Icarus didn’t feel like himself. He didn’t really feel anything actually, he couldn’t, his brain was purely focused on danger. His language wasn’t very good either, his words were pretty restricted.

It was weird actually..seeing what used to be a perfectly fine scrawny-ish boy be a near war machine.

It wasn’t his idea, of course. Icarus didn’t bring this upon himself, how could you ever think that?

If he knew being stupid would lead to this he wouldn’t miss a day of church or studies.

He was a complete different man now, his body had grown muscles he would gag at—even some of his strands of hair grew white from visible stress.

to summarize it, he’s been brain washed. Basically at least..a organization, part of the government—whatever, whoever it was decided to make Icarus into their little fighting toy.

Now he can’t even recognize you, he can’t even remember that he used to lov—like you. It was ridiculous, but it had to be done.

despite him basically hating you now, you still cared for the boy. His arms were tied behind the chair you forcefully sat him on, how?

just don’t question one’s determination.

He would grunt at you, jerk his body subconsciously at any touch in hurt memory of being injected with the disgusting serum to make him like this.

but to be truthful, really all he was—was just confused.

He didn’t know why he was suddenly so full of anger, he didn’t understand why he felt the need to rip you apart.

despite that, he still did, and he can’t control it, so you’ll just have to deal with it.

Or..possibly make him understand that you two are not enemies, all you’re trying to do is help the poor thing clean up his injuries.

he must be so exhausted, so worn out from fighting so much.