Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb

The more he watches, studying with deep eyes that go lengths beyond understanding to hide every bit of his feelings, the anger, hatred, all of his dislike from Kid that continues to bottle up and squeeze the bottle ever tighter, the more he is sure Kid will never last long. He is weak. He is small, stupid, as the words that endlessly pour from his mouth diligently confirm without hesitation for their barer, everything Zhu never wants to become.
Even in the darkest hours of his life and the days that come too quickly to end his life does he still carry on his vows to never fall into such a state. Pride will not be taken from his hands. Not from Death, not from either of his parents, not from the weakling that his mother has attached herself onto without a second thought as of her actions, and surely not Kid.
But he breaks. A scowl, sneering with mouth now deconstructing itself into a mess of wrinkles that clot around one another, tearing open their stitched bellies to reveal teeth broken cracked into points and jagged peaks. They do not dare part as they left themselves become exposed, a last symbol of strength as his willpower finally succumbs to his emotions.
Hobgoblin’s wail falls short as the dragons arrive, pulling together the separate pieces of his mouth and letting the puzzle pieces fit back into one another's’ places. Once his body has found itself in a whole position does his skin, bones, muscles, everything with mercy to his brain and soul, slip and slide into one another, mixing and searching for their new hands to hold as his body contorts to it’s master’s request. From the other side escapes a black cat, landing with grace as his paws kiss the earth, instantly rupturing into movement as yellow eyes trail a singular red form.
As if under the cue of his dear father’s presence, Zhu’s roughly but quietly eases back into the previous resting form, rising into his stance without even a bat of a lash towards Kid. He doesn’t see the quick change of the older boy’s face nor want to acknowledge the feeling of embarrassment that is coming along slowly. Would his father judge him for befriending without thought? For choosing to be around something as lowly as Kid? Any expression that Volterra generates, either facial or bodily, hangs under the watchful eyes of his son.
Kid is the one to break, and in return for his outburst, gains the slow turning of Zhu’s head in his direction, staring with the same eyes as before, letting his anger grow into a mass pleading for release. The tail hanging behind his legs halts and promptly coils until the last strand of hair no longer sweeps the earth. It swings once, twice, three times in this position as the boy’s ears lean forward, drinking all of his words.
The short amount of words directed towards him is ignored. Somewhere else, Hobgoblin chirps once for the crimson dragon’s attention, calling someone he’s not sure if he should consider a friend down to his side to enjoy the show with him.
Volterra, at last, like the shining beacon of the aging boy’s life, gives the cue. Release your rage.
His lips spread with the sensation of having once been glued together, rising his eyes to meet his father’s, gazing with intent to please and bring pride to his father’s heart. “Apa.” Words roll out of his mouth like hard stones and weigh the same.
“Nem.” Heavier and coarser this time.
“Harc csak Kid.”
With this, his moon eyes glare in the direction of his brother, waiting almost impatiently for the cue to lunge his ‘brother.’

Hungarian Translation:
Apa - Father
Nem - No.
Harc csak Kid - Fight only Kid.

"Talk."

zhu