✨️ Heartless Dress 💄KimChay Au 🗡 ✨️

Strong

(hi <3 hoping that you are having a wonderful day/night)

The afternoon was walking away when the only soul awake was the one who didn't breathe consciously for hours. Kim and Pete both fell asleep some time ago, hiding in the cave, letting their bodies recover from all they lived, their blood, or as they thought, slowly flowing in their veins at a normal rhythm, they didn't feel it rushing through their nervousness anymore.

 Porchay was not fully awake, his head against Kim's chest, just leaning on it, it felt abnormally comfortable. He didn't want to take control over his mind, he didn't need it now but the fog was less and less active on his body. He breathed, opened his eyes and saw how he was, on Kim, mostly engulfed in his arms, the coat wrapping them, they really were so close, so close, that Porchay tried to move by reflex, pushing himself away from Kim, but he gasped loudly. His back was aching, aching, aching, his muscles had learnt by heart the pain they gave him in the position they put him, for hours and hours, until it could only remember it, the snake of the ache crawling from one muscle to another one and creating an electric zone in his back, on his back, he didn't know anymore. He couldn't think of anything else, the violent stab in his chair making him grab the one thing he could reach, in a teary and louder gasp, Kim's shirt. 

This final move woke up the Prince, he was trusting enough Porchay to not be totally on his guard, relaxing himself a little also because Pete was here, also awakened from his voice. Tearing up the shirt made Porchay gasp a little more, his wrist was also hurting badly after being caught tightly so long, all of his weight being, when the soldiers played, carried by it. The more he moved, the more Porchay felt pain, ache, deadly sensation because of the way they handled him and the way his body wasn't trained enough. He always rejected it. He didn't like violence, he didn't want to know how to fight, or pierce humans through swords. He would always be in the castle, caring for his garden, so why should he inflict this to himself ? This was why, for sure, his father sent him. If someone was meant to die to begin a war, it would have been Porchay. But he was feeling violence more than he ever could tame it before. It was ringing, sliding everywhere, he really was a broken doll. A broken human doll. 

Porchay was breathing loudly, his head against Kim's chest, when he heard his voice. "Porchay?"

The boy raised his head and Kim met the despair in person, the epitome of suffering on one face, upside down, his mouth turned to the ground and his eyes. His eyes so kind and full of hope, drowning into tears until his pupils couldn't be seen anymore. The grip on his shirt was still strong, Porchay prefered to create a new hurting sensation to change his focus from the one in his back. Kim felt his own skin being trapped in his shirt, Porchay pushing on it. 

"...it-it...it hurts- I...it hurts- I....P-P'Kim-it hurts-" He could hardly say between flashes of torturous pain. 

It had been a habit, a reflex he didn't realize for Porchay to call the Prince P'Kim when he was in an emotional distress or comfortable with him. He was someone who needed human's relation, he was someone who needed to feel himself close to other's heart and skin. He was deeply in need of communication and it felt weird how Kim was sometimes his best ship for this and sometimes he wasn't communicating anything with Porchay. Being cold, being strategic, rejecting his kindness, because Porchay was somehow sure, his temptative to call him P'Kim was proving that he was sometimes seeing a little of hope in Kim's behavior.