[ It's honest, and maybe it's because Tommy is a relative stranger and cannot be hurt by it, or maybe it's because there's something that calls inside of his blood. But it is honest. ]
I am Mark Blackthorn. Shadowhunter. Faerie. Boy. I do not know which one to hold on to. [ He still has a hold of his hand and so he turns it, threads their fingers together. It's a sweet movement, almost as if it could be seductive were it not for Mark's innocence in the moment. He had hated the lack of touch in the Hunt, and while Kieran had helped then, he craves it more and more now. ] I was thrown from the Hunt and I have not felt the wind for many, many nights. I have known great loss, but no longer having that --.
[ It could kill him, if he let it. And it hurts more than the whipping ever did. But he has an obligation to his family. ]
[ Small notions start to fall into place, to piece themselves together and speak the same language, when before they had been slightly discordant, earnestly communicative but not fully understood. Tommy’s eyes widen a fraction as he absorbs.
So it’s much more than demons, and hunters, or even angels and gods. It’s Neverland, and wilderness; a trackless way into some Other Place. Some world where Mark has maybe left a foot, or a memory, or a perhaps a very real piece of his heart. A life that Tommy seems to remind him of, offering up an altered version of what he knew.
Yet it’s simpler than all of that too, of course. ]
…Boy.
[ Tommy’s lashes lower while he studies their entwined fingers, wondering if this is what it feels like to touch another galaxy. They are not serenely or even sweetly holding hands. There is a whole world hidden in their joined palms. They are explorers, now.
They are Lost Boys, together.
Slowly, he lifts his other hand to graze fingertips across the high slope of Mark’s cheek; he holds it there. Empathy. Acceptance. ]
[ His smile blooms like a midnight flower, petals unfolding in the dark of the night. Tommy touches him and Mark turns into it without thinking. He feels more himself than he has done in weeks and so he yearns to keep soaking up the moment for as long as he can. ]
I would like to know you better.
[ It's easy for him to say. He does not remember how to navigate human interaction and so he's stubbornly, refreshingly blunt in his affections. Mark would like to keep this boy, the one who can run wild on his own two feet, who does not balk at strangers bearing knives nor ones with strange eyes and stranger hearts. It is something he is forging for himself, a bond that did not have it's roots in the boy he was before. ]
[ That smile has begun a pattern of knocking the wind directly out of him. It’s even more potent with the clarity that Mark is completely unaware of what an unexpected treasure it is. Some use their beauty as a weapon alongside their blades.
Tommy suspects Mark has no earthly idea how beautiful he is.
He drags his thumb a little wistfully, a little mournfully, along the corner of that smile as his hand leaves the warmth of Mark’s cheek. But he has a purpose, even if he is immediately colder for the absence of contact. He uses that hand to pull his phone from his back pocket and offer it to the boy before him; selfishly, perhaps, he lets the fingers of his other hand remain tangled with Mark’s as he does so. ]
Here, [ He starts, unlocking the screen, ] Your number. I… want to know you, too.
[ Mark stares at the phone for a moment as though he is not sure what to make of it before his expression clears. Emma and Julian had bought him a cell phone shortly after he'd agreed to stay with the Institute. He takes Tommy's and programmes in the number very carefully, placing it under the name of Mark Blackthorn.
Once he is done he tucks the phone back into Tommy's pocket - yes, his back one. He doesn't even look like he cares much that it was a provocative movement. Mark can be both flirtatious and innocent within the very same breath. ]
Then this is how you will find me.
[ He tips his head a little, gold eye glinting in the dark. ]
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no subject
[ It's honest, and maybe it's because Tommy is a relative stranger and cannot be hurt by it, or maybe it's because there's something that calls inside of his blood. But it is honest. ]
I am Mark Blackthorn. Shadowhunter. Faerie. Boy. I do not know which one to hold on to. [ He still has a hold of his hand and so he turns it, threads their fingers together. It's a sweet movement, almost as if it could be seductive were it not for Mark's innocence in the moment. He had hated the lack of touch in the Hunt, and while Kieran had helped then, he craves it more and more now. ] I was thrown from the Hunt and I have not felt the wind for many, many nights. I have known great loss, but no longer having that --.
[ It could kill him, if he let it. And it hurts more than the whipping ever did. But he has an obligation to his family. ]
Thank you.
no subject
[ Small notions start to fall into place, to piece themselves together and speak the same language, when before they had been slightly discordant, earnestly communicative but not fully understood. Tommy’s eyes widen a fraction as he absorbs.
So it’s much more than demons, and hunters, or even angels and gods. It’s Neverland, and wilderness; a trackless way into some Other Place. Some world where Mark has maybe left a foot, or a memory, or a perhaps a very real piece of his heart. A life that Tommy seems to remind him of, offering up an altered version of what he knew.
Yet it’s simpler than all of that too, of course. ]
…Boy.
[ Tommy’s lashes lower while he studies their entwined fingers, wondering if this is what it feels like to touch another galaxy. They are not serenely or even sweetly holding hands. There is a whole world hidden in their joined palms. They are explorers, now.
They are Lost Boys, together.
Slowly, he lifts his other hand to graze fingertips across the high slope of Mark’s cheek; he holds it there. Empathy. Acceptance. ]
You’re welcome.
no subject
I would like to know you better.
[ It's easy for him to say. He does not remember how to navigate human interaction and so he's stubbornly, refreshingly blunt in his affections. Mark would like to keep this boy, the one who can run wild on his own two feet, who does not balk at strangers bearing knives nor ones with strange eyes and stranger hearts. It is something he is forging for himself, a bond that did not have it's roots in the boy he was before. ]
I would like it if you would allow it.
no subject
Tommy suspects Mark has no earthly idea how beautiful he is.
He drags his thumb a little wistfully, a little mournfully, along the corner of that smile as his hand leaves the warmth of Mark’s cheek. But he has a purpose, even if he is immediately colder for the absence of contact. He uses that hand to pull his phone from his back pocket and offer it to the boy before him; selfishly, perhaps, he lets the fingers of his other hand remain tangled with Mark’s as he does so. ]
Here, [ He starts, unlocking the screen, ] Your number. I… want to know you, too.
no subject
Once he is done he tucks the phone back into Tommy's pocket - yes, his back one. He doesn't even look like he cares much that it was a provocative movement. Mark can be both flirtatious and innocent within the very same breath. ]
Then this is how you will find me.
[ He tips his head a little, gold eye glinting in the dark. ]