His heart is heavy, tired, and worn deep in his chest. It has been caged in the cold cell for so long that the moment someone even gazed at its raw self, it shuddered in delight. His breath is heavy and dry on his lips, dried blood keeps the cut sealed. He understands the other's anger, really, he does. But the words he'd said were stupid and unneeded. He's just a tool anyways. He holds the non-human heart in his hands; it's heavy. Or, The author is head-over-heels in love with Scaramouche (Title from Feel Better - Penelope Scott)