Brelione//DruigxOC

Very Good

Theres no battle to prepare for, no training to be done, humans to watch. I dont think Ikaris knows how to live a simple life with no definite purpose. His whole thing has always been his loyal soldier act, trying to be the best, to be Arishem's favorite. Doesnt he know that we are to Arishem as mosquitos are to us? Pests that dont do much, simply something that coexists. That's how it feels, really. He doesnt know how to properly relax, he can hardly sit in the same place for more than ten minutes, always keeping himself busy. With news he doesnt care about, writing things that are never sent out, chopping countless fruits and trying to make things like Gil used to.

It's sweet, I think. That he's trying to bring me to happiness. His fruit mush is gaining close to perfect, though he hasnt mastered the removal of seeds that always gets trapped in teeth. A mundane displeasure that messes up the experience, the perfect spread on toast, the best dip for sweets. But he's getting close. With a huff, I maneuver my body, reaching my arms out as a graze the wall, a few taps against it to let him know that im awake. The door knob turns, his head peeping in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he whispers. "That means come in, yes?"He asks.

Four taps means yes, two is no. Its a system we've developed as he accidentally had forgotten I dont have the privilege of a well working voice. I nod, fighting the urge to stay in bed as i finally arise, retrieving my hair piece from my side table. Its a newer thing, something he got for me two days ago when I made a light complaint about the curls being a nuisance. Hands to tired to fix it, he carefully walks in, shutting the door gently behind him as the wind tries to snatch it from his hands.

He holds out his hand, gentle and expecting as I place the piece in his hand, his figure coming to sit behind me. "Any dreams?"He asks, pulling the hair from my shoulders with gentle fingers, running his hands through it like a comb as he takes the piece, pulling my hair through the circle behind it. My hand comes up to where he can see, two fingers pressing to the thumb in a 'no' sign. He hums, turning the piece as he pulls it through the other side, leaving the hair away from my face and out of the way.

With a pleased hum, he presses a gentle kiss to my head, the newest line stumbled over in our relationship? Friendship? Companionship? Whatever one may call it, he helps me to get up, with my feet dragging as he chuckles, hands linking around my ankles as he pulls my down the hall. My blanket still clings to my body, dragged down and limp as i cant help but grin at his exaggerated struggle. The world knows that Ikaris can hold thousands of pounds upon his shoulders, but the grumbles and grunts he lets out as he pulls me makes it seem as he would struggle to hold a bottle of milk.

He pulls me as far as the staircase before he gives up, a hefty sigh leaving his lips as he takes a seat on the stairs. "Are you awake yet?"He leans his head against his palm, eyes full of life like ive never seen them before. With a flick of my thumb and middle finger, the staircase becomes a slide of ice, a grin as i slide down it, falling against the floor as i come to a halt, my feet hitting the door as ive come down so fast. I dont anticipate that he, too, will come down, so fast that he spins completely as he does, hitting the wall with a laugh so loud that it could break the sound barrier.

"Have you purposely made it to cause immense injury?"He smiles as he gets up, pulling me along with him as I cant help but smile against his touch, my hand a gentle circle in the air as the ice reverses itself, nothing but a wooden staircase again. With our faces painted pink from laughter, we find ourselves in the kitchen, fruit juice splattered everywhere, fingerprints of sugar, much struggle painted across the kitchen as he holds his hands out with a grin, gesturing to the newest pot of fruit mush.

The color is more saturated, a plate full of the outerbits of berries is to the side, seeds in the sink. A mess he has made, hes going to have to clean up later. I can already tell how it will go, he'll claim that its boring to clean, that it adds a nice touch. And then ill have to tell him to do it over and over until he becomes annoyed with me. How can this man, the one that so proudly presents a pot of fruit mush be the same odd, creepy presence that keeps showing up in my mind? The madness, the vision it shows me, seems to go on forever.