[Sullivan approaches, hand out - fingers cool, skimming up Zephir's forearm, touching skin to skin. How he missed the warmth of his other half. His other hand removes the scarf, showing off his throat. The skin is jagged, parts hanging and others stuck together without their edges mending, like a puppet made of flesh. When he swallows, it all moves, a crust of black blood over his adam's apple and lines of it down the divot of his collarbone.]
no subject
You were quite hungry.