should have been willing to extend him the same care — because we were friends, too. And because I didn’t, he also wasn’t able to trust you, either.

[He hadn’t accomplished anything, in the end, except to cause suffering that had only radiated outward. All because he’d forgotten the importance of being kind.]

Maybe I would have been right to use such tactic on a different person, a different Zenite, but what I did with Gen… It wasn’t wise, and it wasn’t tactical. He’s going to be pushed deeper into Zenith because of this.

[ Two halves of an arch, bowed in support of one another. That was how Liem had described 'friendship'; it was not that he did not comprehend such things, for between he and Isis had been a long, devoted companionship that he had imagined stronger than any force in the world. A bond of their choosing, different from that of marriage. Something more like what Ra had described, when she had claimed that goddesses had been made with the right to choose among gods again and again, unhindered by marital bonds. By human shackles and chains.

His hand fits into Liem's, when taken. Smooth fingers pressing across his palm, gathered so gently. ]

Of course I would have. Like you, he matters to me beyond the trappings of faction and victory.

[ Like Rudbeckia, goes unsaid but equally obvious. He devotes himself to guarding her from the battle she wants no part of, and she rests with Meridian because that is where Set is. Even Liem, had he remained with Zenith, would have been mourned but accepted; some people were just worth more than the side they found themselves on. And Set had always been a traveler of far, foreign lands and people. Always sought understanding, even among those who would become his enemies or were immediately antagonistic to him.

It hurts, to think that Gen could drift further from him, and it wasn't even his fault. ]

I sent him there, where he wanted to be. Whatever happened to him, he thinks he is only worth ending. I think he is so painful, Liem. You are painful too, in another way that wants me to be close to you. I am a god, and one of the only ones. I have to feel the weight of your lives once again, and love you in secret.

[ He says it, like he's been punched in the stomach. ]

[Since he was very young, Liem has never known quite what to do with love. The fleeting love of a sister who vanished from his life; the conditional love of friends with their own human lives to pursue; the skin-deep love of strangers whose beds he’d shared; the spurious love of a father who wanted to keep him like a pet. It sits uneasily within him, fragile and strange, so easily lost or broken. Bewildering in its unexpected presence.

And a little panic-inducing, too. His fingers tighten on Set’s as they sit, and his body curves more firmly against the other man, moulding Liem to his shape. He tucks his face into the crook of neck and shoulder as some rarely-woken, anemic fear moves frantically down his spine and into his stomach. It is not a soft and easy emotion, for him, but one that makes him feel sick and worried, for all that he makes no move to release the god from his grasp.]

You have chosen difficult people to love.

[He doesn’t understand it — why Set would gravitate towards people who would hurt him. Surely he must have had enough of such pain by now.]

[ He was not made for good things, he knows.

In choosing those who are difficult to love, he admits to being difficult to love. There is little difference between him and Liem, in the way they have been loved and come to understand that painful little thing that eludes them. That comes to them in the form of obsession, lies and withheld rewards. ( He loves his son, unconditionally and madly. Anubis has always been the recipient of a love that will kill Set, a love that he would die for gladly, but has chosen to live and suffer to grasp. )

Is it any wonder, he claims to love Liem? Gen? Rudbeckia? The most difficult, painful people he knows. Those who think themselves unworthy, impossible to love.

He leans into Liem, folding the hand that tightens against his between his fingers. Like holding a frantic bird that wants to take flight before it is safe. His face turns, haunted and strained and wishing he had just one more petal. One more piece of Yima's calm, starry blossom to rinse away the storm of his emotions and the madness within his heart. ]

I have. [ Simply admitted, without apology. ] I am also something difficult to love. So, I understand.

[It could so easily be a terrible thing, what Set says to him. Liem can hear the faint whisper of things another man might have said — had said in the past — to a discordantly similar tune, when the god agrees, when he says that he too is one such person.

Only I could love something like you, he might have told him. Only I could understand.

But despite his wickedness and his flaws, Set’s love has never made Liem feel worse. It is valuable, that he simply meets Liem where he is — by force, if he must. Even now, in his rage and his despair, he finds it in himself to just exist with Liem, solid and warm next to him in the quiet of his bedroom.]

Set, [Liem says, his breath muffled slightly against the curve of Set’s neck.] If I gave you something of mine to keep, would you wear it?

[ Closer still, Liem falls. Set wonders if he thinks of the man he mentioned once. His father, who haunts the shadows and dogs his memories and seeks to hold him captive and "love" him after molding him into a shape that is desirable. As if Liem as-is is not desirable, a stern and solemn man who seeks to do well by people even if it means becoming something unclean, unwholesome.

They're a little like one another, he and this man. More different than the same, but he does not relinquish the soft places where he finds Liem's fears and insecurities. He'd rather slip his claws into them and hook so deeply he leaves scars. What he asks from Liem is friendship. It takes no mandated form, and exists only as the spoken agreement: that yes, we are friends / yes, that means all that will come of it. ]

Of course I would.

[ He turns a little further into Liem. Body still primed for motion, forced into tense stillness. Like a stone rooted to the world itself, firm and unmoving, as he slips one hand free of where he cradle's Liem's fingers and slips it across his waist. To pull him in closer, mouth finding the spot high on the corner his forehead. One of the best places to rest one's mouth, to whisper against. A place known, divinely, as the temple. ]

Openly, too, if that would please you.

[If there is any part of Liem’s stoic, diligent persona that is riddled with cracks and weaknesses, it is his desire for connection with other people. He falters so easily when confronted with kindness, with offers of intimate care and understanding. Set’s claws have sunk in deep, and they won’t be slipping back out.

Just like his father’s teeth won’t be slipping out, despite Liem’s horror of the man.

Liem’s response to Set’s answer is to pull his hand gently free of his grasp, so that he can pull a slim golden ring from one of his pale fingers. The rest of his fingers are already entirely bare, given that he was just asleep — but although he saw fit to wear this ring even to bed, the delicate band, studded with chips of garnet, is not one that Liem has worn previously, even as recently as during the Oracle trial.

To one who has a nose for such things, the ring smells faintly of magic.]

Then, will you wear this?

[ He does not expect the thing that Liem hopes he'd wear to be taken from his own hand. The scent of magic soft upon it, unknown in quality but unmistakable, as he takes the thin piece between his fingers and looks at it. For a moment, he turns it over around the tip of his finger, thumb working over the gems curiously. He measures it, and finds that it fits well over the smallest of his fingers — he is a little larger, broader, than Liem.

Without a word, he slips it down to the root of his finger, and crooks it up so that the other man can see where he's placed it. Proof of given word, and evidence that he meant what he said. ]

This is a new piece.

[ He knows Liem likes beautiful things, ornate clothing and accessories. They share an earring pair, one of Set's most thoughtful of gifts to someone else in recent times. ]

[Liem shifts against Set only enough so that he can better see their hands, untucking his face from the warm crook of his shoulder in order to be more present in this moment. He watches quietly as the god completes his own small inspection — confident that Set will not suddenly refuse him, but still seized by a glimmer of pleasure when he sees the god slide the ring onto his smallest finger.

He cannot recall ever seeing Set wear finger jewellery before, but the colour of the stones and the gleam of the gold both suit him well.]

It is new, and old, [he says.] I had one just like it before I left my world behind. It used to sustain me with its magic.

[When he was too ill to eat, and too starved to rest. With it, he had not needed to endure his body’s fitful hunger or the heaviness of exhaustion from his sparse hours of rest — though the craving for blood had never gone away, even after all his other needs had subsided.]

I found this one in Highstorm’s markets — but I don’t actually need it anymore.

[Because he has Set to sustain him instead.]

[ The people of his land wore jewelry in various forms, with various meanings by social station or insular community; the gods wore ornate pieces, exquisite and intricate and often impossibly-crafted. Set had been a man of practical tastes. Plain golden bands, the weight of the broad collar around his throat. Things that served as emblems of his stature, but were understated and doubled as defense. To wear the delicate little ring upon his finger was a first. He would not even begin to imagine common connotations, beyond that it is something Liem saw fit to give to him.

A gift, from him. A bit like a claim, maybe. ( He does not want to misconstrue, does not want to pretend it is something more than it is. But, he thinks back to the afternoon spent burning the dead, to the weight of their suffering in his mind and mirrored on his body and the way Liem had gathered him into his arms and let him cry, shameful and vulnerable in a way divinity should never have been.

Set's generation was painfully human, in so many ways. Even now, as he tries to shed it and be stronger, wiser, better. A evil, wicked god. But a god for people, nonetheless. ) And right now, he is so — there is so much swimming within him. A clear agony, a visceral pain at the reminder of his son's broken life, the fragile clutch of the vow made together. The jars exist because Osiris did that to him. He brings Liem's hand up, to his mouth, holding the curl of his fingers in a way that keeps the ring caught against the light like a statement. ]

And you will be all right, without it? You cannot take it back now, you see.

[

He won't let him. It's too painful to think of things like love and gifts with such simple, yet intense, meaning.

Amidst the pain and wrath, he feels something that aches — hollowly, like a space that had rotted long ago being coaxed to remembrance. ]

[There is always a part of Liem that hesitates to give anything of his to another, worrying that they will find it undesirable or unworthy. To him, this ring represents a bulwark between him and the misery of keeping his body fed and rested when it only wished to reject attempts at care — but what does it represent to Set? Just a gift from Liem’s hands to his, which makes it all the more frightening. He cannot pretend such a thing could be refused on any merits but his own.

That is why, when Set says you cannot take it back … it’s not just pleasure that sweeps through him, but relief. To Set, at least, he continues to be a desired thing, coveted against all reason. Liem leans into the god and watches him in satisfaction as Set presses his lips against his hand.]

I do not need it. I propped myself up for over a century without the benefit of such magic; and now, I may lean upon you instead.

Over a century?

[ That is — a period of one hundred years, as he recalls.

Time is a difficult thing for him to keep track of, to be fair. Even in Kenos, where he is bound more to the ebb and flow of linear progress, his mind cannot grasp it without feeling strange, feeling untethered. Liem could be twenty-five, could be a century, could be twenty-five centuries and it would not quite be recognizable to Set; what he understands is that it is a long life, longer than most. That humans are often hunched and wrinkled and succeeded by generations of their own by the time a century has passed.

Slowly, he curls his legs onto the bed and shifts his hips. Drawing deeper into the mattress again, though he badly wants to pace. Wants to fling himself out the window and find his child in the dark of the abyss beyond the edge of the island. Right now, he has to lean into Liem. To press the line of his shoulder along the other man's and try, desperately, to allow himself comfort and understanding. To remain. ]

You are so young, yet older than most of your peers. A difficult position to find yourself in, I bet.

[ The back of his hand, ring gleaming, finds the plane of Liem's cheek. ]

— I am leaning upon you, too. Right now, most of all.

It is.

[It is difficult. Liem can admit that as he follows Set further onto the bed, leaning into him, seeking the reassurance of his touch just as much as he attempts to give it. Two halves of an arch, propping each other upright.

Liem is young, really. The aches and pains he has suffered throughout his life have nothing to do with the age of his body. The silver in his hair is born of stress and hardship rather than the forward march of time. And for some people, like the elves of his home world, or the gods and other strange beings who are pulled to Kenos, he has not lived so very long at all.

But his people are human, and it is humans whom Liem has watched grow and age and wither around him for scores and scores of years. And that is hard.]

I enjoy so few constants in my life, Set.

[His head tips just enough for the soft curve of his mouth to brush against the back of Set’s hand.]

This, at least, I am pleased to provide.

[ Energy burns just under his skin, fraught and strained. He twists further into Liem, hands dropping to either sides of his hips, fingers inching forward across bedspread and mattress until Set's forearms bracket Liem's waist and he can bear his weight across him. Crooked against his chest, neck craning so that his mouth can find the gentle curve of the man's own. To draw tongue across the bottom lip and push the bridge of his nose across Liem's, forehead resting against his.

Trying to be in his space, to do something with his wild energy. ] Am I keeping you awake, now?

[ Even if he does not sleep, he won't tire. As a god, he is notably diminished, but the presence of the ring will assist him. More than that, it will mark him for Liem's eye. ]

I do not want to go.

[Liem wonders what kind of distraction Set had been seeking when he had first slithered noiselessly into his bed; if it was the same as the distraction he seems increasingly to be seeking now, as he comes gradually closer to caging Liem against the sheets. He is very aware of his own state of undress as Set’s body slides deliberately against his, heat and tension alike pouring from his skin. Equally aware of the pulse thumping feverishly beneath it, and of the taste of him when he finds Liem’s mouth with his own.]

You are, of course.

[He is leaning back on one hand now, but his other snakes up to find the fall of Set’s hair, to card through it as he presses a cool kiss against the corner of his mouth — gentle, but inquisitive. As distractions go, Liem has been a poor one thus far. But if Set wishes for a way to burn off his restless energy while he considers how best to move forward, this is something Liem can certainly accommodate. Though the god may currently be ignorant of this fact, he is well used to sleepless nights.]

But you do not need to leave.

kenos | inbox

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cw: emotional manipulation mention

nOOOOOO WIEM

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"and how long have you been seventeen"

a while 😔

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