<div style="text-align: left"><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(211, 211, 211)">[bcolor=transparent]Byron went stiff the moment Octavian's arms wrapped around him. Slender arms avoided the wounds on his back and he could feel the other's heat. It was amazing. He'd known Octavian was smaller than him but feeling the difference in their size just brought it all into perspective. He wanted to protect him. To make sure nothing ever hurt him. That he was safe and happy and warm. God above, he couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him. Had seemed so happy with him, with something he'd given him. Octavian was special, amazing, and Byron didn't give a damn that he was a mutant. He had to be the kindest person to ever breathe. And Byron would give Octavian whatever he could to make him happy, because he'd made Byron happy. Much happier then he had any right to feel.[/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]He couldn't help but twist his arms around Octavian, clutching him close. The muscles in his arms flexed but he was careful not to hurt Octavian. It was the last thing he wanted to do. He leaned his head forward a little, just enough to press his forehead to the other's slim shoulder. He was close enough to Octavian's ear where he didn't need to raise his voice to be heard, "I'll come back, with a gift, because you...you make me happy and hopeful as well,"[/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]Oh, he hated how flat his voice sounded, because he meant every word. A life so hollow and empty now had it's bright points. All because of Octavian. If the other asked for the moon he'd kill himself trying to get it. Maybe it was silly, stupid even that he was so willing to do almost anything for someone he'd met less than a day ago. But no one else had ever shown him any sort of care. Just the opposite in fact. If Byron remembered how to laugh he would have. It was horrid but...but at least he had something good now.[/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]Unsure if the hug had gone on too long he let his arms slip from around Octavian, a shiver running down his spine at the lack of heat. He really hadn't wanted to let go of the smaller man. He was warm and sweet and Byron just felt happy around him. Holding him, feeling Octavian's skin against his own, had been the most pleasant feeling Byron had ever had and letting go physically hurt. Just as much if not more than the lashes on his back. Though thanks to Octavian's treatment they had dulled down to only a minor ache. So long as he didn't move his shoulders too much it didn't hurt too bad. [/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]He knew he should get back inside the wall. That the commander would send someone to check on him at some point. To ensure that Byron had "learned his lesson," and hadn't left his post. Though it was tempting to just forget all of that. To sit next to Octavian and give into exhaustion. To let it drag him under and finally sleep, something he hadn't been able to do in over twenty-four hours. How nice would that be? To drift off sitting next to Octavian, who smelt like wild flowers that Byron didn't have names for. To rest his head on the slender man's shoulder. Though given how much bigger he was than Octavian he might crush him, so it was probably for the best that he couldn't. Of course Octavian might not let him. Simply because the other had given him a hug didn't mean he wanted more contact with Byron. But oh how Byron wanted more. To hug and touch, not in a sexual way but just to feel another person. To feel him there. To know with absolute certainty that Byron was not alone anymore. [/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]Well if he was able to get what he wanted then perhaps he'd be able to get another hug. Though for the moment he was content to just enjoy Octavian's presence.[/bcolor]<br/>
[bcolor=transparent][/bcolor]</span></span>​</div><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(211, 211, 211)">[bcolor=transparent]~*~[/bcolor]<br/>
[bcolor=transparent][/bcolor]</span></span>​</div><div style="text-align: left"><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(211, 211, 211)">[bcolor=transparent]The sun was just over the horizon, the sky smudged with various shades of blue and yellow. The air had a bit of a bite to it, not so much as to be unpleasant but enough to where Wren was awake the moment he threw back the covers. The cold helped him think and the heat made him unable to think about anything but pitching the next idiot who didn't know how to treat their machinery in the river. Not that he was ever in a 'good mood' at least not according to the villagers. 'Quick to anger' was what most people said, if they where feeling kind, if not it was 'asshole'. Of course they wouldn't say it where he could hear. He was the only one who could fix their equipment. Not just the more complex machinery, but plows and other simpler things. More often then not he fixed trinkets; music boxes, clocks, and the like. It enabled him to buy food so he couldn't complain, especially not when he had other mouths to feed. [/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]Those mouths thankfully still being asleep. [/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]He made his way to a small washbasin he kept in his room and splashed water on his face; careful as always not to poke his eye out with one of his claws. They where large, hook like, and tipped black scaled fingers. In fact everything from his elbow down looked as though it'd been taken from a bird of prey and grafted to his body. Not that those where his only bird like features. His ears where covered in feathers and flexible, twitching more like a rabbit than any bird Wren had ever seen. He also had a tail, it too was covered in feathers making it appear longer than it was. Twice as long in fact unless he clipped the damn thing, which he did because he didn't want to drag all those feathers around and get them stepped on. Then there where the less than bird like, but clearly inhuman features; fangs, eyes who's pupils where cat like slits, snow white hair and lashes. Of course he was still deemed more 'human looking' than most which had been a problem where he'd been born. [/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]And made him stick out among his more avian looking siblings.[/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]With a grumble he pushed the thoughts away and changed into his work clothes. Despite being washed they still smelt like grease but Wren didn't mind. Nor did he mind that they where worn. He wasn't anyone's pretty little bird anymore. He was a grumpy shop owner far from that life and that suited him much better. He headed out of his house and to his shop. Well technically he lived above the shop so it wasn't a long walk and he could have spent a bit more time in bed as few people would be coming to get something repaired so early. However it wasn't as though Wren lost anything by opening early, he could use the time to reorganize spare parts and make a list of things he needed. [/bcolor]<br/>
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[bcolor=transparent]The shop was simple and like his clothes smelled of grease and oil. There where wrenches and screwdrivers and boxes holding washers, screws, and nails everywhere. Organized by a system only Wren understood. There where several tables piled with broken machinery that Wren had traded for and was either fixing to sell or scrapping for parts. A heavy oak desk sat in the back of the room with ledgers and books heaped on it. The books detailing the repairing of things Wren rarely if ever saw. The floor was specked with tiny bits of metal and Wren grabbed the broom, careful not to grip it too tightly so his claws didn't get stuck in it before heading to the door and unlocking it. The last thing he did before he began sweeping was flip the closed sign to open. [/bcolor]</span></span>​</div>