( mathias has never been so scared in his life — or has he? the feeling claws at him from the inside out, his heart still pounding, adrenaline racing through his veins. he's ran like that before, away from something, from someone, feet pounding against the ground as he carries himself quickly but perhaps not quickly enough. it's familiar, and that's terrifying —
though not as terrifying as mat finds himself in this moment, as his fingers curl in on themselves into fists, mercifully hidden beneath the longer sleeves of his jacket. what had he done?
those men were pursuing them without hesitation, with little regard for the remaining slush mucking up the sidewalks of the city, and had milo not grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the way — he would've been a goner. except that then, with their would-be attackers in hot pursuit, that meant that milo was in danger, too, and mat simply couldn't allow this kindhearted boy to suffer on his account, for something that neither of them could even begin to understand.
it's that thought that lead mat to whirl upon their pursuers, brow furrowed intently, as a swirl of glittering, frosty light burst from the centers of his palms, and struck the pair, and he watched in wonderment as ice crept up the boots of the men, up their legs, their torsos, their arms, crossed defensively, their faces full of fear like they knew what was coming. like they'd seen this happen before.
come on, milo whispered frantically as he yanked mat away, and the next thing he knew, he was running for dear life, afraid of what might happen if those men were to break free from that ice — that ice that he'd created. but what if the ice was a permanent punishment, unable to be reversed? what if mathias — could he have ... ?
these are the thoughts that wrack mat's mind as he all-but paces milo's living room, arms hugging tightly around himself as he stares determinedly down at the floor. the temperature inside feels about the same as outside, but mat pays no mind to it, even if it drops further and further the more his mind races, considering all of the grim possibilities. he can't seem to catch his breath, panting softly, quickly, wanting nothing more than to curl in on himself and isolate before he hurts anyone else. before he hurts milo.
milo. he's safe, at least for now, within the four walls of his apartment — at least if mat has anything to say about it. )
Milo — thank you for — ( everything? rescuing him yet again? giving him a place to sleep? mat finally tries to articulate what he doesn't know how to articulate, but it doesn't quite come out the right way considering the tightness in his throat as he lifts his head and looks at the boy with the bright hair, heart racing, overwhelmed in every way the moment he meets his gaze.
he wants to feel confident. he doesn't want to be so scared. he wants to unlock the part of himself that's been here the whole time, hidden away in plain sight. )
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sforzinda
❄ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑴 𝑰𝑺 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝑲𝑬, the danger is real
Date: 2019-02-18 04:46 am (UTC)though not as terrifying as mat finds himself in this moment, as his fingers curl in on themselves into fists, mercifully hidden beneath the longer sleeves of his jacket. what had he done?
those men were pursuing them without hesitation, with little regard for the remaining slush mucking up the sidewalks of the city, and had milo not grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the way — he would've been a goner. except that then, with their would-be attackers in hot pursuit, that meant that milo was in danger, too, and mat simply couldn't allow this kindhearted boy to suffer on his account, for something that neither of them could even begin to understand.
it's that thought that lead mat to whirl upon their pursuers, brow furrowed intently, as a swirl of glittering, frosty light burst from the centers of his palms, and struck the pair, and he watched in wonderment as ice crept up the boots of the men, up their legs, their torsos, their arms, crossed defensively, their faces full of fear like they knew what was coming. like they'd seen this happen before.
come on, milo whispered frantically as he yanked mat away, and the next thing he knew, he was running for dear life, afraid of what might happen if those men were to break free from that ice — that ice that he'd created. but what if the ice was a permanent punishment, unable to be reversed? what if mathias — could he have ... ?
these are the thoughts that wrack mat's mind as he all-but paces milo's living room, arms hugging tightly around himself as he stares determinedly down at the floor. the temperature inside feels about the same as outside, but mat pays no mind to it, even if it drops further and further the more his mind races, considering all of the grim possibilities. he can't seem to catch his breath, panting softly, quickly, wanting nothing more than to curl in on himself and isolate before he hurts anyone else. before he hurts milo.
milo. he's safe, at least for now, within the four walls of his apartment — at least if mat has anything to say about it. )
Milo — thank you for — ( everything? rescuing him yet again? giving him a place to sleep? mat finally tries to articulate what he doesn't know how to articulate, but it doesn't quite come out the right way considering the tightness in his throat as he lifts his head and looks at the boy with the bright hair, heart racing, overwhelmed in every way the moment he meets his gaze.
he wants to feel confident. he doesn't want to be so scared. he wants to unlock the part of himself that's been here the whole time, hidden away in plain sight. )