I've Got Thick Skin And An Elastic Heart Novels & Stories

Blue eyes, not icy or pale, but deep, sharp like glass submerged in clear water. Skin not pale, not tan - just right. The kind of skin that catches sunlight and makes you forget how cold the world is. She walks like the world’s never touched her. But I’ve seen the way she flinches when people raise their voice. The way she spaces out mid-sentence like she’s remembering something she can’t talk about. She’s paper skin, bound in iron. A porcelain doll with barbed wire in her chest. And I think I’m already fucking in love with her.

Replaceable. Just like reputations. A thin sting blooms in my palm as one cuts. I don’t drop it. Instead, I squeeze.

Not peaceful-empty. Missing -empty. Like waking up to find a limb gone. The constant pressure of the prison, the whispers, the weight —gone. Just... hollow. My skin feels too thin. My bones too light. Every breath is too deep, like my lungs don’t remember how to work without resistance.

The sensation of a heart turning to stone is not a sudden numbness. It is a slow, rhythmic agony of friction. Every time my left ventricle contracted to pump blood through my body, I felt the microscopic grind of quartz crystals forming along the myocardial wall. Silas was right about the biology of the Palace. The Elder resonance was too dense for a mature human vascular system. To channel the power of a god, you had to become the altar.

It burns through the bandages, through my skin, down to the marrow. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. For a second, I swear I can feel a second pulse under it—deeper, steadier, not mine but somehow inside me. It pushes against my chest until I can’t breathe, and then something in me gives way, like an old scar popping open.

My heαrt wαs pounding wαy too fαst. "Killiαn..." I whispered‚ then louder‚ "Killiαn?" My voice cαme out crαcked‚ desperαte. My skin felt too tight. There wαs α pressure inside me‚ deep αnd αngry‚ like something wαs crαwling under my skin. I needed him. I needed him so bαdly it hurt.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> NOVA _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She grabbed the explanation before it could get away from her. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "I've always been like this." Too fast. She knew it was too fast, but she kept going anyway because stopping mid-sentence was worse. When I push hard or get nervous, my skin heats up. Cheeks, neck, all of it. It's just how I'm built. Nothing to do with you."

She wanted to speak, to ask what he meant, but her tongue felt thick and dumb in her mouth. Mykhol’s voice dipped lower, taking on the quality of silk brushing against bare skin. "It wouldn't take much, really. Hearts grow fragile with age. A slip in the bathhouse—those marble floors can be treacherous when wet. A midnight walk in winter air—the cold does terrible things to old blood. Or perhaps..." He paused, head tilting as though considering possibilities like items on a dinner menu. "An argument. Passion runs high in political matters, and passion can do such terrible things to a man with a weak constitution."

I need you more than ever and I can no longer imagine a life without you in it. And I thank you, for accepting me regardless. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for accepting me, the guy who was known as a "psycho". ~end :)

What is all this mad and crazy feelings telling him that he can do the impossible? "hey you are going to hurt yourself if you continue this way" someone said, and he stopped. After a few minutes, he turned to look at the person. He saw the guy who is also physically built just like him, just a bit taller and quite muscular than him, "thanks but I really need this"