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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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“Haha, I’ll keep that in mind.” As if Kayn needed more than an ear in on Ionia’s rumor mill to find him. It was both concerning and comforting, somehow, knowing that someone could so easily find him without him knowing, and that they didn’t use that knowledge to off him. Maybe he shouldn’t find comfort on someone not wanting to kill him, but with Kayn being who he is and Ezreal dealing with the kind of people he does, he appreciates life’s little blessings that others take for granted. Maybe Kayn is right, and he’s overthinking their interactions. Maybe the guy really just wants a good story and nothing else: no kisses, no killing. It feels like a certainty Ezreal can live with.

His fingers hesitate on Kayn’s shoulders, unfamiliar with staying still but also not knowing what to do with themselves. He kind of wants to share his warmth with Kayn, now that he mentions how jealous he is of it, and how cold he still feels under his skin. Well, the hand that’s touching him skin to skin, anyways. He has half a mind to pull the gauntleted one back to himself.

prodigal-ezreal:

“What?” One of his hands leaves Kayn’s shoulder to reach behind his neck, where Kayn had touched him. Ezreal doesn’t feel anything, but he supposes that makes sense. He won’t be able to see how the skin glows with his fingers, and even then, the scar tissue doesn’t feel so different from his normal skin if he doesn’t know what to look for. There’s nothing left but to believe what Kayn says, and Ezreal isn’t inclined to call him a liar over something so small like this. Plus, what other reason could he have for getting so close like that? He has made it clear he’s not interested. “A mage mark? Uh. okay. That one’s—“

Before he can finish his sentence and dismiss this whole situation on good terms, Kayn quite literally disappears in front of his very eyes. If it weren’t for his missing hand that still rested on his shoulder, Ezreal is sure he’d have completely lost Kayn to the darkness surrounding him. Now he knows that describing his shadows as ‘darker than black’ was an accurate description and not a trick of the light. They are thick and all encompassing, swallowing any ray of light that pierced them and reflecting none of it back, it feels like he’s gone blind. Ezreal’s mind likens him to a black hole, the theoretical object in space from which not even light could escape, the violent result of a violent death. Somehow, despite knowing what he knows of Kayn, this description doesn’t fit the one quite literally retreating into the shadows in shame.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, you just startled me. You are cold, you know that?” Dumb question. Of course Kayn would know if he was cold, that’s all he’s been silently complaining all night. Ezreal tries to reach Kayn in the darkness with his free hand, hesitant, not knowing what he makes contact with on the other side. A shoulder? an arm? Is he even touching Kayn at all or is it his mind hallucinating the touch of something solid just because he thinks there should be something there? Whatever the truth is, he hopes that the gesture is seen as comforting instead of a transgression. Like, maybe you are not supposed to touch a ninja’s shadows. Who knows.

“If you wanted to touch me, you could have just said so.” Ezreal goes for lighthearted and flirty, but the lack of heart in it makes it fall flat to his own ears. Humor is the only way he knows of defusing awkward situations, so its even more embarrassing when it doesn’t work. “I didn’t even know I had a mark back there, guess you didn’t have to take my clothes off to find out where my marks were after all, no? Haha.”

Kayn can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s done something wrong, even when Ezreal seems more interested in his newly discovered mage marking than Kayn’s transgression. Dread swallows him, the same dread he feels when he’s certain that he’s made a mistake and is just waiting for Zed to scold him for it. Kayn fades into the shadows, certain that Ezreal will kick him out now — certain that Ezreal will take back his kindness when Kayn has crossed yet another boundary. He gathers shadows around him like a cloak, collecting them on his side of the room like he can make Ezreal forget him just by concealing himself for long enough.

But his form stays solid beneath Ezreal’s touch, and it’s hard to forget something you can feel. Ezreal is warm where he touches Kayn, warmer than the knuckles that brushed his cheek, and Kayn wonders what it’s like to have such warmth at your disposal. He’s braced for rejection, braced for a night out in the cold or hiding in the inn’s attic, and when it doesn’t come Kayn doesn’t know how to react at first. Ezreal’s other hand finds Kayn’s shoulder, his palm resting just below Kayn’s collarbone, and the shadows slowly begin to fade, like Ezreal’s light tone is the rising sun chasing away the mist. The result is still a dark room, but Kayn’s skin and his dark eyes are more plainly visible now, so at least Ezreal knows where the short scoff of appreciation comes from in response to his joke.

“It’s convenient,” he says, grinning as he settles back down onto the pillow. “Now I’ll always be able to find you in the dark, so don’t even attempt to run away.” It’s hard to tell how much is a joke and how much is a threat, but it’s not pure threat, at least. Kayn holds himself still now, as if to say, no really, I’m done bothering you now, but he seems to light up under Ezreal’s attention, like a branch finally catching fire. “It must be useful being so warm,” he says, talking like it’s a trait to be admired. “Especially since you travel so much. I must say, I’m a little jealous.” And even thtough he’s so cold, Kayn’s barely taken any of the blankets — just enough to wrap around his shoulder and drape over his back.

Now that the shadows have dispersed, it’s much easier to see the way Kayn smirks in the darkness. “If I see any more glowing spots under your clothes, should I tell you? Or just let you sleep?”

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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prodigal-ezreal:

One, two, three, two. One, two, three, two. Breath in, hold, breath out. Focus on the rhythm of his breathing or the echo of his heart beating on his ear. It’s going to be hard to fall asleep tonight, as tense as he is. Ezreal’s mind is running at a hundred miles per hour, going through every little interaction and turning them over and over in his mind. The sound of the rain wailing against the window isn’t enough to calm the hurricane of his thoughts, neither is the wind strong enough to drown them out. Kayn won’t kill him, of that he’s sure. But the way he’s invaded his mind is enough for Ezreal to hold a grudge against him anyways. Why be so distant, and then so shy? As if they had enough trust between them to speak so closely, so intimately. It confused his overeager heart that jumped at any sign of affection towards it, and recoiled from any change of tone or sudden cold.

It doesn’t matter. He should focus on sleeping. Focus. On sleeping. Don’t think about thinking. Crap, he’s doing it again.

Ezreal only knows how close to calm he was when it’s taken away from him. Kayn shifts on the bed, closer. The sound is minimal, but it’s enough to startle him awake again. Maybe he was too close to the edge and shuffled closer to not hang out of it. It doesn’t matter. He focuses on his breathing again. The mattress dips under Kayn’s weight, he’s moved again. Closer still. He has to be making himself comfortable, after being cold for so long, Kayn relishing on the warmth of the covers is something to be expected, right? He’s a tad too close, though. Ezreal is sure he can hear his quiet breathing if he focuses hard enough. Almost right behind him.

The mattress creaks again, and Ezreal is holding his breath. He can practically feel his warmth being stolen by Kayn’s chilled skin. It’s like a phantom is breathing down his neck, making the fine hairs of his nape stand. The chill comes closer and closer, and though he is expecting it, Ezreal jumps out of his skin all the same when it makes contact with the point his neck merges with his back, goosebumps blooming all the way down his spine. He wishes he had a more dignified reaction, but the universe hasn’t been kind to him today. One more humiliation won’t hurt his already non existent chances.

“Kayn!” Ezreal doesn’t expect him to be so close when he turns lighting fast, as if the other had zapped him instead of putting his (very cold) finger on his neck. The blush that had died down quickly spreads over his cheeks again, and gods, he needs space now. Ezreal places both of his hands on Kayn’s bare shoulders to push him away, suddenly remembering that, oh, right, Kayn is ass naked on the bed. It makes it all the more impossible bear to look at him. “W-what the hell, dude?”

When he was new to the order, curiosity was a good thing. It helped him learn the language, get used to the food, grow familiar with the temple grounds. It helped him adapt and grow. It’s something Zed and others praised him for when he was younger, something that he still carries with him today. He wants to know what that little mark feels like, if the way it pulses changes when it’s touched, if he can sense the magic when he touches it … Kayn doesn’t really think it through, to be honest, drawn in as he is by his curiosity.

There are times when being inquisitive doesn’t benefit him. Perhaps unsurprisingly, lying in bed next to someone and poking them in the spine in the darkness is one of those times. Ezreal jumps even more violently than when Kayn appears out of the shadows in the corner of his room, and the sound of his own name is so loud that Kayn almost flinches from it, suddenly questioning how thick the walls are in this inn. And then Ezreal is right there, and his cheeks glow with the same pattern, the same light, and —

“—Ngh!” Kayn’s instinct is to defend himself, to grab Ezreal’s wrists as he’s being shoved away, twist them to gain the advantage, but he swallows the urge. Instead, he hits the mattress back where he started, lifting an arm until he’s certain Ezreal isn’t going to continue his assault,then lowers it gently onto the sheets. The way he looks now puts his previous kicked puppy appearance to shame. Perhaps he’s in the wrong here, yes. Perhaps he would have acted exactly the same (or worse) had he been the one poked in the darkness, but logic and reasoning doesn’t help the way reality seems to tear when Ezreal yells at him, like the past is coming up to grab at him in the dark.

Slowly, Kayn lowers his head back to the pillow and staggers through the words, “Your back,” and, “there’s a mark.” As he speaks, his side of the bed and the corner of the room behind him, away from the light from the window, grows darker, like the moon had gone behind a cloud. “A scar. Like you said. Like the ones on your cheeks. I just…”

He doesn’t know what he wanted. Kayn hesitates, and remembers something his master often had to remind him when Kayn was impatient, as he often is, always wanting to charge in to make change and achieve their goals. Sometimes you can kill the spider; sometimes you can only wait. Somehow, Kayn senses that this is not the time to kill the spider. “Sorry.” He says again. “I was curious.” And as the shadows deepen, he becomes completely obscured, from his pale shoulder to his hand on the sheets. Then, in the darkness he murmurs, “Good night.”

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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It doesn’t matter. He should focus on sleeping. Focus. On sleeping. Don’t think about thinking. Crap, he’s doing it again.

prodigal-ezreal:

“‘Could have fooled me.” Ezreal laughs in another half truth. What is he supposed to say to Kayn? He’s not going to wax poetic about his limited social experience and how he doesn’t know how to deal with someone when they don’t love him or hate him. If anything, he’s the better socialized one of the two, he should know what to do. The past throbs on his side in time with his heart beat, he doesn’t know if he should lower his guard just yet. Kayn doesn’t get to know this, either. “This is not specifically about you, if it makes you feel better. Just a… uh, general security measure for when I room with someone I don’t quite know. You get me, right? You must have slept with a knife under your pillow at least once.”

Following the string of inconsistencies, his heart flutters inside his chest at Kayn’s earnest tone. He sounds so sincere, like he means it when he says he won’t let anyone hurt him. Ezreal doesn’t need anyone to save him, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to cheesy phrases like those. He likes bad romance novels, sue him. His brows furrow though, like reprimanding his own feeble heart for how quickly it changes from worry to attraction. His mind is prideful, far less willing to take Kayn’s words for more than what they are: A truce, a boon. Nothing more.

“It’s not as uncomfortable as it looks. It’s almost a second skin.” Truly, he feels almost naked without it. But laying here on the bed, with the rain as background noise and Kayn looking so small next to him, he feels like he’s been laid bare for examination under Kayn’s glare. It’s unnerving. “I usually sleep with it on while adventuring, this is nothing new to me. Plus,” His bare hand reaches for Kayn’s face before he has time to think about it, lending his warmth to the pale skin chilled by the rain, his knuckles against Kayn’s cheek. “I run hot, I don’t mind a bit of cold. See?”

The softness of his action catches up to him the moment the words leave his mouth. Ezreal pulls away slowly, lips pulled into a thin line and cheeks alight with how awkward he made this situation. Touching someone’s face while sharing a bed with them feels intimate, who would have known? Well, he’s feeling right about done with the faux intimacy between them, so he turns to pull on the lamp’s string and call it a night. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s running, ignoring a perfect opportunity to get to know Kayn better. But it feels… wrong. He doesn’t know what to make of Kayn when he looks so vulnerable, so small. It feels like more than what he signed up for, this weird intimacy. His attraction is purely physical, so moments that are as soft as these… Yeah. He doesn’t want to unpack all that, so let’s throw away the whole suitcase, shall we?

Giving his back to Kayn, Ezreal settles on his side, one hand under the pillow, the other around his waist. “See you tomorrow, Kayn. Sleep well.”

It’s not about him, Ezreal says, but Kayn doesn’t entirely understand. When he was in the infirmary for all those months, he didn’t have the privilege of a knife, and when he was healed enough to walk around on his own and sleep in a proper room, he still wasn’t allowed a knife. It was only when he was included in combat training, starting with bamboo sticks with other children and adults unused to warfare, that he got to touch a weapon again, oddly reminiscent of the sickle he pried from a dead (or dying, he didn’t stop to check) farmer’s hand to slice at anyone who came close.

There was no need for a knife when he slept among his fellow disciples, and by the time he had proven himself enough to be taken on missions, Kayn was certain he could kill anyone with his bare hands. But Kayn doesn’t voice any of this — just watches Ezreal with the same steady eyes and nods to show that he’s understood. In the end, it doesn’t matter what Ezreal wears to bed, as long as that metal doesn’t touch Kayn’s skin when he finally gets warm.

It takes Kayn a moment to process what happens next. He’s touched so rarely — even more rare that it’s gentle — that the gesture makes no sense to him. He lies still, watching Ezreal the way a frightened dog might watch someone who claims no ill intent, but he doesn’t flinch at the touch. In fact, his eyelashes flutter and his gaze grows unfocused for a single beat of his heart as the feeling sends pleasant chills across his scalp. Ezreal’s warm. Kayn knew this, of course, from fondling his leg a moment ago, but it’s different like this. His cheek is so cold, and Ezreal’s hand leaves its warmth behind when Ezreal pulls it back. Kayn wants to say something like that’s lucky for you, or it must be nice, but the words get caught in his throat. He wants to say good night, but he’s still processing through all his emotions — the victory at finding Ezreal, the calm happiness of his stories, the disappointment when they came to an end, the anxiety, and now this — and he can’t get the words out. By the time he’s gathered himself, the lights are off and Ezreal has been quiet for so long that it would be weird to speak now. It’s bad enough that Kayn is taking up his space, he shouldn’t wake Ezreal up, too.

But there’s something that distracts him. At first, Kayn tries to ignore it, but every time he closes his eyes, the faint blue light disturbs him. So he zeroes in and watches it light up the collar of Ezreal’s shirt, the back of his hair, coming in faint pulses that seem in time with Ezreal’s breathing (or he might just be going loopy from it). Kayn watches it grow bright and fade again, over and over, and after a while he edges himself closer, quiet, on his elbows and forearms, to peer closer at it. It’s under Ezreal’s skin, and Kayn immediately thinks of the mage markings Ezreal mentioned, but he didn’t mention this one.

He’s never seen anything like it this close. It’s under Ezreal’s skin but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Kayn wonders what it feels like, and in the same instance he’s shifting his weight onto one elbow and reaching out to lightly touch the pad of one finger to the mark.

#umbane

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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& BTW I am so charming and handsome and immune to most forms of damage

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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“‘Could have fooled me.” Ezreal laughs in another half truth. What is he supposed to say to Kayn? He’s not going to wax poetic about his limited social experience and how he doesn’t know how to deal with someone when they don’t love him or hate him. If anything, he’s the better socialized one of the two, he should know what to do. The past throbs on his side in time with his heart beat, he doesn’t know if he should lower his guard just yet. Kayn doesn’t get to know this, either. “This is not specifically about you, if it makes you feel better. Just a... uh, general security measure for when I room with someone I don’t quite know. You get me, right? You must have slept with a knife under your pillow at least once.”

The softness of his action catches up to him the moment the words leave his mouth. Ezreal pulls away slowly, lips pulled into a thin line and cheeks alight with how awkward he made this situation. Touching someone’s face while sharing a bed with them feels intimate, who would have known? Well, he’s feeling right about done with the faux intimacy between them, so he turns to pull on the lamp’s string and call it a night. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s running, ignoring a perfect opportunity to get to know Kayn better. But it feels... wrong. He doesn’t know what to make of Kayn when he looks so vulnerable, so small. It feels like more than what he signed up for, this weird intimacy. His attraction is purely physical, so moments that are as soft as these... Yeah. He doesn’t want to unpack all that, so let’s throw away the whole suitcase, shall we?

Giving his back to Kayn, Ezreal settles on his side, one hand under the pillow, the other around his waist. “See you tomorrow, Kayn. Sleep well.”

prodigal-ezreal:

For someone who’s made out of rough edges, Kayn takes anger like a kicked pup. He sulks and makes himself smaller, quietly dragging his figurative tail between his legs. Ezreal takes the time in silence to study him, one arm resting on his forehead, the other on his belly. He makes a mental note of all the details hidden in Kayn’s movements. From his long lashes kissing the pale skin beneath them, to his hesitation when he throws the blankets into a messy pile. He’s careful and methodic as he undoes the ropes around his waist, and Ezreal pretends like it’s worth memorizing the way his hands work around the knots for when he has the opportunity to do it. Unfair. This whole situation is unfair. First, Kayn tracks him down to hear his stories while not caring a bit about the bard that pens them, then, he cements that idea by ignoring his advances and then absently playing with his leg. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, the universe decides he should share the room with a guy he’s still not sure if he would kill him or not. Just wonderful.

(To be fair, he doesn’t think Kayn will kill him. If he’s learnt anything, is that Kayn is loyal to a fault. If anything, he’d miss his anecdotes. No, he wouldn’t kill him, at least not of his own accord. Logically, Ezreal deduces this. The scar on left side throbs despite all logic. His gauntleted hand grips his shirt tighter. He’s learnt to be careful about his dangerous attractions, but not nearly enough to stop pursuing someone with a little too much blood on their hands).

Ezreal chuckles softly at Kayn’s light hearted joke, a short, quick exhale through his nose and then it’s gone. His eyes are still focused on Kayn, trained as they are to keep up with anything moving. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t stop looking when Kayn turns his back to him, clearly looking for privacy. His look remains glued to the subtle movement of the muscles on his back, as if looking at him is the most interesting thing in the world. Despite all the signs pointing at the obvious, Ezreal still has the audacity to look surprised when Kayn pulls his pants down, and enough decency to look embarrassed about focusing on his naked skin— just what the hell is Kayn wearing? Some sort of… twisty thong? Why does it have to fit his hips so nicely, and at the same time be so weird? He can’t look away. His skin is strangely unblemished, except where the shadows touch the dip of his hips. Kayn has a wonderfully worked back, and whatever underwear he’s using barely hides anything from him. His baggy uniform really does nothing for his ass, Ezreal decides. Hiding that should be a crime punishable by law— He should stop looking. He should stop looking. It’s almost morbid curiosity by now. How does that even—-

Ezreal shifts his look to the ceiling when Kayn turns, hopefully none the wiser. Sweet progress, he was staring at Kayn’s ass. He was staring and couldn’t look away, too enraptured by… who knows what he was wearing and the way it wrapped around his hips. Ezreal’s cheeks are red with shame, but he hopes the weak light of the bedside lamp is not enough to reveal it. He only looks at Kayn when he feels his weight settle next to him. Even with Kayn at the very edge of the bed, with Ezreal on his back like he is, the distance between them is… not a lot.

“I’ll believe you if I wake up in the morning.” He is only half joking, all tense shoulders and easy smile. His eyes meet Kayn’s, somehow lower than they should be. Does this guy not know how to sit on a chair or sleep on a bed? “Dude, put your head on the pillow. What are you doing so far down?”

Growing up in such close quarters with the rest of the Order has taught Kayn that privacy and personal space is a privilege not to be coveted. He has his own space now, but that doesn’t change the fact that for most of his youth he had to share the space with others. He’s not shy about being next-to naked around Ezreal, especially not when the blanket is draped over his bare shoulders, but he knows that the space isn’t his — that Ezreal has more right to it than he does, so he doesn’t take up as much of it as he normally might. But perhaps he’s a bit too generous with the space.

At Ezreal’s insistence, Kayn crawls higher, stretching his arms underneath the pillow and resting his cheek on it to meet Ezreal’s gaze again. “I didn’t want to get it wet,” he murmurs as he sinks into the soft cushion, “but I suppose it’s a futile endeavour.” Besides, now that he has his head on the soft pillow, he doesn’t want to take it off, even if it makes it harder to see Ezreal over the fabric. The room is dim in the lamplight, but the shadow tears enhance his vision enough that it isn’t an issue, and Kayn can still examine Ezreal, the expression on his face and the way he holds himself on the bed. He’s still not quite himself, but Kayn supposes it’s to be expected when his private space is still being intruded upon. He can make as many jokes as he likes, but it won’t help when the bed that Ezreal paid for is split in two.

Kayn watches Ezreal evenly for a few seconds, then pulls his arms back and crosses them on the pillow to prop himself up again. “Do you really think I’d kill you now?” And instead of waiting for a response, Kayn continues. “I don’t repay kindness with death, Ez.” Unless Zed instructs him to, of course, but that’s not the case here (and Kayn doubts the qualifier will make Ezreal feel any better, so he keeps it to himself). Kayn may be many things — violent and destructive, boastful and cruel — but he is also earnest, and when he holds Ezreal’s gaze it’s unflinching, completely open. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t wait until you were asleep. Besides…” He nestles into the pillow, hiding his lips behind his shoulder like he’s shy again. “I have more questions for you tomorrow.”

His attention flickers between Ezreal’s eyes and the gauntlet, conveniently positioned to be pointed right at him. “I won’t hurt you, Ez. I won’t let anyone else hurt you. You don’t have to wear that. It looks uncomfortable.” His shoulders curl in a bit, knees coming up protectively. “And cold.”

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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im such a man who leans in doorways. relaxes against the counter. drapes across a couch. sprawls over an armchair. my spine isnt straight and by god neither am i.

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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Ezreal chuckles softly at Kayn’s light hearted joke, a short, quick exhale through his nose and then it’s gone. His eyes are still focused on Kayn, trained as they are to keep up with anything moving. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t stop looking when Kayn turns his back to him, clearly looking for privacy. His look remains glued to the subtle movement of the muscles on his back, as if looking at him is the most interesting thing in the world. Despite all the signs pointing at the obvious, Ezreal still has the audacity to look surprised when Kayn pulls his pants down, and enough decency to look embarrassed about focusing on his naked skin— just what the hell is Kayn wearing? Some sort of... twisty thong? Why does it have to fit his hips so nicely, and at the same time be so weird? He can’t look away. His skin is strangely unblemished, except where the shadows touch the dip of his hips. Kayn has a wonderfully worked back, and whatever underwear he’s using barely hides anything from him. His baggy uniform really does nothing for his ass, Ezreal decides. Hiding that should be a crime punishable by law— He should stop looking. He should stop looking. It’s almost morbid curiosity by now. How does that even—-

Ezreal shifts his look to the ceiling when Kayn turns, hopefully none the wiser. Sweet progress, he was staring at Kayn’s ass. He was staring and couldn’t look away, too enraptured by... who knows what he was wearing and the way it wrapped around his hips. Ezreal’s cheeks are red with shame, but he hopes the weak light of the bedside lamp is not enough to reveal it. He only looks at Kayn when he feels his weight settle next to him. Even with Kayn at the very edge of the bed, with Ezreal on his back like he is, the distance between them is... not a lot.

prodigal-ezreal:

Ezreal is too busy making a mental map of his belongings to pay attention to Kayn’s internal conflict, the way it eases the curve of his shoulder and smoothes the edges of his glare. Ezreal knows he’s stalling, the same tactic he used when Kayn first got there, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He wants Kayn, he wants Kayn to want him, he wants to keep his distance if he doesn’t, he wants to keep trying to convince him otherwise. Try as he might, it’s hard for him to get a read on the other. It’d almost be easier if Kayn had his weapon at his throat, if he thought a kiss was as good as any bribe to let him live through the night. Or if he hated him, and it was strictly business. Ezreal knows how to deal with people who like him more than they should, with people who hate him for no good reason; he’s good with absolutes, transactions. Kayn is… strange.

He doesn’t push him away, but he doesn’t react the way Ezreal wants him to. In fact, he seems completely unbothered by his presence and that’s something his Piltovian ego can’t comprehend. Everywhere he goes, he causes a reaction. He’s like sodium in water, water to an oil fire, fire to powder. But Kayn is inert, quiet earth. He answers to violence like a landslide or an earthquake, but not to him. And this, Ezreal thinks, is the biggest problem of them all. Even the earth burns, even salt makes it sterile, even water can pull it along. Not Kayn, though.

Ezreal’s thoughts disappear when Kayn speaks again, his mind eager to pick up on any new stimuli even if means losing the previous train of thought. “Huh? No, I’m not?” Is he mad? he’s not sure. Sure, he is frustrated he’s going to have to share a bed with someone he can’t trust and doesn’t want him, he is irked none of his advances work, he is still puzzled over where he stands with Kayn on the ‘would this person kill me’ scale. But mad? No, he isn’t mad. If he were mad, he thinks, he’d kick Kayn out in a heartbeat. Ezreal turns and sits on what he has decided is ‘his’ side of the bed, the one closest to the window. The sound of rain calms him, and gives him a reminder of why he’s not leaving Kayn to rot out there.

“I am a little peeved, I guess. It’s late, and I’m tired.” He leans back his pillow. Admitting this feels a bit… vulnerable. Specially after Kayn ignored him. Yes, he’s holding onto that grudge, that’s why he doesn’t respond to the compliments. That train already left the station, thank you very much. “But I would never leave you outside in this rain, man. I’ve been rained on like this and it’s not fun.”

“…You can stay. I’m a horrible bed partner, though. Careful with the kicks.”

Kayn doesn’t know why it’s such a punishing feeling, waiting for Ezreal to think through his reply, staying quiet enough long enough to let him get the words out. He knows what to do when Zed is angry at him — has spent enough hours grovelling, knelt on the floor, I’m sorry, Master, please forgive me, to know that eventually he will be forgiven. But with Ezreal he doesn’t know. He might decide that Kayn is a liability, a nuisance, and Kayn’s widest window to the rest of the world will close. Without the shared connection of the Order, Kayn never really knows if any story he hears from Ezreal will be the last.

It’s strange, but when Ezreal admits to being peeved, it eases Kayn’s anxiety a bit. At least he knows and it’s something he can work with, rather than just having the sneaking feeling that he’s done something wrong. So Kayn stays quiet, considering his response and wringing the last of the water out from his hair. It’s still damp, of course, and will be for some time, but at least he isn’t dripping on the floor any more. Kayn keeps his eyes low, turning away from the bed and considering draping the sheet on the chair, but there are more important things to get dry, so he drops the sheet in a pile by the wall. They’ll have to wash it anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it starts to smell. Next comes his heavy belt, and a few attachments that he leaves in a more careful heap.

“I can handle some kicking,” he says, pushing his hair out of the way as he unties the rope from his waist, taking with it all the attachments. A smile touches his lips, edging into his voice as he says, “I won’t even kick back. As a thank you.” With his back to Ezreal, Kayn can’t really gauge his reaction, but it’s a small peace offering he puts out all the same. Carefully, Kayn removes his shoes and sets them at the foot of the chair. Finally, Kayn grabs the waist of his pants and pushes them down, off his legs to step out of them. Draping them over the chair to dry, Kayn fluffs up his hair one last time before turning back to the bed. Already, the chill is setting into his skin, so he wastes no time crossing over to the opposite side of the bed and laying down on the edge of the mattress, resting his head on his crossed arms like a cat.

It takes Kayn a moment to get settled, draping his hair off the side of the bed and pulling the blanket over his chilled body, but when he grows still, he watches Ezreal with steady dark eyes and says, “Thank you,” and, after a moment, “I’ll remember this.”

#umbane

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

Text

“I am a little peeved, I guess. It’s late, and I’m tired.” He leans back his pillow. Admitting this feels a bit... vulnerable. Specially after Kayn ignored him. Yes, he’s holding onto that grudge, that’s why he doesn’t respond to the compliments. That train already left the station, thank you very much. “But I would never leave you outside in this rain, man. I’ve been rained on like this and it’s not fun.”

“...You can stay. I’m a horrible bed partner, though. Careful with the kicks.”

prodigal-ezreal:

The anxiety and his attraction mix and melt as Kayn’s fingers go over his skin, mindlessly thumbing at it, turning his foot over like he wants to inspect every bony relief, maybe playing with the weight of it in his hand. It wouldn’t be the first time someone held him because they liked the way their hands fit around certain parts of his body. It’s the first time it happens with his ankle but, Ezreal is always open to new experiences. He’s never thought of them as something noteworthy, so he’s scrambling for reasons why it captured Kayn’s attention other than it’s whats closest. He wants to believe there’s a reason, outside of simple (and innocent) curiosity; Almost as much as he wants to set his distance and gain back some safety.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Kayn! Ezreal just doesn’t want him to hold any of his joints like that while he doesn’t have his gauntlet on because the possibility of a surprise attack is low, but never zero. Okay, fine. He doesn’t trust him. Flirting time is over, (and a failure). We’ll get ‘em next time, yadda yadda. Time to sleep.

Ezreal visibly deflates at Kayn’s response, sinking back harder on his hands, back curved and slouched. He doesn’t have that much money to spare. It’s nearing the end of his trip and he’s bad with money management has had a few surprise expenses, like feeling particularly tired and splurging a bit more coin than necessary on tonight’s room. It’s not his fault no one told him he had to plan for a roomie.

A part of him says it’s not his problem if Kayn sleeps outside. He’s a tough guy, he can take it. Another part catches on the way Kayn pauses when the storm rages harder, the way his frown tightens and his eyes squint, how his shoulders rise and the hand on his ankle stops. It argues that Ezreal has been outside in storms like these, with rain so cold it chills you to the bone and droplets so big two seconds outside soak you. That second part argues that he’d like help in a situation like that, money or not. And for good measure, it makes a shiver run down his spine to make him remember all the uncomfortable nights spent without proper shelter.

He hates having a conscience.

“You can stay here,” he sighs, pulling his leg back towards him, else it feels too much like a… proposition. Which, not like he minded, Kayn was hot, but he’s been ignored too many times today, and there’s a limit to how much his pride can take. So, yes. Purely platonic, entirely utilitarian bed sharing. Ezreal stands up from the bed, pretending to be unbothered by his own offer. Casually, he walks over to his stuff he spent too much time fuzzing over and gets his gauntlet from the pile. It’s uncomfortable to sleep with, but it’s safe. He turns back to Kayn, nonchalant in the way he barely looks back (because he isn’t avoiding eye contact, no sire). “C’mon, don’t make me say it again. Get your head as dry as you can and leave your hair hanging out of the bed, I’m not dealing with a clogged nose in the morning.”

Kayn has spent his life indebted to someone. He knows what it feels like to never be able to repay someone for the kindness they have given him. He can never repay Zed for saving his life, saving him from a slow death surrounded by the bodies of everyone he has ever known. No matter what he does, his life belongs to Zed. It’s the least he can do.

So Kayn tries not to owe people kindnesses, because he already owes more than he can pay. He’s just mentally preparing himself for a cold, wet night when Ezreal pulls his ankle from Kayn’s grip. Kayn lets it go, though he misses the warmth, and curls his fingers around his own ankle instead, eyes low as he considers his situation. They snap up when Ezreal speaks, then drift down again with something like shame. He should be self reliant by now. He should have anticipated this. Zed would be disappointed. Kayn doesn’t need to tell his master about what happened to know what he would say.

So Kayn hesitates, because he doesn’t believe he deserves it. Not after such a grievous oversight. He rests his chin on his knees and watches Ezreal move about the room, rifle through his stuff, and pull that heavy gauntlet from the pile. He doesn’t want to owe Ezreal anything, but the dripping sound of water outside makes his bare shoulders prickle beneath the sheet. His eyes are apologetic, dark pools of sorrow as he considers Ezreal for a moment longer, then slowly rises to stand. “Thank you,” Kayn says simply, his voice plain and elegant without the edge of threat it usually carries. He drapes the sheet over the chair, then pulls his sodden braid over his shoulder to release his hair from its tie. Dragging his fingers through it, Kayn eases it out of its braid, then fluffs it up as best as he can. It’ll still take ages to dry, but at least it will dry, rather than staying damp in its braid.

He’s quiet as he works, shoulders slumped and void of the usual pride he carries himself with. Kayn believes that his loyalty is what makes him strongest, but his independence is a close second. Finally, when his hair is sufficiently loose, he reaches for the sheet again and uses it to squeeze the water out of his hair. “Your legs are actually pretty strong,” he murmurs after a little while, flicking his gaze back to Ezreal, a question in it that he can’t bring himself to ask. Is this really okay? “I never noticed before. It must be from all the walking you do.” And once he’s started, Kayn can’t stop the questions that dribble pathetically from his mouth. “Are you going to sleep with that? Isn’t it uncomfortable?” And then, finally, wringing his braid a little too tight, knuckles white with nerves, he asks, “Are you mad at me, Ez?”

#umbane

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

Text

He hates having a conscience.

“You can stay here,” he sighs, pulling his leg back towards him, else it feels too much like a... proposition. Which, not like he minded, Kayn was hot, but he’s been ignored too many times today, and there’s a limit to how much his pride can take. So, yes. Purely platonic, entirely utilitarian bed sharing. Ezreal stands up from the bed, pretending to be unbothered by his own offer. Casually, he walks over to his stuff he spent too much time fuzzing over and gets his gauntlet from the pile. It’s uncomfortable to sleep with, but it’s safe. He turns back to Kayn, nonchalant in the way he barely looks back (because he isn’t avoiding eye contact, no sire). “C’mon, don’t make me say it again. Get your head as dry as you can and leave your hair hanging out of the bed, I’m not dealing with a clogged nose in the morning.”

prodigal-ezreal:

Ezreal’s eyebrows shoot up, “Two hours!?” He expected Kayn to take a long time taking care of all that hair, but even that seems excessive. Hmp, He huffs to himself, and people say I’m the drama queen. Ezreal rolls his shoulders back, working out the kinks in his neck by slowly rotating his head from side to side. Trying to imagine serious, ‘training is everything’ Kayn using two hours of his precious day taking care of his ankle length hair almost feels like a biological contradiction. “Are you sure you are doing it the right way? I can’t imagine taking that much time to get ready, even with all that hair…”

His eyelids feel heavy, like they are gonna refuse to open if he keeps them closed for longer than a blink at a time. It’s like the weariness of the trip got to him all at once, now that he’s sure on the knowledge that he’s got enough favors on his side to at least buy one night of not being murdered in his sleep by the very same person he’s flirting with. This isn’t the first time Kayn visits him unprompted, but one can never be too careful. He’s been crossed (and betrayed some himself) by people he’s known for far longer, surely Kayn understands his transactional trust. “Maybe you aren’t doing it–” yawn “from the ends to the root. Your hair must get crazy tangled, even if it’s on a braid the whole day. You should get someone to help you.”

Why were they even talking about hair? Oh, right. Kayn ran out of things to ask him, and Ezreal is too tired to think of anything to tell him. He barely has enough conscience to think about the implications of Kayn looking down to his leg like he’s hesitant to touch it, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time for him to understand his own quickening heartbeat once cold fingertips land on his warm skin. The stark difference of their temperatures makes his mind focus and lock on the points of contact, on the way the fine hairs stand as goosebumps spread through his skin, not all entirely born from the cold. This is it, Ezreal thinks. Kayn is basically caressing my leg, this must mean he likes me too.

“Aw, I knew you cared about me.” His heart flutters in his chest when he hears the reason behind Kayn’s visit; His stories are the coolest ever, he isn’t surprised Kayn would trace rumors carried by the wind back to him. It gives Kayn a reason to look for him, and Ezreal an excuse to see him, to know him better. Kayn is a mystery Ezreal is dying to detangle and uncover, and his guarded nature only makes him all the more curious. He’s unpredictable, one minute shy the next he’s got his hand around his shin, making Ezreal’s heart pound on his ears and his cheeks to glow red and blue. Ezreal is about to say something cheesy, like ‘Of course, an explorer like me has lots of stories, and I always save the best ones for you’ or something like that, but then he feels Kayn’s strong fingers (Oh, right, he’s a warrior) wrap around his very vulnerable ankle and suddenly he feels less like a sweetheart with a rabbiting pulse and more like the cornered rabbit hanging on a trap by its hind leg. Well, well, well. If it isn’t the consequences of his own actions.

“A— I— Why would I do that?” He feels his heart has skipped way too many beats. Are these still butterflies on his stomach or is it plain anxiety? Ezreal twists his leg a little to test Kayn’s hold. Firm, but not oppressive. Good. He needs an out. Thankfully, casually changing the subject is one of his many talents. “You know Kayn, I’m very touched you came all the way here for a bed time story, but I’m beat. Don’t you want to catch up in the morning? Rate’s not too high for a room.”

The thought of someone helping Kayn with his hair is almost enough to make him laugh. He hasn’t had someone look after his hair since he was a kid, lying in the infirmary in the Order, and even that was only to have it sheared short again when it began to grow too long, no matter how much Kayn cried or screamed. To have someone take care of it now when he’s able bodied would be nothing short of insulting, he thinks. The last thing he wants is someone damaging the hair he spent so long growing out. Briefly, Kayn considers the faces of the people he knows, some who have known him since he was a silent, broken child picked off the ground and given another chance, but none of them feel right.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He can look after himself, after all. As Zed says, he’s the one who insists on long hair, so he’s the one who gets to take care of it. Kayn shifts his attention back to Ezreal’s legs and feels a thrill at the way Ezreal’s hair stands on end where he touches. It’s a similar feeling to that when he sees the fear on someone’s face when they feel something break, when they feel their skin split somewhere it shouldn’t, but it’s without the edge. It’s gentler, seeing the effect of himself on another person’s body, but he doesn’t think much more about it than that.

He lifts his dark eyes back to Ezreal, raising an eyebrow, inquisitive. Ezreal’s reaction is an odd one — the stuttering, the twist of his ankle that Kayn doesn’t release — but it’s gone before Kayn can analyse it properly. His thumb moves absently, like he’s forgotten it, as he watches Ezreal, considers his words. The money he brought isn’t his, and he didn’t plan to spend the night at an inn. Even if he did, he can hardly justify the use of the Order’s money that could be used for food or weaponry instead. They don’t have enough to spend it so carelessly.

Slowly, Kayn looks down and considers the error of his ways. He turns Ezreal’s ankle over like he’s examining an artefact, then sets it back, letting his hand rest more loosely on Ezreal this time. His brows furrow in thought and his lower lip juts out slightly, but after a moment Kayn has his answer ready. “I don’t have the coin on me,” he admits, tracing a thin, chilled line down over the top of Ezreal’s foot. “I’ll sleep outside, and in the morni—” He’s cut off by a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder, followed by rain that sounds more like a waterfall than a shower. Kayn grimaces, and his shoulders rise a little at the thought of spending the night in all that rain. He’ll pretend the thunder didn’t make him jump, too. “… In the morning you can answer my questions.”

#umbane #oh no #anyways

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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Umbane:

“Huh?” Kayn cocks his head to the side, considering the times he lets his hair down and washes it, really properly washes it instead of just tying it up and out of the way while he washes the rest of himself. “Two hours? Not that long. It’d be better used training, but…” His shoulder lifts beneath the damp sheet. It’s hard to explain why he insists on keeping his hair long, the way he would cry and scream as a child when Zed would insist it was cut short, the way it was cropped when he was enlisted into the Noxian militia. “It’s not that bad if you just go in a lake, or under a waterfall. Washes most of the dirt away, and then you can do the rest in a hot spring.” It took him long enough to be able to handle being submerged in water, even only partially, and Kayn intends to get as much value out of his hard work as possible, even if it means standing in a freezing lake trying to detangle the long strands of his hair.

His nose wrinkles at the mention of a brush. “A woman gave me a brush once. A token of thanks for fixing up a supply line to the village. I couldn’t get it through my hair, though. Too thick, I suppose.” Kayn drags his fingers through the loose hair around his face, and the damp strands cling to his cheek when he stops. “Somehow I don’t think I could get a comb through it.” For a moment, Kayn looks pensive, like this is something of great concern to him, but it changes quickly to confusion when Ezreal extends a (very bare) leg to him. Kayn’s eyebrows go up, dark eyes tracking the movement, and while he doesn’t actually move away from the leg, there’s a level of uncertainty that makes him seem to bend away from it. Is this a Piltovan thing? He’s not exactly used to people taking up his space, even if privacy is barely a thing in the order, even for someone as high ranking as himself. His gaze flicks back to Ezreal, and there’s something distinctly guilty in them, like he’d been caught doing something he was told not to.

He looks to the side, then back down at Ezreal’s leg, and after a moment his hand emerges from the sheet and Kayn presses his fingertips to the bone in Ezreal’s ankle, then the tendons, like he’s never seen an ankle up close before. “I overheard someone mention that you were in the area. Or … someone who looked like you, at least.” Kayn’s fingers travel to the other side of Ezreal’s ankle, then back to the top, and slowly up his shin. “I was investigating the rumour.” His lashes are low and thick, making Kayn look almost shy. “I thought you might have some new stories.”

Then, unexpectedly, Kayn wraps his hand around Ezreal’s leg and slides it up, feeling the way the hair gives way under his touch. “Your hair is darker here,” he notes, dragging his hand back down and holding Ezreal’s ankle like a shackle. “Do you colour it? Or is it because of the sun?”

His eyelids feel heavy, like they are gonna refuse to open if he keeps them closed for longer than a blink at a time. It’s like the weariness of the trip got to him all at once, now that he’s sure on the knowledge that he’s got enough favors on his side to at least buy one night of not being murdered in his sleep by the very same person he’s flirting with. This isn’t the first time Kayn visits him unprompted, but one can never be too careful. He’s been crossed (and betrayed some himself) by people he’s known for far longer, surely Kayn understands his transactional trust. “Maybe you aren’t doing it--” yawn “from the ends to the root. Your hair must get crazy tangled, even if it’s on a braid the whole day. You should get someone to help you.”

@prodigal-ezreal

To his credit, the explorer is more difficult to track than Kayn had imagined. Not impossible, of course, but not easy. It’s raining just enough for Kayn to be unhappy about it, and dusk is falling when he finally tracks Ezreal to an inn. Now, Kayn could just walk in there an demand to know which room the oddly dressed foreigner was in, but he doesn’t feel like making a scene, especially when he’s not on official business for his master. So it takes a bit of sleuthing.

Kayn peeks in windows here and there, ducking into shadows and creeping down halls, then finally slipping into a window. He stays in the shadows, examining the back of that now-familiar blonde head to make sure he’s not being tricked. The floor is damp where he steps, but other than that his disguise is complete. He moves around Ezreal, watches the way he takes off his boots as Kayn creeps around to the back of the room.

It’s Ezreal, no doubt about it. Kayn lets the shadows fall from his form in the same moment he says, “It’s too easy to follow you. Will you give me a challenge next time, or should I keep following the trail of broken branches for next time?”

#umbane

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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Ezreal is laughing, rebelling on the contradiction of tough delinquent Kayn with a cute foam mustache, until he is not. His lips press into a straight line to keep his teeth from biting them when he sees the way Kayn’s tongue goes over the cream covering his upper one. It’s a small action, doesn’t last more than second, but it’s got Ezreal mesmerized for all the eternities that can fit in that minuscule tick of the clock, and a bit after. The skin on his cheeks flares up, and inside of the shop there’s no cold wind to blame it onto.

So he moves on like nothing happened, letting Kayn take a sip out his drink and making all the heads turn again when his laugh bursts above the volume considered polite for an indoor conversation. Ezreal doesn’t care, he’s always been loud, never had an ‘inside’ voice. Maybe Kayn doesn’t like the attention, but he can’t help it. Being with him means getting weird stares and being ogled at, you get used to it.

“Told you.” He smiles, gladly taking his coffee back to take a swing himself. He pointedly ignores the way his eyes still linger on every minuscule move Kayn’s lips make. No, he doesn’t notice how they upwards in a scowl, or the the way they stretch across his smirk like they aren’t used to smile yet. He focuses on the heat irradiating from his blessing in a cup, and pretends the warmth in his chest has more to do with the liquid going down than with the sudden thought that this counts as an indirect kiss.

“Oh please, this coffee has nothing on my ADD, What you see is all me.” Ezreal’s tongue goes over the left over cream on his lips on reflex, half to catch the sugar and half nervous gesture. He grabs the napkins he came for, not minding what he says. “Well, now you know I like it thick, makes it warmer in my opinion.”

A beat.

“Wait, no, that came out wrong”.

prodigal-ezreal:

The hearty laugh that makes it out of Ezreal at Kayn’s curse is far too much for such a little reaction, but it rumbles through him and shakes his shoulders anyways, no matter the looks from the other patrons. He didn’t expect Kayn, whose two base reactions are anger and silence, to look almost bashful as he wipes the cream off his top lip! Honestly, it looked almost cute. He knows stuff seems funnier when done or said by someone you like, something about trying to endear yourself to the person or whatever. But that’s silly. His crush is not that deep, just an itch he hasn’t scratched yet because the hottest guy ever has the social skills of a lamp post, besides, everyone would laugh at what just happened. Cream mustaches are just objectively funny.

Ezreal walks towards the corner of the shop where they keep the spices and sugar, motioning with his head for Kayn to follow him. “You might want one of these” He says, picking up a disposable mixer and offering it to Kayn. “It’ll make the whole thing sweeter, if you don’t want to deal with the cream, but like, why wouldn’t you?”

Having said that, Ezreal takes a swig from his cup, he drinks slowly, trying to avoid burning his tongue; Otherwise, how is he going to taste that butterscotch blessing with busted tastebuds? Some would argue they were already done for if he could stomach that much sweetness, but Ezreal didn’t pay any mind to their bitter comments. It’s not his fault they were missing out on some of the finer pleasures in life.

“Mine?” Ezreal has no shame on going over his upper lip with the tip of his tongue to catch any stray foam or drop, even when he has a couple of napkins on his hand, and more to his left. But those are ‘dont burn your hand’ napkins, not ‘clean your face’ ones. “Oh, it’s this awesome sweet flavor, it’s basically cake in a cup, not much of a coffee taste. You wanna try? though, if yours was too sweet, mine’s gonna knock you out.”

Kayn grimaces as Ezreal laughs, and does his very best not to smash the cup in his hand in a moment of retaliation. Kayn doesn’t like being laughed at, and while he’s pretty used to it by now from all the hours he’s spent working alongside Ezreal, his laughter here in the middle of the café draws a lot more attention than Kayn really wants from a bunch of strangers. He follows Ezreal to the condiment stand and leans back against it, watching the stick he procures like it’s a wasp that Kayn doesn’t want to land on him but doesn’t mind otherwise. Does he want to mix it in? He glances down at his drink and thinks that a lot of sweetness followed by something a bit more palatable is preferable to a drink that’s too sweet all the way through.

He waves the stir stick away. “That’s all right,” he says. “I just wasn’t expecting it is all.” As if to prove his point, Kayn takes another sip and licks the cream off his lip unprompted this time. Then he turns back to Ezreal and looks dubiously at the drink in his hand. Not only does it have whipped cream like Kayn’s, but it seems to have sugar dusted on top of it too. Kayn looks up at Ezreal, at those bright eyes and brighter smile, and then back down at the drink. Does he want to drink something that’s cake in a cup? Not really. But he’s not one to back down from a challenge either.

Setting his own cup down, Kayn reaches out for Ezreal’s, giving it a tentative sniff before taking a tentative sip.

“Mmph—!” The noise he makes is involuntary, and Kayn has to work to keep the drink — the thick, sweet substance, he’s not sure if it’s really a drink — in his mouth. He purses his lip, wiping his lip again, and then peers into the drink like he expects it to be poisoned. “Are you sure they didn’t put cake in it? I can barely drink it.” Then, as he hands the drink back, Kayn grins, lopsided and sharp. “Must be where you get all fuckin’ your energy, huh?”

#i couldnt not make this joke #umbane

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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“I guess that makes sense if you put it like that.” It really doesn’t, but Ezreal will concede if it means Kayn stops smiling like he’s picturing cutting someone’s hand right in front of him. And enjoying it, for some reason. He vaguely remembers someone warning him the hot ones are always crazy, but he was too blinded by his attraction to look closely. He sighs, now, he’s at the point he’ll forgive it if Kayn smiles like that— just not when he talks of violence, thank you very much. He liked it much better when it looked like he was going to eat him alive. “I still think it’s more of a liability though, how long do you even take to wash it?” He can’t imagine how much conditioning product Kayn must go through monthly, Ez already uses a lot and he barely showers in his house.

Ezreal rakes his hand through his head, dragging short nails on his scalp. Ah, that felt nice, It’s been a while since someone’s done that to him. But that’s beside the topic. How’d he keep his hair in such top condition, even when wading through the jungle, under the scorching Shuriman heat, in No man’s land between Demacia and Noxus? A question for the ages (and tabloids alike). “Well, there’s this thing called a brush” He begins, shaking with an expert flip the strands of hair that fell before his eyes after he disturbed it. “I normally use a comb while traveling, though, finer teeth means nothing gets past it if you do it right— and I always do it right.” Well, there’s been the unfortunate time or two when he’s been chatting up a beauty and they are laughing at the leaf stuck in his hair, but Kayn doesn’t need to know that. Even if he’s been present for some of those occasions.

A grin stretches over the explorer’s lips, finally, it’s his turn to question, and he now has something to dangle above Kayn’s head to make sure he takes the bait. “Ah Ah Ah!” He says with an airy voice, “I’m not telling you what I was doing ‘till you tell me why were you following me. Information is a valuable resource, and I’m not about to give it for free.”

“So,” Ezreal leans back and puts his weight on his hands, extending one of his legs over to place it on the chair Kayn is perched on. He feels like one of those high society ladies showing their ankles in hope for a reaction, except his leg is, you know, naked. “What are you doing here?”

prodigal-ezreal:

Despite seeing Kayn’s bare skin many times —more times than he has ever seen the guy covered, actually— Ezreal’s eyes still widen a fraction when he takes the blanket off his shoulders. Ezreal can practically feel how his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows around nothing, mouth suddenly very, very dry. He leans forward as close as he can without losing his balance, then puts a foot on the floor to lean even closer. Not his proudest moment, but Kayn knows he’s curious, and this is the first time he has seen magic shadow tattoos up close. The fact the design trails up Kayn’s bare arm, intertwining shadows covering the dips and crests of his muscles, is completely secondary.

His gaze follows the leading tip of Kayn’s finger like a hypnotized man, mouth slightly agape. In between the lighter marks of mysterious origins, human art bursts from the amorphous lines. It’s beautiful, the way it gives sense to the strange transition between Kayn’s pale skin and his magic. It makes him want to trace the pattern with his own fingertips, figure out how Kayn’s shadows react to his own arcane energy, if they react at all. Ezreal has always had his learning eyes on his hands, and while it usually lends itself well to his profession, now it leaves him hesitating, too aware of himself to reach out but to entrapped to ignore the calling.

Then, Kayn pulls away and the spell is broken, and Ezreal is left to try and collect himself after it. He pulls his leg underneath him again, like he never leaned forward at all.

“That’s cool.” It comes out a bit rough on his dry throat, so he wets his lips, swallows, and tries again. “I’d have never thought they weren’t magic if you didn’t tell me.”

Ezreal decides to focus on the repeating motion of Kayn drying his hair instead of the embarrassment he now feels creeping up his cheeks. Kayn is nothing if not observant, he probably could see right through him and his barely veiled thirst. But then again, it’s not his fault someone didn’t react at all to his amazing legs also being in display! If Kayn didn’t want to ogle that doesn’t mean Ezreal should feel bad about it, right? This is all ridiculous. He has been caught staring before, but doing so while he’s showing his skin feels strangely intimate.

It isn’t, though, and the ease with which Kayn moves to the next question makes it evident. Ezreal sighs in relief.

“I look really good with this hair, that’s all”. He shrugs. He doesn’t have any particular reason to keep it long, other than he likes it and he likes how he looks with it. Shorter and it looks too organized, longer and it starts being a hassle, though he is sure he could rock any look he puts his hair through. He doesn’t need to hit his enemies on the ankles with a swing of his head like Kayn, or break anyone’s jars with it— Wait. “Did you just say you use it to fight?” That’s the most ridiculous thing Ezreal has ever heard, and he’s talked with a tree. Kind of. Maybe. “Do you hide like a dagger or a rock in there? how does that even work? What if someone yanks it.”

“If they yank it then they lose their hand,” Kayn says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Zed has been by far the loudest advocate of Kayn cutting his hair, and will take any opportunity to grab it when they spar, so Kayn has grown pretty good at retaliating. On the other hand, however, Zed has grown pretty good at grabbing hair during a fight. At least it keeps Kayn on his toes. “Anything can be a weapon if it’s used right.” Everything that comes out of Kayn’s mouth has the tone of someone who expects Ezreal ought to have known this already, mixed with the absent tone of a teacher who has said the same mantra countless times. It’s a lesson Kayn teaches his students from the moment they’re able to hold their chopsticks. Anything can be a weapon. Anything can protect you. Stay safe.

They are still children, but they live in a difficult world. He worries for them, for how vulnerable they are. He has seen children perform incredible feats — memories of the ones who travelled across from Noxus with him fighting for their lives — but he still has nightmares about not being able to protect them all if the Order was under attack.

Kayn is serious for a moment, his eyes far away and his hands growing still on his braid as he hopes that they’re okay now, that all the walls and gardens he calls home are still standing, and then, as he fights the urge to run back home, his eyes snap back to Ezreal, returning him to the present. “It’s heavy,” he says, pulling the sheet tighter over his shoulders, separating his cold braid from his slightly less cold skin. “Hit someone hard enough with something heavy and it’s bound to hurt. It’s heavy enough to stun someone if you do it right.” A slow grin creeps across his face. “And I always do it right.” But they were talking about hair. Ezreal’s hair. Kayn’s eyes narrow as he examines the strands of blonde, messy and yet somehow put together. It looks soft. It always looks soft. Kayn’s hands tighten on his legs as he holds himself back from touching it.

“Yours always has stuff in it,” he says. “Leaves or sticks. Does it bother you?” Sure Ezreal is an explorer, but he always seems very … particular. Kayn straightens, cocks his head and peers at Ezreal’s hair. “None right now, though. Guess it’d be uncomfortable to sleep on.” There’s a pause where Kayn glances around the room like he’s searching for enemies, then shivers, curling tighter in on himself. When he speaks again, it’s with the oddly lonely energy of a child who’s just thinking of more reasons to keep talking because they don’t want to be left alone at bedtime — just one more story, please. “Where were you? Before I started following you.”

#umbane

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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Did he hit him? It looked like he hit him, but Shadow Hot Guy —The assassin’s official name on Ezreal’s mind now— Vanished in a cloud of smoke so dark it pulled reality along with it. Ezreal strains his ears to follow the source of the other’s voice, close, but nowhere to pin point it to, and far, as if the air filled with cotton or if he was suddenly pulled underwater, looking out of an enemy beyond the surface. The man cowered behind him and held into his jacket’s leather for dear life with his bony fingers. Poor guy, Ezreal wouldn’t trust himself with his life, either. Not that he’s incapable of defending it! But if Shadow Hot Guy came after he had given Ezreal the information, and he came back from his adventure to find out his contact had been killed he... probably wouldn’t put up this much of a fight in revenge. Actually, he’d shrug it off, file it under things that haunt him at night, and repress it forever. If not for him, Ezreal would have rationalized, the guy would have died for anyone with deep enough pockets. You live and die by the blade and all that.

But life threw him at the perfect moment to take a stand, and he couldn’t just watch how his contact was done in by a guy who thought himself too good for clothes using a farming tool as a weapon! After all, it’s what Jarro would do, it’s the good thing to do.

Ezreal turns around when he hears the voice loud and clear again, innerly satisfied himself when his eyes focus on the burn skin sizzling on the other’s shoulder. That one’s gonna sting, he thinks to himself, reading his gauntlet for another shot. “Sorry can’t do, Mister.” The markings on his cheeks are ablaze beneath the confident stare that meets Shadow Hot Guy’s grin head on. Has no one ever told him to not smile with so much teeth? “This guy’s coming with me”.

With a quick twist of the wrist, he casts a flux of swirling essence forward to surround his opponent. If he’s able to land the following shot, the resulting damage should be enough to make any normal person desist. But in his movement, Ezreal leaves his back unguarded, exposing the old man he was trying to protect as he goes head first for offense as his best defense.

prodigal-ezreal:

His first thought at the new corporeal form the dark evil mist takes is ‘damn, he’s hot’. His second thought, just as he’s lunging towards him, is ‘damn it! why did he have to be hot!’

In hindsight, his mind should be more focused on the combat at hand, but at least he’s focused on his enemy, okay?

Ezreal grabs the man behind him and quickly shifts away a few feet to the right in a burst of arcane energy and light. Small jumps like those don’t take a lot of out him, but there goes the element of surprise— it’s not many people that can disintegrate themselves in and out of thin air, and it usually takes his opponents a few seconds to understand what has happened, precious seconds that he uses to rise his gauntlet and strike back. Oh well, it was either that or pushing him, and he doesn’t want to break the guy he’s trying to save.

The arcane bow fizzles to life in his left hand, and Ezreal loses no time on aiming, gathering the energy and firing a shot at the guy’s very exposed, very naked torso. If he’s able to land a good shot early on, he’ll win the fight easily without any blood from his side, and all because his opponent refuses to wear armor, or even a shirt. Seriously, what kind of person does that? Ionia’s warmer than Piltover, more humid too, but going completely shirtless was a tad much in his opinion. He appreciated it, sure, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t judge him too.

“What could be so important that you are willing to kill him over it?” Ezreal positions the man behind him again, pushing him closer to the tree at the center of the meadow. One less angle for the other to attack from. “You didn’t kill him before, and the guy’s clearly desperate if he’s willing to say it anyways, so it can’t be that important.”

Rhaast hums with the promise of violence, grinning in the back of Kayn’s mind as he anticipates blood, guts, and lots of death, but when Kayn swings the scythe, heavy and lethal, it meets no resistance. It cuts through the air, pulling Kayn’s arms with it, and when Kayn hits the ground he’s forced to turn until he’s facing the direction he came from.

GAH! KAYN! WHAT HAPPENED? WHERE DID THEY GO! THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE SLICED IN HALF! Rhaast’s anguish comes through loud and clear as Kayn’s eyes scan his environment, seeking out his targets and —

There. But more importantly — HE’S A MAGE? I THOUGHT THERE WAS SOMETHING FUNNY ABOUT HIM. The blast is quick, and Kayn barely has time to react. The blast catches him in the shoulder in the same moment his form explodes into darkness, dispersing into the shadows cast by the trees and by the two men who are still standing there. HE GOT YOU GOOD, KAYN. Damn him.

It’s quieter in the shadows, and Kayn is barely a ripple in the air as he steps around the two men, taking a moment to recover, even as the blast burns his skin. “Those are some nice tricks.” His voice is hard to place until it coalesces together, behind Ezreal, right across from where Kayn had been standing moments before. Again, the shadows gather and Kayn steps out, absently twirling Rhaast as if he was nothing more than a bamboo pole used by children back in the Order. “And to answer your question — information. He knows more than he should, and now that my master has deemed that he doesn’t deserve to carry that information, his fate is set. He won’t live to see sunrise.” His voice is casual, but when Kayn’s lips pull into a smile it’s sharp. Deadly. “Or sunset. You’ve shown me your tricks, now step aside.” Kayn’s eyes stare past Ezreal to the man beyond. “I’m instructed to avoid collateral damage.”

#umbane

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prodigal-ezreal · 2 years

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Hey, new pinned— Hi, it’s Nach. Still busy. I’m currently doing threads with friends only because of low energy, lucky for you, I’m a very amiable person. I might leave you hanging for a month or more, so patience is advised. I am always up on discord, though. Don’t hesitate to ask for it if you want to chat.

#ooc #psa #yeah #med school is kicking my ass

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prodigal-ezreal · 3 years

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Then, Kayn pulls away and the spell is broken, and Ezreal is left to try and collect himself after it. He pulls his leg underneath him again, like he never leaned forward at all.

“That’s cool.” It comes out a bit rough on his dry throat, so he wets his lips, swallows, and tries again. “I’d have never thought they weren’t magic if you didn’t tell me.”

It isn’t, though, and the ease with which Kayn moves to the next question makes it evident. Ezreal sighs in relief.

prodigal-ezreal:

Ezreal makes his way around again and sits on the bed, legs crossed and feet pressed beneath his thighs in an attempt to warm them up from the chill they’d gotten walking around bare on the cold wooden floor. He wishes he could go to sleep already, but there’s no way he’s gonna catch any shuteye with Kayn around. Not only is the guy curious, but he is also a paid assassin. And sure, Ezreal would like to think they are past the point in their relationship where they would murder the other in his sleep but you can never be too sure. Someone he thought he trusted tried that one time and, well, Ezreal has slept with one eye open ever since.

As much as he misses the sweet lull of sleep (same as he misses his soft pajamas and even finer sheets, both luxuries he can do without but he wishes he could travel with from time to time), Ezreal is kind of happy he showed Kayn this small kindness, and if the way he melts into the fabrics is any indication, maybe Kayn is happy too. Or not. Ezreal is startled by those night dark eyes settling on him again, intense, accusatory. Maybe he doesn’t appreciate it as much as he thought.

“Geez, Kayn, you can’t just ask a mage where their markings are, that’s personal.” Ezreal crosses his arms around his chest as if to cover it from Kayn’s heavy gaze, as if his persistent stare could see right through his clothes and look at the skin beneath. He drops the charade after he sees his joke fall flat on its face when Kayn’s expression remains the same, even after the comedy appropriate beat has passed. He thought the joke was obvious, it’s not like Ezreal has much modesty left, sitting around in his underwear as he is. “I’m— I’m joking. I have some below my gauntlet, too. They glow and stuff. I don’t have any more that I know of.”

Eager to pretend like nothing happened, Ezreal gives Kayn little time to think before he fires again: “What do you mean ‘like your tattoos’ I didn’t know you had ink done. Are they magical?” He knows from experience martial artists tend to not think of their techniques as magical, and Kayn certainly doesn’t look like the spell-y type, but from guy who teleports through walls to guy who walks through them— yeah. That. That looks like magic.

Ezreal’s eyes dart around the room, still feeling awkward. His look is drawn back to the repetitive movement of Kayn squeezing the water out of his braid, bit by bit. Up, squeeze, down. Seems like a hassle.

Before he can stop himself, he asks “Why don’t you just cut it? It looks way too painful to keep hair that long.”

wThe joke goes over Kayn’s head, intent as he is on the question he asked (and really not caring very much at all about what Ezreal considers personal). He listens to Ezreal’s lacklustre explanation as he wrings the water from his braid, gaze flicking between the explorer and his work. Finally, they stop dubiously on Ezreal as Kayn seems to consider the question a moment before responding. “Did you think they were all magical?” He asks, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders to show off the skin beneath. Much of his arm is dark, and the art creeps onto his chest and his ribs in places. He holds his arm out to show all the tattoos, then trails his fingers up the design that looks like water in some places and ends in sharp edges in others. “This is ink,” he explains, following the curves of muscle up his arm and across his collarbone, then down to his ribs. “Here, too.”

Kayn has to turn his arm to show off the rest. In between some of the inked lines are markings that look almost like a language of their own, integrated into the pattern but standing out as separate. “These are magic. See?” Kayn points out a few of them, tucked in the nooks and crannies of the larger art. “You can tell because they’re a lighter colour. More grey.” The corner of his lips pulls up in a grin, revealing teeth that look to belong on a predator more than a human. “And they shift and change, depending on how I use them and how they’re applied. Here.” He extends his other arm, largely bare, to Ezreal. On his wrist is a shape that looks like a weapon, or the silhouette of something that came out of the Void. “This one’s new, but it will fade in a couple of weeks.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but something stops him and he draws his arms back in, sliding the blanket back around his shoulders and getting back to work on his hair. “It’s a good weapon,” he says, “when you learn how to use it. Many expect a sword or a hidden blade, but few expect their jar broken by their opponent’s hair.” And the smile on his face says he knows that from experience too. “I prefer it this way. It’s not a hassle unless it rains.” Or when he bathes, or when he lets it down to try to comb through it, but Ezreal doesn’t need to know about that. “Why don’t you cut yours? Every time I see you, you have another twig stuck in your hair.”

#umbane

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