[ The hands are far gentler than others that have sought vulnerable places, so he dips his shoulders down a little lower to show off the nape of his neck while Louis's hands are sliding there — it's an enticing sensation, even shackled up like he is. Fae-brained and less cautious than normal, he unfolds into Louis's hands and questions with a syrupy-slow warmth. ]

Right from the start of the forest. The so-called wizard may his ass break out in boils kitted me out. Trust me, I would have donned a cute flower crown over this if I had a choice. Don't you think it'd have suited me, tee hee?

[ He folds his hands together and tucks them along his cheek like wao, adorable! ✨. Splattercon had some kawaii-ass nerds making cutesy poses, and his sharp memory happens to drag one kicking to the forefront at the most embarrassing possible moment.

The bridle's a solid piece, shimmering bright as a lure. The reins fall like gleaming water, draping across Louis's knuckles as if an artifact begging to be used properly. To be drawn into a fist, to guide a wild animal to heel. Harry's own eyes flick to the altar, following the line of the other man's curiosity. FMK games aren't usually what he's playing, but he knows about them because of his former college-kid werewolf clan, as well as Molly's valiant attempts at educating him on Normal Teenager experiences he never got to have. ]

— seriously though. Louis, I'm thinking we're stuck in it now. A whole "difference between using a feather and using a chicken" situation.

[ Maybe it's why he moves his hand with methodical purpose, to slide his fingers around that handsome wrist and coil his fingers into the other's palm. ]

I would like to think we're already becoming friends. Don't need magic to dictate that.