The squirming is slow to return, Doctor Hugh’s words easing the stillness in him little by little as he drags his eyes up to meet his companion’s mismatched ones.
“It does not make me feel better, Doctor Hugh,” he starts, voice soft like silk, that same barely-there frown upon his face. Cassius’ fingers move to trace over Doctor Hugh’s knuckles, easing the tray out of his grasp as if it is a burden to him that Cassius insists on carrying. “I would prefer you not to come to harm at all, even if you are the one to strike first. You do not heal as fast as my Hunter.”
Because his Hunter tears themselves open and mends themselves closed in heartbeats. Because his Hunter has had their throats slit, their body burned, their limbs torn, and come out of it without so much a scar.
Cassius cannot keep them from being injured, no, but there is at least a comfort in knowing that any wound will not take. Doctor Hugh does not have that luxury.
(If he had been there, Doctor Hugh’s assailant would have had his anger carved into his legs like worm trails. A lesson, perhaps, in fear.)
That churning within him still remains, heavy like stones and gnawing hungry like starved maggots as he steps away to set the tray aside on the small table tucked up against the wall. Does not make to touch it, merely turns away to let his eyes linger on damaged, wounded skin.
(Guilt, if he had known the name to it. Instead it is an uncomfortable, spiraling thing not unlike the shell of a snail, only it keeps going and going without pause. Without clear view of the bottom.
He does not like it.)
He folds his hands in front of him as his gaze strays to the glass. To the rabbits stilling under his stare. He imagines if he had his Hunter’s senses, their hearts would be thrumming like a dragonfly’s wings.
His thoughts drift, then, to the anger he had seen outside of his windowed room. To the people there and the way that they had stared as Doctor Hugh had led him along. To humans and all that they are capable of when they are afraid.
When his attention returns to Doctor Hugh, it is softer. Solemn.
“...I am sorry,” Cassius says after the silence stretches. “It is because of me, is it not? Why you were hurt. Because I am a monster.”
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“It does not make me feel better, Doctor Hugh,” he starts, voice soft like silk, that same barely-there frown upon his face. Cassius’ fingers move to trace over Doctor Hugh’s knuckles, easing the tray out of his grasp as if it is a burden to him that Cassius insists on carrying. “I would prefer you not to come to harm at all, even if you are the one to strike first. You do not heal as fast as my Hunter.”
Because his Hunter tears themselves open and mends themselves closed in heartbeats. Because his Hunter has had their throats slit, their body burned, their limbs torn, and come out of it without so much a scar.
Cassius cannot keep them from being injured, no, but there is at least a comfort in knowing that any wound will not take. Doctor Hugh does not have that luxury.
(If he had been there, Doctor Hugh’s assailant would have had his anger carved into his legs like worm trails. A lesson, perhaps, in fear.)
That churning within him still remains, heavy like stones and gnawing hungry like starved maggots as he steps away to set the tray aside on the small table tucked up against the wall. Does not make to touch it, merely turns away to let his eyes linger on damaged, wounded skin.
(Guilt, if he had known the name to it. Instead it is an uncomfortable, spiraling thing not unlike the shell of a snail, only it keeps going and going without pause. Without clear view of the bottom.
He does not like it.)
He folds his hands in front of him as his gaze strays to the glass. To the rabbits stilling under his stare. He imagines if he had his Hunter’s senses, their hearts would be thrumming like a dragonfly’s wings.
His thoughts drift, then, to the anger he had seen outside of his windowed room. To the people there and the way that they had stared as Doctor Hugh had led him along. To humans and all that they are capable of when they are afraid.
When his attention returns to Doctor Hugh, it is softer. Solemn.
“...I am sorry,” Cassius says after the silence stretches. “It is because of me, is it not? Why you were hurt. Because I am a monster.”