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The sheets rustle as he tosses and turns late at night, his mind swimming with too many thoughts and worries, sleep eluding him for far longer than he'd like.
Kinich closes his eyes as he tries to focus on resting, on his breathing, on the air entering and leaving his lungs but that just brings to his attention something else. He's not alone.
He never is, not truly, not since he was young and made that contract.
Now he lays there, turning his awareness to the weight in his chest, the pressure against his bones, the solidity of something not his own. Kinich's mind drifts along that presence, aware of the flimsy border separating two souls crushed together in one flesh.
Ajaw is not asleep either, not fully at least, a dull static accompanies the pressure as it always does, something that makes his bones itch, makes his skin tingle and his mind dull.
The pressure is crushing as it shifts, taking his air and his thoughts as it shifts in his lungs, burrowing deeper, sinking under his ribs and he swears he hears the bones creak. He knows they don't and briefly wonders if they should. If he should bleed when it cracks and pierces skin, when the soul inside him departs, pushed out by the ancient presence in his gut.
A clawed hand wraps around his heart, stealing a beat as it squeezes. His blood flows under it, called forth by it's lord, the one true master of this body. He knows that thought brings Ajaw pleasure, can feel it in the way a tail wraps around his spine, not-there scales scraping against bone and nerve.
He should be worried. He really should. But he can't be when he feels that warmth inside him. The weight of a second heartbeat against his own, a presence that chases away the dark and the thoughts and the worry, leaving only the almost-too-much pressure that threatens to break him with every breath it takes.
Ajaw wouldn't though. Not now at least. That's what Kinich hopes for as he feels claws pressed against his liver, a ghostly sensation that makes him slowly float towards slumber even as alarm bells ring in his mind, a mind that is also invaded by the quiet rumble of a purr, a sound that doesn't fit the one making it but succeeds in relaxing him all the same.
He sleeps then. With soul imposing on his, crushing him so softly under it's warmth, taking all the space his worries usually would. At last he sleeps.