[ Midnight takes the scarf. He looks up again. While Kaveh speaks in his very Kaveh way, Midnight rolls onto a knee, straightens, and touches his neck where the skin stains purple. His fingers are very gentle, the instinctual raise of his blood pressure raises.

It was Netzach, Netzach wouldn't, then who, who would, with mine, with my with mine mine who with who my skin my blood mine— ]

Not sure. Beeswax, certainly, and coconut oil. Something else. Reminds me of tea. Herbal, floral.

[ Tea was never his forte, though, and neither were florals. He's an appreciator, not a connoisseur. Pink eyes do not move from where Midnight runs his fingers over Kaveh's neck. ]

Kiss me again and perhaps I'll have a better notion.