Aah, here's some an angsty AlaKou drabble that is basically just poetry. I've been posting adult-rated AlaKou things on my AO3 account by the way, I'm still under 'kiznais' there as well!

Disclaimer: Magi does not belong to me.

Of Thorns and Flames

We are always pulling in opposite directions but wind up in the same bed. You can call this chemistry, or even symmetry, but we never quite know what it is exactly we're trying to mimic. All I know is that I can't keep pulling thorns out of my palm. Every time you try to hold my hand, they get lodged in deeper. You're so deep under my skin at this point that I don't think I'll ever get you all the way out. I'm still not sure if I'm more afraid of the thorns or the rose that comes with them. I don't know that I'd ever call this love, but I don't know a better word for this kind of feeling. We'll meet up and do this all over again tomorrow night.

But tonight I'm burying the ashes of you under a bed of roses, you should be used to the feeling by now. Of course, I mean this figuratively. You didn't go up in the flames, only your name did. So maybe the flames keep me warmer than you ever did, but they also have a tendency to burn me.

I have a mouth full of paper cuts from all the letters I wrote you but swallowed instead of sending. My mouth feels so crowded with all the words you wouldn't listen to. But I still keep a growing list of pretty words for you under my tongue.

And last night I saw that you had lightning hidden beneath your tongue. You were a sculpture carved out of gold but if I had tried to touch you, you would have broken apart beneath my fingertips like fragile porcelain. The darkness that loomed outside wasn't a match for the flames in your eyes. Your voice is softer than velvet but your blood is constantly boiling within your veins.

I know shadows are meant to be weightless but when yours isn't hovering over me, I feel just a little too exposed. All I know is the sound of your feet hitting the floorboard. Walking away, again. A slamming door.

I can't describe my feelings for you but it isn't unlike heavy breaths after a long run. And this is me saying that I've run out of words to say. That language isn't working in my favor. I don't have any more metaphors to describe your behavior.

I want my insides to stay on the inside for once. I don't have any more blood to spare. I'm pointing at my chest and saying you can't live here anymore. This body was my home long before you laid your hands on it.

So I'm burying the ashes of you under a bed of roses for what feels like the hundredth time, and I'm hoping you'll grow back with less thorns and a flame that doesn't burn so brightly that I'm terrified of you.

We'll meet up and do this all over again tomorrow night, is that alright with you Aladdin?