Ouroboros Spine trouble come knockin'

masa is like a cornered animal now, staring at ro with frantic, furious eyes. ro's hesitation, the nervous stammering—it should irritate him. should make him want to turn away, to shut the conversation down completely.

the words themselves should mean nothing. masa doesn’t need advice. he doesn’t need sympathy. he doesn’t need some weak, bleeding-heart wolf looking at him like he’s something to be fixed.

but still… he listens.

his breath, once ragged, evens out as the pale wolf speaks. not because of the words themselves, but because—without even thinking—he follows the suggestion. the snow. the trees. the cold biting at his exposed scars. his jaw clenches, hating how easy it is, how quickly the chaos in his head dulls just enough to be bearable.

…that works for you?