Wilder

3.

A sleek body against the wall, like a figure from a magazine, and yet a grim sight. Wilder, with the glance of detachment and his lips grey, the mist of a cigarette surrounding him.

It almost made the picture seem surreal, but you never see such lack of expression in a fantasy. No, when you wish to see a visually pleasing picture, you think of colors. Of emotions. Of passion. Black and white sprayed with the vibrant of reality.

Not an abyss enveloped in human skin.

And I wonder why it's so mesmerizing, why I'm entrapped with the spell of his existence. Why is Wilder so intriguing, to me?

"I wonder", his glance got hazy, glassy for a moment. Dangerous. The cigarette between his fingers hung low, and when he gripped it tightly and pointed it downwards, my eyes widened with terror.

I caught his wrist just before the burning part of the cancer stick grazed his white skin, and the ash of the burned tip fell to his skin. And even though I'm sure it was shockingly, painfully hot, he didn't even flinch.

His wrist felt bony and small in my grasp, and I almost had the illusion of frail between my thoughts, when Wilder turned his head and his eyes met mine. Wide and clear, but so lifeless.

"I can't let you do that", I said, and even in my ears my voice sounded unconvincing. Desperate, pathetic. I wanted to rip my skin off, and my hold on him stiffened.

A spark of amusement settled deep in Wilder's eyes, and I felt his arm relax in my grip.

"Whatever", was all he said, and I let go of him with a sigh.

"Oh god", I noticed the bright red trail on his skin, where my hand had been seconds earlier, "I' so sorry, Wilder. I didn't mean..."

"Nah", he brought the cigarette back up to his chopped lips, and I saw when they twitched to a ghost of a smirk, "It's fine"

His wrist the pale color of blood, Wilder appeared almost...relieved. And I wonder how come you hurt people the most when you're being gentle.

A/N: Caspian on the picture. <3