( it's at least a little bit tempting to pull away. not because he doesn't like it. because he can't imagine how repulsive it must be to touch his face like this. it's repulsive to him, if the patches of torn feathers that've left scars and scabs are anything to go off of. for the most part, at least, his cheek feels normal. besides the feathers cresting over his cheekbones down the side of his face. the skin itself is smooth, pale, untouched. he used to wonder if he could pull all the feathers out if he'd maybe go back to looking normal, and that was a valiant effort for awhile... until... well.

let's not think about that.

anyway, he doesn't pull away. instead, he lets his eyes close and leans into her touch. he couldn't pull back if he wanted to, really. there just isn't any expressing how good it feels to feel touch again. )

He isn't weak. You just don't get it...

( clucking, malak turns and plucks at a feather by his eyebrow, feathers ruffling. julian sighs. )

Alright, alright—listen, I know what you're trying to say. But it isn't that simple. And even if it were, just to humor you... I— I couldn't go back to Vesuvia. I just... couldn't.