The thing is, he would do it again. Even knowing now that he'd have to endure the churn of Iris' heartache in his own chest, to retread the dark places he has plunged to, he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Because Iris has borne enough hurt. And Wilhelm knows what it's like to bend under unbearable sadness, to crumple in the void of loneliness, to hurt so much that you don't know if you'll ever feel okay again.
Iris shouldn't have to be there alone.
In the silence that follows his name, a current of anticipation crackles through him. Without knowing what Iris will say next, he prepares to hold it close — as if he might save it for later, like a flower tucked into a jar of water. He studies his friend, luminous in the blue wash of the magma, beautiful in a way that won't let him look away. He lets himself think it — god, he's beautiful.
Except, Iris doesn't say anything. Wilhelm's heart shimmies into his throat as he catches onto what's about to happen the moment before it does. They sway into each other, and their lips meet, and he realizes that he has been waiting for this since the day they met.
That first kiss is like skimming your fingers across the water's surface. The next is like wading in, slow and steady but already slanting into eagerness. He pours his attention on the soft jut of Iris' lower lip, brushing his across, grazing it with his teeth. His hands rise from the magma to cradle Iris' face, thumbs tracing the red marks across his cheekbones.
His armor is gone, all the measures he took to try to keep himself from wanting exactly this. There's nothing between Iris and his heart but skin and muscle and bone.
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Iris shouldn't have to be there alone.
In the silence that follows his name, a current of anticipation crackles through him. Without knowing what Iris will say next, he prepares to hold it close — as if he might save it for later, like a flower tucked into a jar of water. He studies his friend, luminous in the blue wash of the magma, beautiful in a way that won't let him look away. He lets himself think it — god, he's beautiful.
Except, Iris doesn't say anything. Wilhelm's heart shimmies into his throat as he catches onto what's about to happen the moment before it does. They sway into each other, and their lips meet, and he realizes that he has been waiting for this since the day they met.
That first kiss is like skimming your fingers across the water's surface. The next is like wading in, slow and steady but already slanting into eagerness. He pours his attention on the soft jut of Iris' lower lip, brushing his across, grazing it with his teeth. His hands rise from the magma to cradle Iris' face, thumbs tracing the red marks across his cheekbones.
His armor is gone, all the measures he took to try to keep himself from wanting exactly this. There's nothing between Iris and his heart but skin and muscle and bone.