For what it's worth, you've never had to do something like this before.
[He sighs, stepping a little closer to him, but unsure if he... really wants to be touched. One should always be cautious when approaching a stray cat, especially if you haven't seen them in a while.]
I think you did... a beautiful job for something you've never done. It's alright if you're not good at something the first time you do it.
[It still feels strange. "Fearless" does. The name of a man who should be dead— barely a name at all, but still the only actual name Vicious had ever really known of him. The last time he remembers Vicious saying Spike it was with such vitriol, sharp as the name itself. Now how the same man says Fearless— it's gentle, sweet, timid.
That man, that child, sweet and timid, within that vicious exterior. Isn't that who he'd even tried this for? Because of the miracle it is that person hasn't truly bled away?
Because... they had the chance, this time, to be different?
Fearless—Spike—Six— he takes a slow, sauntering, cowboy step between him and Vicious. Another. He studies the tree again, and as if Vicious's gratitude has changed his mind, he adds—]
...Well, it is a fine looking— whatever it is.
[Before popping another cheesy puff daisy in his mouth. Another swinging, slow step, fidgety. One of the two vine tails unwraps itself from around his legs, swinging and curling like a cat's, like it's calling Vicious closer.]
[Vicious rolls his eyes, smiling a bit more as he steps up next to Spike and slips an arm around his waist. That man is as fickle as a cat, too. Huffy, standoffish and yet desperate for physical closeness. Not that Vicious didn't want to oblige earlier than this, it's just that it... took a lot more work to stay tangible. Thanks to his new hypnotist, his mind has been able to rework his body into something more of a solid state for longer-- though he does realize that he never really got to tell Spike about it. But he'll worry about that later. He'd rather make sure his partner recognizes how grateful he is for the gift.]
It really is.
[He gives the green man a squeeze before leaning down to pluck a bloom from the bush, studying it closely as he admires it.]
You know... come to think of it. No one's ever brought me flowers, before.
[And as of twelve hours ago, no one had really ever given him a gift just because before either, but that's neither here nor there-- They'd never made a habit of exchanging gifts because they rarely had anywhere to put them. If they were getting something "for each other," they always bought themselves something that matched. Like their gaudy cowboy belt buckles. ]
It's a lovely gift, Fearless. Whatever they are, I love them.
[He really is like a stray cat— bristling just slightly when he's squeezed, but not rejecting it outright. It's not as though he doesn't like it, after all— he simply isn't used to it. His body isn't sure how to move. He is, for a moment, struck with the fright that is uncertainty. It drives his stomach in a strange loop, an dthe words come spilling out before he's really sure of what to say.]
I thought, uh...
[He holds his hand out as if to gesture to the tree, then— shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. Luckily, where he might not know how to move, his body seems to respond anyway; more little blooms start to blossom up his arms and around his shoulders, protruding from the scars beneath his shirt.]
..I wasn't thinking.
I just kind of did it.
[And he'd have people believe that was how he'd made his every decision— but it's not quite that true. He always thinks&Mdash; not too hard, not too little. Just enough, in his own opinion. This, for some reason, feels different. Impulsive in a way that he isn't usually— not because he isn't impulsive, but because his impulses are practiced, based in anticipation.
He had no anticipation of what Vicious's response to be. Just the desire to do something different than he has before.]
[It's always been... fascinating. To watch the way Spike's nymph body responds to things. Watching a flower sprout, bloom and blossom in just a moment's time... it's beautiful, if a little alarming at times. Now is not such a time, though, because Vicious is pretty sure this is a good thing.
He can't stop himself from smiling, even as something decidedly uncomfortable tugs in his chest again.]
It... just happened? You thought of me and flowers started blooming?
[That soft, sincere look is becoming cheeky now, though-- That look that says "that's pretty gay" without saying it outright.]
[His sentence starts before he's finished turning to face Vicious, to see that smile— that stupid look, and when he sees it he stops short, the blossoms on his arms and neck and chest blooming faster and more brilliantly, tiny though they may be compared to the ones on the tree itself. His face flushes just a little, under the blue speckling mask around his eyes.]
Oh fuck off—!
[He shoves at Vicious's shoulder half-heartedly, completely non-aggressively— because were it aggressive, Vicious would know.]
No, no-- [He laughs, trying to block the shove and failing. He stumbles a bit, but recovers, reaching out to take Spike by the wrist to steady himself.]
I'm just saying, I never knew you felt so... Strongly about me~. [And Spike looks so cute, so embarrassed sprouting these odd blooms all over the place. It isn't often that he gets to see him so bashful. Can he really be mad at the way Vicious admires him, even with that shit-eating grin?]
[Vicious catches Spike's wrist, and as he speaks, Spike turns so that he can grasp Vicious's wrist in return. He gives Vicious a half-cocked brow that suggests some sort of surprise— but an immediately accepted surprise, as if to say, of course you would think that.]
About you?
Most of the strongest things I've ever felt have been in your direction.
[Good or bad, as it were, but he isn't about to ruin the moment.]
[A look to the side, as Spike examines his memory.]
I guess I've never given you flowers, no.
Not that I could've. Doesn't mean that much, does it?
[But those dark eyes, dark as they have ever been, stare right back into Vicious's white ones the same way they did when he told Vicious that he'd joined the Red Dragon for him, because of him— when he said it was to chase the feeling of a family, one he'd never known.
The same dark eyes that looked into his own when Vicious had called him up the stairs of the Van's headquarters out on that meteor to speak with Caliban, when they had truly signed their lives away to the Red Dragon forever. Melancholy, tired— but still there, still looking his way.]
[Well, he's right. There would have never truly been a chance for them to share that kind of thing back home. But here... they have all time in the world. Of course the fog had made a cruel choice in what she'd chosen for Vicious-- someone untouchable, borderline invisible, someone who could only exist in darkness --and made it nearly impossible for them to really explore the possibility of anything deeper. Not without extensive planning, concentration, or some other human's body involved... not a lot of room for spontaneity and intimacy, there.
But now with the help he's been given from his new friend he can stand there, solid, and hold his closest companion's hand-- er, wrist --and actually feel him and be felt in return.
Ugh, there's that twisting feeling again. Is that... guilt?
That look is piercing right through him, needling that guilty feeling. It's always been a task to really understand what Spike's expressions mean, there's always some underlying current of... something, even to his smiles. Vicious has just never truly been able to tell what. But now, in this context... It's making him much more nervous than usual.]
I mean. All in all, a flower is a flower... but. Y'know. The sentiment. I-- I don't know. I've never been on the receiving end of your-- your-- [Sorry, he's looking for the words, twisting his unoccupied hand around at the wrist.]
Romantic... intentions?? I suppose? I-- I just don't know what that looks like. So-- So, how was I supposed to know?
[Spike lets his hand drop, only to keep hold of Vicious's fingers. It's not a familiar feeling, or one he'd missed; when had they ever held each other's hands? Not since they were children. He can't claim to have missed it while Vicious was intangible. But here he is.
He shakes his head, with that soft look like he's absolving Vicious, like some sort of saint with a gun. The kind of smile-less sweetness usually reserved for women, that he'd given to Vicious so very rarely— never too much, that Vicious would be coddled in a such a cold world, but never so little that he would starve of their friendship.]
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transilience
From:
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[He sighs, stepping a little closer to him, but unsure if he... really wants to be touched. One should always be cautious when approaching a stray cat, especially if you haven't seen them in a while.]
I think you did... a beautiful job for something you've never done. It's alright if you're not good at something the first time you do it.
[A step closer.]
Thank you, Fearless. I-- I mean it.
From:
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That man, that child, sweet and timid, within that vicious exterior. Isn't that who he'd even tried this for? Because of the miracle it is that person hasn't truly bled away?
Because... they had the chance, this time, to be different?
Fearless—Spike—Six— he takes a slow, sauntering, cowboy step between him and Vicious. Another. He studies the tree again, and as if Vicious's gratitude has changed his mind, he adds—]
...Well, it is a fine looking— whatever it is.
[Before popping another cheesy puff daisy in his mouth. Another swinging, slow step, fidgety. One of the two vine tails unwraps itself from around his legs, swinging and curling like a cat's, like it's calling Vicious closer.]
From:
no subject
It really is.
[He gives the green man a squeeze before leaning down to pluck a bloom from the bush, studying it closely as he admires it.]
You know... come to think of it. No one's ever brought me flowers, before.
[And as of twelve hours ago, no one had really ever given him a gift just because before either, but that's neither here nor there-- They'd never made a habit of exchanging gifts because they rarely had anywhere to put them. If they were getting something "for each other," they always bought themselves something that matched. Like their gaudy cowboy belt buckles. ]
It's a lovely gift, Fearless. Whatever they are, I love them.
From:
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I thought, uh...
[He holds his hand out as if to gesture to the tree, then— shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. Luckily, where he might not know how to move, his body seems to respond anyway; more little blooms start to blossom up his arms and around his shoulders, protruding from the scars beneath his shirt.]
..I wasn't thinking.
I just kind of did it.
[And he'd have people believe that was how he'd made his every decision— but it's not quite that true. He always thinks&Mdash; not too hard, not too little. Just enough, in his own opinion. This, for some reason, feels different. Impulsive in a way that he isn't usually— not because he isn't impulsive, but because his impulses are practiced, based in anticipation.
He had no anticipation of what Vicious's response to be. Just the desire to do something different than he has before.]
From:
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He can't stop himself from smiling, even as something decidedly uncomfortable tugs in his chest again.]
It... just happened? You thought of me and flowers started blooming?
[That soft, sincere look is becoming cheeky now, though-- That look that says "that's pretty gay" without saying it outright.]
From:
no subject
[His sentence starts before he's finished turning to face Vicious, to see that smile— that stupid look, and when he sees it he stops short, the blossoms on his arms and neck and chest blooming faster and more brilliantly, tiny though they may be compared to the ones on the tree itself. His face flushes just a little, under the blue speckling mask around his eyes.]
Oh fuck off—!
[He shoves at Vicious's shoulder half-heartedly, completely non-aggressively— because were it aggressive, Vicious would know.]
From:
no subject
I'm just saying, I never knew you felt so... Strongly about me~. [And Spike looks so cute, so embarrassed sprouting these odd blooms all over the place. It isn't often that he gets to see him so bashful. Can he really be mad at the way Vicious admires him, even with that shit-eating grin?]
From:
no subject
About you?
Most of the strongest things I've ever felt have been in your direction.
[Good or bad, as it were, but he isn't about to ruin the moment.]
From:
no subject
[He snickers, tugging the nymph closer.]
This, however, seems like a new development...
From:
no subject
That sure is one take on it, sure. "New".
From:
no subject
...Well, isn't it? You've never-- said anything. Or done anything like this, before.
[...Has he? Now he needs to review their entire friendship in like fifteen seconds--]
From:
no subject
I guess I've never given you flowers, no.
Not that I could've. Doesn't mean that much, does it?
[But those dark eyes, dark as they have ever been, stare right back into Vicious's white ones the same way they did when he told Vicious that he'd joined the Red Dragon for him, because of him— when he said it was to chase the feeling of a family, one he'd never known.
The same dark eyes that looked into his own when Vicious had called him up the stairs of the Van's headquarters out on that meteor to speak with Caliban, when they had truly signed their lives away to the Red Dragon forever. Melancholy, tired— but still there, still looking his way.]
From:
no subject
But now with the help he's been given from his new friend he can stand there, solid, and hold his closest companion's hand-- er, wrist --and actually feel him and be felt in return.
Ugh, there's that twisting feeling again. Is that... guilt?
That look is piercing right through him, needling that guilty feeling. It's always been a task to really understand what Spike's expressions mean, there's always some underlying current of... something, even to his smiles. Vicious has just never truly been able to tell what. But now, in this context... It's making him much more nervous than usual.]
I mean. All in all, a flower is a flower... but. Y'know. The sentiment. I-- I don't know. I've never been on the receiving end of your-- your-- [Sorry, he's looking for the words, twisting his unoccupied hand around at the wrist.]
Romantic... intentions?? I suppose? I-- I just don't know what that looks like. So-- So, how was I supposed to know?
From:
no subject
He shakes his head, with that soft look like he's absolving Vicious, like some sort of saint with a gun. The kind of smile-less sweetness usually reserved for women, that he'd given to Vicious so very rarely— never too much, that Vicious would be coddled in a such a cold world, but never so little that he would starve of their friendship.]
You weren't.
[Plain and simple. It isn't Vicious's fault.]