[ midnight tastes him. kaveh is bound. he is not bound, kaveh thinks, by the mere cage of flesh. beneath his skin, he can feel the dark, shattered shards of oripathy rot, the way it, the potential of something balanced on the infinite potential of water tension. kaveh is bound instead by the love. midnight presses his lips, not his smile, to kaveh's - kaveh kisses him back. of course he does. of course he does for all the wrong reasons: he does it for the love, for the yearning, for the heartbreak, and for the fear.

(it was his mother's hands. these are his hands.)

it's with that same fierce dagger's edge that he bites. ]

Why would it? [ kaveh says, when he leans back from the kiss-bruised and bite-bruised jut of midnight's bottom lip, ] When have I ever sought to turn away? Didn't I give that useless, beaten organ to you? Why would I be responsible for a failing in something that is yours?

[ the sargonian architect tips up his head. his headfeathers flare. ]

No, the only thing that will fail me is you, if you don't recall this: you owe me a dance.