The ancient troll stared at his counterpart, full of pity, and dare he admit it, lust, which blossomed within the deepest, most animalistic fraction of him. The sweater shrouded troll with the same empty eyes and mutant red blood, which matched said sweater, leaned against him in fatigue and relief. After all their differences, the kind hearted Alternian, rather than scold and attack the Beforan for his beliefs, discussed and intelligently countered him, and accepted vice versa. Finally, after a long winded several hours, agreed to disagree.
Now they were here. This moment of silence. And the Signless could feel Kankri's weakness in the moments of silence. Where his defense mechanism was useless. It puzzled him, really. He had made it quite clear that Kankri had nothing to defend or be afraid of. He felt the young apparition's breath quicken in anxiety. He felt the long, pale fingers upon his thigh begin to shake and quiver. His chin sheltered the dancestor's forehead. Despite the curls of his wild mane, he could catch glimpses of his furrowed brow, threatening to leak a cherry translucent sweat from his pores.
It ripped at the martyr's heart. He saw himself in the face of his darkest, loneliest hours. The nights when he dreamt of peace and equality, only to wake to war and agonized travails. And no one could understand. No one could help him. He colored the walls of his own personal asylum, slowly losing the will to wake up from these beautifully composed, torturous hymns of another world. One that he was damned from entering. And the echoes of their chorus ripped from his raw throat all hours of the day, vainly trying to reshape solid steel with his bare hands.
The ancestor gently ran his calloused, long fingers across the fabric of a warm sweater, a symbol of a love that had survived the scratch. The only ideal that seemed to do so. He hummed softly. Kankri froze as he felt the vibration in his mind.
He pulled away slowly.
"Why are you frightened of me, Kankri?"
For once, Kankri was speechless. He exhaled quietly.
"I am not frightened of you," he whispered indignantly, "I'm ashamed of myself. Don't you see? I am nothing but a shadow, and I cannot even achieve that accurately. I can't even follow your path without...without fucking it up. I truly am all hot air. Just attempting to fight what I was destined to be."
The Signless pondered for a moment.
"I think you're mistaken. You came before me, Kankri. If anything, I am your shadow. If it were possible, that is. Honestly, I myself find comparing yourself to others to be quite triggering..."
With the word he leaned closer to the other deceased and wound his arms around him .
"I...why are you doing this? Y...you don't have to comfort me..."
The martyr sighed gently.
"I pity you, Kankri."
With that, the Signless sealed their lips in a kiss. Kankri almost shoved him away. But then he realized.
No one had ever pitied him like this. Porrim was completely platonic with her affection. Never had a red suggestion ever been thrown Kankri's way. And the celibate realized he loved it.
"Signless," he whispered against the rough cheek.
"Akrabbi," he revealed softly. "My name is Akrabbi."
Kankri looked up at him and pondered it. The name somehow suited the revolutionary.
"Akrabbi," he spoke seriously, "Red or pale?"
Akrabbi's eyebrows shot up in realization. He hadn't expected to get this far. But he knew that Kankri was not comfortable with explicit action.
"Your decision, Kankri..."
