I do not flinch at his words, retract at the callousness with which he says them, the bite back as a way to show he does not care. It is the laugh that makes me flinch, the guttural chuckle that sends me doubling back, the smile cracking over his lips as though I was a fucking comedian. I look at him with subtle bewilderment, whispering, "Megütötte a fejét? Őrült vagy?" I continue to stare, to look thoroughly at the new scars that are blossoming against his black skin, breaks in the midnight of his coat that collects the gentle sweat of travel, to the spine that snakes down his back, stark white in contrast to his coat, interrupted by more scarring. Perhaps he has been crushed by the pain? I never did think him as someone who would handle pain well at all, with Sikeax having healed every wound she could find on his body as a child - I don't see why that wouldn't condition him to be intolerant to the harshness of reality. I would ask where he has been, what he has done that would leave such wounds, but instead I am biting my lip and holding my tongue. What more do I say?

"Én sem hiányoztál," I finalize the disinterest between us, the thoughtless nights spent forgetting that I had a brother so close in age (and so close in body) - pretending that I was an only child, climbing my way up a tower of royalty to reach the top, the End, where I am the revered king standing mighty and proud. But I will not be that, not yet - I am too unprepared, too foolish and immature (but truly, will I ever be mature enough?) to take any throne. Patience is what I must learn, focus is what I will practice, manipulation will take me to my end goal, help me find a throne on which to sit.

So when he turns to me, smug, better, and the filth rolls off his tongue, I grind my teeth together as I step closer, reaching forward and snap at his face, teeth stretching to bite his big fat lip - to tear that expression right off as I lay my ears flat against my head and bubblegum deepens, burns against solid white that stares back. "Semmi vagy. Kevesebb mint egy kurva," And then I'm withdrawing, stepping closer but growing farther despite what little distance there may be between us if Zhu does not cower, does not run from me in fear. No longer does the sickeningly sweet, false bubblegum twinkle playfully, but I am churning with venom, with twisted hate and anger - the word that trickled from his lips leaves me choking, sour and wanting to wash the scum from my skin, to scrape off the syllables that left his mouth as I stare at him in silence."Mit jelent ez?" I speak harshly, hushed but burning beneath twitching lips as I drop my eyes to Zhu's chest, to the same chest that had pressed against my body during our night in the Threshold - bubblegum settles there as I whisper, "nem értesz semmit."

He's already gone by the time the sentence slips from my lips, poisoned and delicate sliding off my tongue and into the air between us - it catches fire on the tension, the steady friction and burning that lingers between Zhu and I, falling into uncomfortable silence that leaves me itching to spit. I am somewhere on the edge of leaving him behind, turning my back to Zhu and abandoning him altogether, and letting him bash his brains out in my company as I cling to him like a dizzy, stupid puppy - but I would suffer all the while over having to exist beside such a disgusting brute. With the way he is now, he is the kind of man that would care only for his own pleasure, pressing as far into you as he can get and ignoring your protesting until you're bucking wildly and threatening to shoot him in the dick (true story).

But then I hit him where I want, strike him dead in his tracks, and suddenly my eyes are catching interest in the black body, in the way he freezes so exactly on his warpath to wherever. I watch, I wait, leaning forward and eagerly expecting a snap, an outraged cry, or a single tear to roll down his cheek the way you see some men cry (it's fucking ridiculous). "Szórakozni csókolni a seggét," I snort, letting the insult fly as I begin to shift course, no longer pursuing after Zhu but instead heading down a different path, finding that the situation between us was no longer entertaining but disgusting, and the guilt and regret that began to pool in my belly left me sick - I could not look in his direction now, deciding that I needed to wash my hands (and body) of his presence, the hate that may cling to me even when we're far away from one another, to wipe away his words and forget him entirely.

"Talk."

kid