Fics like like a knife, it glints in your eye

Burakh takes a second too long to pull away. When he finally does, the anger in his face has given way to a stunned uncertainty that seems at odds with his sharp features. At some point, his hand has fallen from Daniil’s throat and come to rest at his chest; Burakh only notices now, recoiling as if burned. “What the fuck are you playing at?” he mutters. It’s a pointless question, and Daniil doesn’t bother answering. He can almost see the gears turning in Burakh’s head, leading him to that same inane leap of faith.

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