Wrathion studies Anduin, the blue of his eyes and the bright gold of his hair. The softness of his smile. This close, it is easy to see the slight redness around his eyes from the earlier upset -- the shadows lack of sleep has given him. The faint imperfections in his skin.
Anduin has grown since he was the shorter-haired prince who hobbled around the Tavern in the Mists, playing games with him and laughing at him. The scant few years have aged him so quickly.
Humans are so delicate.
Anduin may be afraid to lose him, but Wrathion doesn't know how to admit to him the other way around is a near certainty even if no harm comes to either of them.
His fingers flex into Anduin's arms, eyes dropping away for a moment as he thinks then lifting back up -- brow furrowing.
"I would never wish you to be anyone else," he says softly, "than the man who has tried so hard to offer me his friendship, even despite the suffering my family and I both have caused him."
no subject
Anduin has grown since he was the shorter-haired prince who hobbled around the Tavern in the Mists, playing games with him and laughing at him. The scant few years have aged him so quickly.
Humans are so delicate.
Anduin may be afraid to lose him, but Wrathion doesn't know how to admit to him the other way around is a near certainty even if no harm comes to either of them.
His fingers flex into Anduin's arms, eyes dropping away for a moment as he thinks then lifting back up -- brow furrowing.
"I would never wish you to be anyone else," he says softly, "than the man who has tried so hard to offer me his friendship, even despite the suffering my family and I both have caused him."