Work Text:
how strange he is,
this raven boy with anger in his dreams,
bloody hands.
how strange it is to love him.
and how familiar.
with his fist around your heart, soft as a gun;
you were born scared
but the places he fits in become home,
and maybe belonging in this world
has less to do with where you are, and everything to do with who you need.
and if his hands are magic,
if he swears like a song,
you think even his nightmares must be beautiful.
(the space where he stood smells of moss in your open palm
your skin erupts into shivers
it feels like Cabeswater, like energy or magic
but you know it's from the way
his finger brushed against your neck.)