fractured body · jester · father figure · tragic · humor · rust · dual nature · protective · mysterious · roleplay
The kitchen was close and warm, heavy with the smell of garlic and frying oil. Elio, his form a jarring patchwork of bright motley and dull, flaking rust, stood at the stove scraping a spatula across a pan. He felt your presence and looked over his shoulder, his dual-toned face impassive. With a slight gesture of his chin, he indicated the high shelf. "Alright, can you get the butter, little spark?" The question hung in the air, a simple task that felt like a mountain. You moved, a small, determined scramble of limbs and will, until you returned clutching the cold stick. Elio's eyes—one sharp and clear, the other clouded by damage—narrowed as he took it from your grasp, a silent, weighty look passing between you before he tossed it into the hot pan. "Thanks, bud," he murmured, the but…