notes— anon on tumblr requested a spin-off of three sixty. not really sure if this makes sense. definitely sure i don't care either way, bc fucking cobra guys ughhhh
grey violets
;;
you're my backbone, you're my cornerstone;
you're my crutch when my legs stop moving.
.
.
"I—" A dry chuckle leaves his mouth (ah fuck, he sounds nervous), "I've always been this way. With you. You're—… You were different."
The moment the words leave his lips he knows he's said the wrong thing because her expression clouds over just the tiny bit, she leans back in her seat like she's trying to get away from him and she mumbles, "I'm different."
"Not like that," he cuts her off before she can continue, "you've always been, that's not what I mean. It's— " he's making a mess out of this, Christ "—it's me who's different. I mean, when," he coughs to hide the way his voice suddenly goes quiet, "when I'm with you. —was, shit." He laughs again, but it's a grating sound, pained and awkward, and it makes them both wince. "See, I'm never like this, stumbling over words and fucking— god."
A tiny smile starts to spread across Kinana's lips. He watches as it grows into a memory and he finds himself willing to stutter and stammer for the rest of his damned life if it's gonna make her bloom like that.
The thought sparks a flashback; he's reminded of their first meeting — "Kinana? Is that a flower or something?" — and with it comes a weight pressing against his shoulders. She doesn't remember any of it.
"Um… Cobra-san—"
"No, that's not…" Cobra shifts in his chair.
"Sorry," Kinana hurriedly backtracks, "I didn't know if I should… I mean, I don't— I don't remember how well I knew you. I don't remember you at all." Her hand twists around her wrist; she stares at the table, unsure. "Or… anything, really."
But it's been years and she still wrings her hands when she doesn't know what to say. The heat in his chest, powerful and overwhelming, is enough to overcome any walls he was thinking of keeping around her. Because, well— it's her. She's always been his weakness, she's always been the reason behind his ruin. She's always been the bricks of his foundation.
.
.
"You know me well." Kinana chews her lip — he was so quick to answer. "And I know you better than anyone."
Her eyes find his, and the look in them frightens her. "You knew—"
"I know." He's glaring at her now, his intense gaze making her uncomfortable. But she can't look away, she doesn't want to, not at all. She just…
The girl this man is seeing— this mysterious, intimidating, exotic stranger is seeing is not her—he's not looking at her and she constantly has to remind herself of that. She reminds herself when he reaches out to pull her hand from her wrist, taking it in his own and tracing the tattoo with his finger; and when he leans forward, keeping her trapped in her gaze; and when he grins at her, slow and lazy.
"I do know you," he insists. His fingers are hot and when he skims the skin of her wrist just so, she has to suppress a shiver. "Better than anyone. And I can prove it, right here—" his breathing slows down and she mimics the pace subconsciously "—right now. If you want."
She reminds herself yet again, but it falls on deaf ears. Because Kinana is not in the habit of denying herself the truth — and honestly, truly, from the deepest part of her heart to the fingers he holds in his own, she wants.