Red and Blue make Purple

thespace-dragon theprojectava

Scars

bymidnightflame

And Day #7! I have fallen so completely in love with this entire week so far ;; Kuro is such a magnificent incarnation and I don’t know how anyone can’t not love him. He’s such a beautiful being, and I lovelovelove @theprojectava for everything she has created with him!

He had heard once that scars were a badge of courage. They were the proof of everything you lived through, of all that a living being could survive and still keep that ever forward march through time. Scars were evidence of all the things that tried to kill you but couldn’t.

It’s all very convenient, or so he thinks, to be able to tell yourself such things.

But like any story, not all of them fit the mold, and not all of them came with happy endings. He still doesn’t know where he fits in, or if he even will. He doesn’t know that this is home, but it is a place to live. He doesn’t think this is family, but he knows the Castle inhabitants aren’t as interested in the ways to cause him pain so much as they worry about all the ways he might inflict it upon them.

Because he is Galra, and he isn’t. Because he is a would-be Paladin, and they have no special need for one of those.

Because they do not know them and he does not know how it is you open a heart to play out your best intentions like a movie reel for all to enjoy.

What Kuro knows best is how to bind himself up, night after night, so he doesn’t lose himself any more than he already has.

Only Lance is there prodding at him now, and something around his heart unlocks and hits the floor of all that he is with a heavy metal clack.

The warmth that Lance offers him isn’t like Shiro’s. It’s not like Keith’s either, but it reminds him of that moment they had overtaken his head. Only it whispers of a concern that isn’t meant for anyone else but him.

For the first time, Kuro feels like he’s really being looked at, and it makes his chest pull tight and the words fall apart on his tongue. He doesn’t know how to answer Lance without offering something more of himself…only, he thinks that maybe this is how things are supposed to go.

This is how a heart unravels.

His thoughts race over every scar lining his body, pulling out memories from each one like minnow from a stream until he barely remembers where one begins and another ends. It’s all one solid mass of pain, built upon a reputation he never had any rights to but was forced upon him like a crown of thorns.

He’s no savior.

Couldn’t salvage the title of Champion from a human upstart. Couldn’t save himself from the lies the Druids tried to drown him with. Couldn’t pull them both from the wreckage, but could only watch as someone else cut them free from the Galra Empire.

But Lance looks at him like he has a right to all those things, every failure, every scar. Like he has the simple right to be until he can find something more of himself to want.

Lane looks at him like there’s a soul burning bright within the very center of him, and it’s worth holding on to.