[ Mizael tells Vector that he's real, and somehow the more he says it the more Vector doubts. The more he wonders. The louder the whispers that come, that ask but is he? until Vector hums with it.
There are fingers on him, then. Small and frail and human and so very alien, and Vector stares down at them and trembles beneath them, though he doesn't pull away. Fingers that ghost over one of his gems and leaves him trembling all the more because-- because those fingers are so close and on some deep level Vector wants. Wants Mizael to touch, but--
But he doesn't know what he'll do, if those filthy human fingers touch him so deeply. Because he could stand Mizael touching, perhaps --
(he couldn't, he couldn't, nobody can touch him because to touch him is to see deep inside him and Vector doesn't dare to even look too hard himself at the deepest depths of his soul, let alone let anyone else in there to see the things he hides even from himself)
-- but those fingers aren't-- this thing before him is not Mizael. Mizael burns in starfire and sings in starlight and this thing before him might have Mizael's mind strapped into its confines but it pulses wetly in its human viscera and it is not Barian as Vector is. It is weak and filthy and he could break it open to see its human muck but never find a single glimmer of starlight in its depths.
Those weak little human fingers come so close and Vector does not know what he'll do if they press down but then they do and--
(he sees stars but in only the most human sense of the word; he reels and he casts out and sings - screams - his very loudest in his core but there are no true stars to echo from here and so it rings out sharp and incomplete, leaves him wanting to gasp for air because it)
(it hurts, for Mizael to put those alien fingers upon him and open him up as he's never allowed anyone to do, and Mizael does not - cannot - even offer a piece of himself to stopper the gap, stop Vector from feeling as though every part of him could bleed out from the spot where those fingers touch)
Vector snarls, and his other hand comes up to grab at this human, at this weak and soft creature that thinks it can touch him because once upon a time it shone with Mizar's light and eventually it will come to again. Wraps his claws around its wrist and stares up at it - stares into eyes, at least, that hold some semblance of the real Mizael - in disgust, in anger, in...
(in the things he doesn't admit to, the things that come in the quiet of night and leave his human flesh soaked with sweat and his starlight flickering all around him but that he doesn't allow himself to ever acknowledge) ]
Don't--
Don't.
[ And still, he can't say he even believes what Mizael is saying.
(because Mizael split him open and those fingers are still on his gem and bleeding him of everything inside but)
(it's not as though Vector has never hurt himself, is it?)
(not as though he's never felt a sword in his chest or fire scorching around him, felt the drip-drip-drip of blood in places that a human body isn't supposed to bleed lest it give itself over to the shackles of death--) ]
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There are fingers on him, then. Small and frail and human and so very alien, and Vector stares down at them and trembles beneath them, though he doesn't pull away. Fingers that ghost over one of his gems and leaves him trembling all the more because-- because those fingers are so close and on some deep level Vector wants. Wants Mizael to touch, but--
But he doesn't know what he'll do, if those filthy human fingers touch him so deeply. Because he could stand Mizael touching, perhaps --
(he couldn't, he couldn't, nobody can touch him because to touch him is to see deep inside him and Vector doesn't dare to even look too hard himself at the deepest depths of his soul, let alone let anyone else in there to see the things he hides even from himself)
-- but those fingers aren't-- this thing before him is not Mizael. Mizael burns in starfire and sings in starlight and this thing before him might have Mizael's mind strapped into its confines but it pulses wetly in its human viscera and it is not Barian as Vector is. It is weak and filthy and he could break it open to see its human muck but never find a single glimmer of starlight in its depths.
Those weak little human fingers come so close and Vector does not know what he'll do if they press down but then they do and--
(he sees stars but in only the most human sense of the word; he reels and he casts out and sings - screams - his very loudest in his core but there are no true stars to echo from here and so it rings out sharp and incomplete, leaves him wanting to gasp for air because it)
(it hurts, for Mizael to put those alien fingers upon him and open him up as he's never allowed anyone to do, and Mizael does not - cannot - even offer a piece of himself to stopper the gap, stop Vector from feeling as though every part of him could bleed out from the spot where those fingers touch)
Vector snarls, and his other hand comes up to grab at this human, at this weak and soft creature that thinks it can touch him because once upon a time it shone with Mizar's light and eventually it will come to again. Wraps his claws around its wrist and stares up at it - stares into eyes, at least, that hold some semblance of the real Mizael - in disgust, in anger, in...
(in the things he doesn't admit to, the things that come in the quiet of night and leave his human flesh soaked with sweat and his starlight flickering all around him but that he doesn't allow himself to ever acknowledge) ]
Don't--
Don't.
[ And still, he can't say he even believes what Mizael is saying.
(because Mizael split him open and those fingers are still on his gem and bleeding him of everything inside but)
(it's not as though Vector has never hurt himself, is it?)
(not as though he's never
felt a sword in his chest or fire scorching around him, felt the drip-drip-drip of blood in places that a human body isn't supposed to bleed lest it give itself over to the shackles of death--) ]