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spoke blinks his eyes open for the first time in what seemed like years. his blurry vision starts to focus on a multi-colored figure. soon, he could make out who it was. from those bright green wings and patches of blue in his hair.
so, it is november, and nobody asked him if he was ready—ready to breathe again, ready to keep on with this kind of dead-living.
he takes a step forward cautiously. he had nothing. no armor, no weapons, no shields. nothing to protect him from his consequences. he blinks again, and suddenly, his fingers are interlocked with those of parrots. thin, weathered hands whisk through dark fingers.
brown hair, light eyes, parrots hands are soft, and disgustingly familiar. spoke does not like the way his calloused palms feel against parrots eerily innocent hands. it feels wrong to touch him. they’re warm, feels like a blistering stovetop. it threatens to leave blisters and burns against spokes fingers. it leaves him with a languid taste on his tongue, and no matter how much he swallowed, it wouldn’t go away.
“i’m sorry parrot.”
“for what?” parrot glistens a softening smile that brandished his features. spoke can feel a tear form beneath his eyelashes.
the man doesn’t know what to say. a million things bubbled up that he wished he could’ve during him and parrots steady alliance. now it was all broken promises.
“your hands are so warm ... have they always been?” spoke whispers, like a breath not meant to be spoken.
“dude, what are you talking about?”
that makes spoke smile. a real, true smile. not many things do that to him anymore. he missed parrot, misses his witty comebacks, flowery aura, it was so soothing having him back. it took everything in him not to embrace him in a hug.
“can i hug you?” spoke says, air-filled & feathery.
parrot looks at the man with those familiar narrowed eyes, judgmental but gentle.
“i guess.”
and just like he would all those months ago, spoke wraps his aching arms around parrots body. he didn’t know what to feel, it was a comforting encounter. yet, a moment of doubt had led him to squeeze a little harder.
and for a moment, he feels at peace with himself. he wants to forget about the wormhole, he wants parrot to forgive him. then he feels it.
a sword being thrusted into his back. he feels his nerves trickle and buzz, he feels everything. the blood pooling and being absorbed by the fabric of his shirt, and can see that the remnants of a grin were left on parrots features. he keeps clinging on to him, scared of what will happen if he lets go.
-
he wakes up after that, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. he can feel the dampness of his cloths stick to his skin.
he’s scared, so scared.