[ He runs a finger down his arm, picking at one of the stupid feathers. ]

Wouldn’t even need to do that, right now. Pin feathers contain blood vessels. I could pluck one easily enough.

[ But he doesn’t, even though it has been very tempting to pull them all out. It’s like trying not to pick at scabs but multiplied a hundred times.

And he thinks, even if he’s not sure he wants to. Because that’s probably worth examining. ]

I don’t know. He didn’t bite, not like you see in comics. He did this- thing. With his hands. Like the roots of a tree. Like you’re dirt and he’s some kind of megalomaniac sunflower that’s finally making something worthwhile out of you. And I shouldn’t know that, I don’t know how I know that. But I do.

[ He huffs out a breath, and maybe he shouldn’t be talking about Dio but this is kind of unavoidable. ]

I don’t want you to make me feel like that. Because I think you’d get pissed if you knew that you did.