[center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]http://i63.tinypic.com/2h84geb.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥   / /   [@RedDusk][@January][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤   / /  ~𝟚𝟙𝟘𝟘[/color][/center][hr]

He couldn’t do this anymore. 
 
He thought he could wait, but he was wrong. Zhang remained stubborn on her ends. Sander just couldn’t wait anymore. He hated this. He hated that he never had the choices. That he always ended up making the wrong ones. That in the end, they were all meaningless.
 
Mom told him to keep quiet. But he was young and stupid and so [i]weak[/i].
 
She told him to stay. She knew how to fix him. She would have. But he was hurt and he was afraid. And he doubted. 
 
He should have stopped when they told him to. The dragon was on their side. The corpse was an overkill. If he had controlled himself, the crash wouldn’t have been this bad. He put everyone in danger then. He was still doing that now. 
 
Why was he so [i]damn[/i] incompetent? 
 
Sander let out a frustrated growl, slamming his fist against the hard wall of the public bathroom. Sharp pain shot up his arm, but he was grateful, if nothing else. Between pain and the prickling sensation that had been clinging to his skin for days now, he would pick pain any day. It wasn’t hard to see that; along both of his forearms were red, angry scratches. Something he did to remind himself how to feel. 
 
With the steak knife clutched in his grip, he made a cut, just on the back of his left hand. The crimson fluid welled and dripped from the incision. Almost absentmindedly, he lifted the wounded hand to his lips. It looked like blood. Tasted like blood. But it didn’t work like blood. At least, not to him. Or else he wouldn’t even have this problem in the first place. 
 
So he tried another approach. Staring at the patch of red on his hand, he focused, and his body glowed red as he absorbed the blood. Or at least, tried to. It didn’t work. It was like that dragon on the battlefield. He grasped, finding no purchase. Nothing to take. 
 
Of course. He should have known. The Change [i]changed[/i] nothing.
 
The sudden outburst left him even more drained than usual. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned over the sink, turning on the faucet and sticking his bleeding hand in running water. Pain flared up once again, and he savoured what he could until it subsided. As red-tinted water flowed down the drain, he watched his reflection in the mirror. 
 
Bleeding. Tired. Pale. Hungry.
 
Bags under his eyes.   
 
Nothing new, but he knew it was getting worse. It wouldn’t be long now. He had to do something. Anything. Or nothing. Maybe Zhang would have them deliver tomorrow. Maybe if he went lie down and didn’t move too much, it would be more bearable. Grabbing a handful of toilet paper and wrapping it around his wound, he stuffed the hand in the pocket of his jeans, half-heartedly hoping it wouldn’t stain. The friction made it ached, but he didn’t really mind. 
 
With a direction in mind, Sander got out of the public bathroom, eyes darting to catch sight of anything moving. At this stage, it was hard to tell whether the flickers at the edge of his vision were actually people or not. There shouldn’t be anyone around. This section of campus seemed largely deserted at this time of the day. 
 
Almost as a reflex, he switched his ability on, sniffing the air gingerly. Cold, at first, so he rolled down the sleeves of his red plaid shirt, as if it would help. He should have brought his coat. 
 
There was cinnamon. Exotic spices as well, but they were all very faint. Nothing to worry about. 
 
Then, a breeze brought him a scent he didn’t even know he was looking for: freshly brewed coffee. His head turned to that direction immediately, the press of the steak knife in his pocket felt more prominent than ever. Somewhere, in his addled mind, the gears began clicking. The boy had offered. He had a way out. 
 
He didn’t have to do this.

Decision made, brisk footsteps took him to where Christmas was. 

[hr]

Christmas jumped at the sound of a guard coming up from behind and patrolling past him, the soldier throwing him a quick glance before moving on, apparently unconcerned for now. He had been fitfully avoiding Sander for much of the past two days.

It was too easy for him to fall into that mental trap again, where he followed someone around like a worthless thrall, content to let them take care of everything else for him. Too easy to ruin relationships like that. Too easy to hurt people who didn't deserve it. And far, far too easy to provoke their justified fury.

And he wanted to think he was better than that. That he [i]could[/i] be better than that.

The ribbon was his only reminder that he could--had once before. A goal to reach again.

But not now. Now he quickly exited the main cluster of buildings on campus, eyes darting around the empty, well-lit sidewalks. It was late--nearly 2100 if he remembered correctly--and he couldn't be out for long before it was simply too uncomfortable or chilly to avoid returning. But until Sander was calmer, Christmas needed to get away. As much for himself as for Sander. He didn't want his own weakness to take advantage of someone else's.

The plan was to hole up in the library, or perhaps in the arboretum--somewhere with lots of things to hide behind.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, he chalked it up to a guard again, not bothering to turn around.

“[color=cyan]Christmas.[/color]”- Sander called out, once he was just a few steps away from his unsuspecting roommate, voice quiet, but his eyes were cold. Determined. More focused that he had been in days. Once, he got the blond boy's attention, he raised a hand, beckoning. 

"[color=cyan]A word. Please.[/color]"

The calm, quiet call of his name had jumpstarted Christmas's heart rate to jackhammer speed and he had that distinct feeling like he was at a disadvantage here--prey.

Sander's added layer of politeness was less comforting than Christmas had hoped, the undercurrent of insistence stirring even more trepidation into the scatter of thoughts swirling through the blond's mind.

He turned tentatively to his quasi-vampire of a roommate, barely breathing, as if he thought sudden movements would set something loose. It took a long while for him to walk slowly towards Sander, every step like wading through water.

Less than a meter away from his roommate, he stopped, hands gripping the hem of his hooded jacket and eyes downcast.

"[color=cyan]Would you like to go for a walk with me? In the arboretum?[/color]" 

[color=8493ca]"I-I was...going to go...somewhere?"[/color] he finished the statement like a question, having planned nothing in advance.

“[color=cyan]It will be just a moment.[/color]” -Sander insisted, his voice remained even, though certainly not without effort –“[color=cyan]Do me a favour, Christmas. Just this once. Please.[/color]” 

[color=8493ca]"...Okay,"[/color] he agreed, voice so thin it was a borderline miracle if Sander caught the agreement.

He fell into step beside Sander, fear on his trembling hands and legs.

He rubbed at his arms when the tingling terror spread from simply psychological to psychosomatic. It didn't take a genius to figure out something was wrong, but could he refuse? Could he run?

[color=8493ca]"H-how's--um--your..."[/color] he didn't manage to finish the small talk opener, voice trailing off into nothing.

Sander didn’t seem to catch what the blond boy was trying say. Or even if he did, he didn’t show it. His eyes were trained on some faraway point ahead, jaws clenched. 

Christmas didn't speak any more after that. He had questions, but he didn't dare ask Sander when the tension in his roommate's shoulders was more visible than his shivering in the cold night air. His hands wedged their way into his pockets, equal parts terrified of Sander and worried that Sander was shivering so badly. It was taking him every ounce of courage he had to not turn and run right now, and that was only possible because he feared the consequences of running even more.

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   𝔸𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕞   / /  ~𝟚𝟙𝟚𝟘[/color][/center][hr]

The shapes of tall trees still were visible in the dim outdoor light, and seeing its sight allowed Sander to breathe easy, even for just a brief moment. He wasn’t sure he could manage the walk around campus to look for it. Fortune was on his side as well, seeing as there was no checkpoint. He forgot his ID anyway, and even an idiot could tell that an armed student out and about at this hour was up to no good. Sander was not too proud of what he was doing, but he didn’t know any other way. It was now or never. 
 
They walked in complete silence for a few minutes, and once he felt they had gone far enough, Sander ducked behind a particularly large tree, leaning against its trunk. As he drew in ragged breaths, he fumbled with the wad of paper in his wounded hand, eventually tossing it into a nearby bush. After that was done, he pulled out the steak knife from the right pocket of his jeans.  
 
“[color=cyan]I’m so sorry.[/color]”- He then looked up at his roommate, gaze softened. The controlled façade was once again breaking. –“[color=cyan]Zhang didn’t…go through with her promise.[/color]” 
 
“[color=cyan]I’m tired, Christmas.[/color]”-He admitted, his voice hoarse. Strained. Breaking –“[color=cyan]I can’t do this anymore.[/color]”
 
“[color=cyan]Help me out.[/color]”  

[color=8493ca]"Sander...?"[/color] Christmas, forgetting too easily the tension of the moment when confronted with a plea for help, walked closer, stopping just several paces away from where Sander heaved breath after breath into the stinging cold of the night. 

The conversation from two days before rang a bell in his mind and Christmas blanched as he finally put two and two together. But now the situation was reversed--he wasn't offering here. Sander was asking. It was a different dynamic, one he wasn't sure he understood how to manage. And even in all of that, there was that persistent anxiety, looming over his every waking thought. He had been running on nothing but distress and cowardice ever since he had stepped foot onto this new hell, thinking only in immediate moments and short-term effects. 

That was the same fuel that had driven him to offer Sander his blood before, desperation for an anchor overwhelming his common sense. But now, with Sander asking--commanding, rather--he was at a loss. 

The desperate one, for once, wasn't him. And that wasn't comforting. In fact, seeing his roommate like this in stark contrast to the power Sander had displayed on the battlefield was horrifying. If even the strong faltered, what would be left of someone as weak as him?

He took another step forward, standing directly in front of Sander now.

A sharp intake of breath later and his right hand was gripping the blade of the knife, hard enough to cut deep into his palm and quickly enough that his nerves couldn't stop him in time.

It happened faster than Sander could ever anticipate. As soon as the skin broke, the scent hit him like a sledge hammer to the face, but he held fast. There was always that initial hesitation. Futility, but at least it was still his. He gripped the blond boy’s right wrist, trying to roll the sleeve up as much as he was able. 
 
“[color=cyan]…ruin your shirt.[/color]”- He muttered, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he pressed the steak knife in Christmas’ good hand, positioning the blade so it would point at his own exposed flesh. As if fearing that the blond boy would drop the knife in his panic, he kept a death grip around Christmas’ hand and pulled until the sharp end pricked his skin, drawing blood. 
 
“[color=cyan]Stop me.[/color]”-He spoke again, more conviction in his voice than he knew he had, then brought Christmas’ hand to his mouth.  

Christmas would have dropped the knife if Sander hadn't held it with him. The shock of cutting into flesh [i]on purpose[/i] and the firey pain of Sander biting into a wound again forced a sharp yelp from his throat.

He bit down on his lower lip to stifle the cries of pain and quickly realized that had been a terrible decision when another surge of agony drove his teeth hard into the soft flesh, pricking another source of blood open. The tears coming to his eyes were blurring his vision and he couldn't find the fortitude to even resist, let alone stab Sander.

The nature of his power was unfair. He wanted to help, but he was often too afraid of the pain. Even now, he struggled between sobs and wondering if helping was always going to be this painful.

It burned all the way down. Like a desert pilgrim at an oasis, he greedily swallowed gulps after gulps. The effect was almost immediate; the fire purged weakness from his limbs, freeing him from the shackles of exhaustion. It was liberating. Intoxicating. He felt like he had lived far more in these brief moments than he ever did in his short, miserable life. He could do this forever. He would. 

White glow flared to life around both Sander and Christmas, but the former paid it no mind. He didn't care. He wanted to sink deeper, to where the roar of blood drown out everything.
 
But did he, really?
 
The faint voice of reason in his mind called out, and he remembered. It would hurt, but he remembered. He had to stop. 
 
With what was left of his strength, Sander pulled the knife toward himself. To be honest, it didn’t hurt at first. Not really. He just felt an odd pressure against numb flesh, then a patch of warmth on his lower torso. It felt like minutes, before the pain finally registered. Then it spread like wildfire. 
 
Sander barely let out a clipped cry before his knees buckled. His back hit the tree trunk with a thud as he let go of Christmas, hands instead going to where the blade met his flesh. It still embedded there, pulling on the wound as he moved, eliciting groans from Sander as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, using the tree trunk as his crutch. 
 
It hurt more than he thought. He knew pain, but not the raw, raging pain undiluted by his blood rage. His vision swam while he drew in sharp breaths, grunting each time his lungs contracted and pulled on his wound. There was frustration in the back of his mind. Anger and violence built, which he directed inward. It was his fault. He was doing this to himself. But somewhere, beyond that, was joy. Victory.
 
[i]He stopped.[/i] 
 
Between grimaces of pain, he smiled. Not one of those tentative smiles he offered Christmas for reassurance. Not one of those sketchy smirks he used when humouring the guards. For once in years, his smile felt genuine. Though it quickly faded when he fell sideway and hit the grass. At least, he did so on his good side. The sudden motion still jolted his injury, flooding his senses in a fresh wave of pain. However, soon afterward, he found the sensation receding, albeit slowly.  

Christmas dropped down with Sander when the taller boy collapsed, still clutching the knife mindlessly. He had been expecting a few different things--all doom and despair and pain--but certainly not the clear, honest smile that spread briefly across Sander's face. It was a smile he hadn't seen in years and he found its jarring presence in this dark place...warm. Hopeful. Ridiculously hopeful in the face of everything.

When Sander fell to his side, Christmas leaned forward from his awkward kneel on the ground, struggling to not fall over as well in the sudden pull of movement. He let go of the knife, managing an awkward balance on all fours and hissing in pain as the injured hand that Sander had released took the forward weight of his body.

It took a bit of adjusting to settle back into a seated kneel, and he ducked his head towards his sleeve to wipe away the tears and the blood from the prick on his lip earlier. He continued sniffling a bit longer before finally looking up, catching Sander's eyes, which shone the faintest red in the darkness of the forest.

[color=8493ca]"Are you..."[/color] he looked at the shimmering mist enveloping them both and at the knife slowly sliding out of Sander's injury as the magic gradually knit the severed flesh back together. 

Sander had looked happy for a moment. The briefest moment, but he had seen it. Had marveled at it. Had envied it. 

[color=8493ca]"Are you [i]going[/i] to be okay?"[/color] he quietly asked the knife in Sander's torso, the X on Sander's throat.

Sander had been far too caught up in his current high to notice much else. Maybe that was selfish. Cruel and sadistic, even. But all things considered, it was better for everyone this way. With Christmas’ bleeding arm in grasping distance, all he could do to keep from reaching out was keeping his mind fixed on the searing pain in his torso and the faint glimmer of hope that just blossomed in his stomach. He stopped himself. It was different than that time with Kusari. She hurt him. But this time, he did it himself. Before, they taught him to rage and to destroy. They let him. And when he didn’t want to, they made him. He never learnt how to stop. He had never stopped before.
 
But he just did. They were wrong. 
 
A small defiance to their legacy. He would take what he could get. 
 
His contentment was short-lived though. As Christmas’ blood worked its magic, the wound on his torso knitted and healed, the mended flesh slowly but surely pushing the knife out. The pain faded to a mild discomfort, and the thirst once again threatened to overtake his mind. Exasperated, he grasped the wooden handle tightly, then promptly yanked the knife out. The blade came out cleanly, though followed by a fresh spurt of blood. Sander muttered something under his breath that sounded oddly like a swear word before slowly crawled back on his feet. 
 
Christmas’s question hadn’t gone unheard, but he didn’t answer it immediately. He didn’t really know the answer to that one. Looking at the blond boy at his feet, fear and guilt bloomed in his chest. Fear, because he would lose control. Guilt, because Christmas had always offered so readily and he had always taken so easily. Somewhere deeper, there was the dark undercurrent of desire as well. Sander’s eyes fell on the cut on the blond boy’s hand. The scent came calling again, but Sander responded by taking off his shirt and leaning down. First aid was one of those skills he never learnt, so he just wrapped the wound haphazardly into a bundle. 
 
“[color=cyan]Maybe you should ask yourself that, sometimes.[/color]” – He mumbled as he worked, half-hoping the blond boy would miss that. He, of all people, had no right to say such thing. 
 
“[color=cyan]Thank you.[/color]”- He said, once Christmas’ wound had been bandaged, as he offered the blond boy a hand to help him up.  

Christmas carefully stood up with Sander's help, pulling himself up with his uninjured hand and brushing the dirt and leaves from his clothes afterwards.

The ungainly bundle of cloth on his right hand looked...ridiculous. And he snorted out one short laugh that he immediately hid behind a cough and the crook of his elbow, like someone had forgotten to tell him laughing wasn't a cardinal sin.

The healer chewed on his lip a while as he waited for the bout of sudden laughter to pass, thinking on the throbbing pain in his hand instead of Sander's kind gesture--the kind of gesture that he had missed missing. A quick check of the wound on Sander's torso revealed it had mostly healed now, the injury itself nothing serious. 

In a tiny voice, and after another small gasp and wince as he reflexively balled his wounded hand without thinking, Christmas finally murmured a small [color=8493ca]"You're welcome,"[/color] before adding an equally faint [color=8493ca]"Thank you, too"[/color] at the end.

The 'bandaged' hand was tucked against his stomach now and a quick breeze reminded him that Sander was probably worse off since he was half-naked.

[color=8493ca]"Um...maybe you should take your shirt back? It's...uh...it's cold,"[/color] he suggested weakly.

The biting cold nibbled at his exposed skin, barely a distraction now that the flame raged in his system. He merely shook his head at Christmas’ suggestion, eyes already turned away from the blond boy in favour of searching for the lights that would guide them back. He didn’t want to stay out here for longer than necessary, and he most certainly didn’t want to stay out here alone with Christmas. He didn’t actually enjoy the self-mutilation that much. Or at all, for that matter.
 
“[color=cyan]We should go. Have someone look at that hand and all.[/color]”- With that said, Sander’s unruffled exterior slid back on easily. As he motioned Christmas to follow, he caught sight of the bloody knife. With some hesitation, he decided to keep the thing. It might come in handy. Probably.  

[color=8493ca]"I'm..."[/color] it wasn't a lie, actually; other than being objectively wrong, he personally believed it, [color=8493ca]"...fine, really. Could we, um, just go back to the room?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]If you say so.[/color]”-Sander frowned, but eased his expression immediately. He was not in the habit of forcing people to do what they didn’t want to. Most of the time. –“[color=cyan]I will go grab some bandages then. We need a first aid kit around anyway.[/color]”
 
“[color=cyan]You can find your way back once we are out here, right?[/color]” 

Christmas nodded, eyes reverting to their default behavior of staring at the ground.