TIKI.

          his oculars danced in his sockets, observing everything but the other’s hues. eventually, they landed, finding an offering hand outstretched to him. when his eyes are directed down, it placed emphasis on how heavy his eyelids are. FOLLOWING STRANGERS IS DANGEROUS, but tiki never listened to his conscience.

            he wasn’t a man of many words, he nodded his consent instead.

---

         where were they? tiki is nescient of that detail. he was never an observant man, and because of how he was raised, he never asks questions. the only thing he knew was that they’re somewhere more private, where no one can condemn them for WHAT THEY ARE.

           ❝ i’m… tiki, i was… born with… this. ❞

                      _{———IT WAS A PLACE THAT ELLIOT HAD CALLED HOME LIKE ALL OTHERS ; a faceless, nameless room at a dingy bed and breakfast. to say he had much of a home would be like saying a migratory bird had one nest. he offered the young man a glass of water and some packaged snacks he’d bought for the road. the man had come only to travel, to see, and he’d done it in the way a hitchhiker had some semblance of an idea where to go.}

      _{❝ tiki… my name is elliot. ❞
the name chosen, not given, but certainly a name. he picked through a bag of trail mix, noting that the absence of pain beneath his nail. there was much to talk about.}

❝ are you religious, tiki? i suppose we could start there, if you’d like. ❞