Zelos’ voice was grounding, his breath warm against Malba’s ear. It made sucking in and releasing his own breaths a little easier, and it lessened the tremors working up and down his frame. “Hah...” Of course, and then there was that cool touch, soft and careful and—and fucking perfect in all the ways Malba didn’t deserve but was so grateful for. It was his weakness, and Zelos knew it all too well. He knew just how to—well. To make Malba rest against him, how to get him to breathe around the guilt and the memories and the fucking mess that muddled his thoughts.
“What’d... I do to deserve this, huh?” he mumbled aloud, his voice tired, hoarse, muffled, and really, it was another stupid thing to say, even if he did try for a teasing, grateful tone. No lightening the mood; It fell flat.