*:･ﾟ✧ not that it mattered, but juno was pretty sure he was in love. like, truly madly deeply kinda love. the type of thing that people got pent up about, went and wrote about, fevered plays and poetry, plagued with the notion. it made him feel as if he was crafted from gold because for the first time in his life someone loved him; and not because they had to or anything like that, but because they chose to. knew him, chose him, loved him. the moon's celestial beauty burnt through his gaze, a watchful guardian that bathed he and his lover in soft silver through the night, keeping them safe. and he wouldn't dwell on it, didn't wish to jinx his luck, but he'd think it every now and then, when he needed to grin like a child. but the issue with his love was that it was far away. someone who wasn't born here, didn't come here - really, didn't belong here. blood clan wasn't ruthless, but it was no clan, not in the conventional sense. there were rules... there were. juno just didn't know them - his head was full of silence. what bound them together was loyalty, nothing greater. his lover was not bound in such a way; there were rules, restrictions; there was faith; and there was the fact that they had been attacked by a bloodclanner and were scared of the place, after all this time. which meant that their love was like summer and the world like winter; like midnight and midday; two incompatible concepts, fragile like insect wings, ready to be crumpled under the absinthe cruelty of the world. but that hadn't stopped him yet. see, the healer spent most of his time wavering at a certain border, soft like a shadow, a gentle stain on their lands. and when he heard a certain voice, he'd be there for hours, basking in their presence.
smelling of his lover. that was the issue. now, the midnight healer wasn't aware that his scent was progressively changing to match that of the one who he loved, but the fact still remained that it did. from the scent of cities - of fumes and two leg junk; herbs and flowers, cobwebs and moss; blood and rust; scabs on his knuckles, bruises on his ribs - to the scent of trees, of nature and skies, wind in leaves and grass on the earth. some might call it dimension, but with the midnight male poised as he was in the train station, it would be fair to say that to the others, he'd stink like an outsider more than he did anything else. no longer a healer, no longer a member, but merely a midnight smudge on the edge of their awareness that didn't belong here anymore, not in the same way. oblivious to this, the male was stretched out, peaceful, tired from fitful sleep and slipping away for gentle meetings in the quiet of nighttime.
//he stinky,,