[ midnight tucks his head into kaveh's shoulder. midnight is many things, kaveh knows. he is a grating laugh on a video call. he is a hand held in the darkness. he is a silhouette against the backdrop of a crumbling kazdelian manse, he is a hand holding a shove before the light blots out. he is whispered words of love, and the fangs of it. midnight right now is a warm weight against kaveh's shoulder. his face is in kaveh's hair. kaveh's hand lifts. it slides in turn into midnight's hair. it cards through it, the dark murk of the strands there, it finds the tip of his long pointed ears and the skim of his crown.

kaveh thinks, he doesn't feel much like the one drowning right now. he takes a draught from the bottle. it's disgusting, in the sense that these things should be done properly. the bottle ought to be chilled. there ought to be ice to release the flavour, and a decanter to bring out the dept of it. kaveh ought to swirl it in the glass to appreciate the aroma before the taste. there is an order to things, how things ought to be experienced. kaveh drinks from the lip of the bottle. the sticky-sweet scent of the alcohol burns. ]

I know. [ kaveh says, ] As you would know that I won't hesitate to stop you if you do something that I can't accept; for you to take something that I have not already chosen to give.

[ kaveh sets the bottle down between them. ] Do you want a kiss, Midnight?