Notes: written for and on the morning after August 13: 13/8. Nightfall may be having too much fun.

Nothing could have been worse. Sheathed in a thousand writhing, venomous puppets, he'll think they swarmed from his hands, blood crawling from under his nails. Pale hair drifting across a cringing tunic, leaves flinching from the sky, but the fool won't fight, cocooned in his own shame, won't move.

I want something I don't have to protect.

But this is the world.

"MATEN--"

"Sanzo!"

The world is bright?

"Sanzo, it's just an inchworm."

The world has curtains. A blanket. And--

"Can't you be merciful?"

And Hakkai, laughing.

"Fuck off."

"Certainly, if you’re awake enough?"

"...Possibly."

"Good morning, then."

...Possibly.

[end]

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