[kavinsky doesn't move his head as the death god moves around onto the floor, but he does watch, following him with eyes that turn blankly in their sockets. he manages to keep his face empty as the other boy pulls the shirt away, as the other boy talks. to anyone who knows what nico is truly capable of, this image isn't too convincing; raiser of zombies, power over death itself. nico is no supplicant, not at anybody's feet.
but kavinsky has a bit of an ego problem, so it works a bit. more than a little. he looks down on nico, and maybe something about the physicality of that stops him from looking down at nico so much, defensive and prickly, full of pain, willing to transmute it into simple jealousy because that would be easier than sitting with the empty chill of not being loved enough.
he stares at nico for what feels like a long time.]
Something, [he allows, finally. two years of therapy produces results, as does nico's peucliar finesse in dealing with extraordinarily difficult young men.] You want me to pretend it's enough?
no subject
but kavinsky has a bit of an ego problem, so it works a bit. more than a little. he looks down on nico, and maybe something about the physicality of that stops him from looking down at nico so much, defensive and prickly, full of pain, willing to transmute it into simple jealousy because that would be easier than sitting with the empty chill of not being loved enough.
he stares at nico for what feels like a long time.]
Something, [he allows, finally. two years of therapy produces results, as does nico's peucliar finesse in dealing with extraordinarily difficult young men.] You want me to pretend it's enough?