Stray

The golden autumn leaves were no better than the thick curtains, and the early morning sunlight spilled down.

Nemo opened his eyes with difficulty. He was lying on the thick fallen leaves, and the gray-black robe had already turned into large rags scattered everywhere.

The woods were quiet and silent, and Nemo didn’t know how long they tossed around for until the early hours in the morning before they fell groggily asleep. At that time, he was so tired that he didn’t bother to raise his fingers. He threw a cleaning spell and didn’t even have time to mend his clothes.

But there was also a benefit for not mending it.

Oliver’s head was resting on his chest, fast asleep. The weight pressed up by the other party was reassuring, and the dry and warm skin against each other felt good. Nemo gently stroked his lover’s back with his right hand— The remaining scratches on Oliver’s back had long ceased to bleed, and at this moment, it was only slightly red and swollen, with a line of dried tan scabs protruding from the center of the marks.

Nemo didn’t intend to treat them.

At present, Oliver had no ways to leave traces on him, but Nemo was keen on it. Hickeys, bite marks, minor cuts from his fingernails when he lost control. He hoped that they could cover the ugly scars left by the Withered Castle, so as to dispel the remaining darkness.

Unlike in the past, even in the craziest moments before, Nemo could feel Oliver’s inexplicable restraint and caution. And last night, in the long darkness— Because the environment was too absurd, or the despair brought about by the prophecy really pierced his emotions, both of them went a little harder and threw away the last of their reservations.

At first, it was more like they were venting and warming up. It was like tearing a crack in their emotions that was about to explode, letting the toxic pus and blood overflow.