citylogs | denied the light [OPEN]

...I tried to kill you, once.

[He replies directly to the voice up above - now he's drawing back ever slightly, the needle-like pain in his heart feeling intense, like a burning building.]

It would be right to be afraid.

[There's a moment of conflict inside of him. He wants to pull close again, keep him there, but he won't-- he can't do that to Vergilius.

Thankfully, the plants aren't giving away everything in Daan's heart.]

I wasn't scared of you, Vergilius. ...I'm only scared for you.

Besides. I'm... the one who killed you, anyway.

["All I could think was to change your fate. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try."]

I don't hold that against you.

[He'll say that as much as Daan needs to hear. The City is built off of death. If he dies, he'll regret what he leaves behind, but its written in stone as much as anything. One day, he will die.]

[He shakes his head, as if he can't bear to hear what the man says.]

You don't....need to move the world for me, Daan. The world would be better off without me in the end.

Vergilius...

[How does he say what he's feeling in his heart from those words? Misery? Despair? Ah, but he doesn't need to sort it out, because the plants in this damned city sure love to share such secrets. The darkest, the most pitiful--

"There's nothing for me back home. Nothing and no one. What else is new? I made arrangements for when I don't return. Cold forest, raining, running, flesh against stone and dirt, the building howls and blood is in the air--"]

Stop. [His voice almost sounds like it's pleading.

"The world would be better off? Then forget the world. I would've carved off more, but I'm a man of my word."]

You shouldn't...

[He starts, stops, expression crumpling into something a little helpless. His red eyes are overshadowed by his hair. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of this.]

[Do you consider yourself as substrate for others, doctor? Should you throw yourself in the fire for something like this? I've already descended into the depths of the Inferno. I refuse you to follow.]

[He shakes his head.]

You shouldn't...break your heart on account of me.

Can't I decide what I get to do?

["Here I am again, in that familiar pit of despair. How do you break something already broken? The world doesn't owe us anything, the world won't care about anyone. It just keeps turning, no matter how much you bleed or weep."

Daan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Get another mask, run little rabbit run. Cut your ears to a point."]

...Then let me go if you're so eager to push me away. [He doesn't even sound angry. Just weary, worn from his own words, ready to mourn what only existed inside of him.]

[Being killed felt easier than this. He would rather bleed out now than feel the sorrow in Daan's expression, that exhaustion apparent in every line of his body.]

[I felt my eyes tremble for a moment.
I planned to walk the path on my lonesome.
But the red light shining from a jewel shattered to pieces,
The warmth of that light offered to me by a child, both familiar yet different,
That single sentence from a stranger which compelled me to turn my head, if only faintly, to the light,
And a faded promise from the past...]

[Ah. A memory of a time he also faltered because of his soft, soft, pathetically moved heart.]

[Another whisper, voice cracking.]

[Why does this thing called a heart not work as I wish it to?]

[He trembles, raising a hand to rub over his eyes.]

....I can't.

[Not all of the words he hears make sense to him, but they still hold significance. Something happened, enough to crack into Vergilius' heart. Did it have anything to do with that gray-haired girl he saw with him in the mall? Was it something else?

Vergilius can't let go. Daan probably can't either, even if it is to hide away somewhere.

He hesitates; it's easy to slip back into the weight of his own gloom. It's always been easy, but he tries to fight it. Even a little.

So Daan reaches up, placing his hand over Vergilius'.]

Then know that no matter what, you're worth it to me.

Even... if you can't find that worth. Because I can.

["I can list the ways and worth you are to me with ease."]

Edited (hang on i gotta change it to a different sad icon so i dont just repeat it ldskfh) 2023-11-03 17:07 (UTC)

[With ease? How? He could say the opposite. The sins of the Red Gaze, outlined in full.]

[(Then again, his Office, they hadn't cared. They were all in the same boat. Sinners, all, a happy family before the nature of their work led them to their end. No. That's not right. He did. He could've stopped it.)]

[(In the end, he's always the maker of his own suffering.)]

[The hand on his feels like it'll burn through him, melt him like wax. Those vivid red eyes peek through the fingers, usually cold, but now lost like a flickering candle in the woods.]

[Daan. Dear Daan. That heart will be the death of him.]

[Hence why he feels so fiercely he needs to protect it even more.]

I don't...want you to be hurt.

[If you're hurt, that's another failure on my shoulders.]

And I don't want you to die. So, we've gotta meet somewhere in the middle.

[There's a pause, then slowly, selfishly, he interlocks his fingers with the other man's. The scars lining around Vergilius' hands make them rough, but he doesn't mind it. Despite the sheer strength in the man's body, Daan treats him like he'll shatter at the wrong move. The way someone would handle priceless treasure.

"The heart might as well be made of glass, for you and me."]

I don't want to be another part of your guilt, or your regrets. No more than I think you want me to carve away pieces of myself for you.

Can't we do better than that?

[Again, the question comes in his own head. Why? What has he done? Their hearts are glass. But Daan shouldn't bother with his.]

[What could be so special about him that he could receive such words?]

[The hand interlocking with his feels like that time - a mirror (ha) of that scene when his brain had been filled with thoughts that at the time seemed so wild and reckless. It was merely a spell. It was merely magic. So he thought.]

[Because what explains the thoughts now? Where is the spell, here?]

...How can we?

[Not a statement said of disbelief, but more wondering. Is it...even possible?]

[Can they do better?]

I'm not sure. I don't have that answer, but...

With you, I'd like to try to find out.

["I don't give it freely, this feeling of mine."

Which is true enough. Daan has been cautious and careful, unwilling to keep himself vulnerable. But he can afford to with Vergilius, he thinks. There have been too many times in which he's been exposed and it wasn't met with disdain or manipulation.]

...Tell me to let go, and I'll... let go. But only because it's what you want me to do.

["I don't want to, but I'd give you want you want."]

["You ARE a menace."]

You're a menace and a half.

[He won't hesitate to echo his own voice here, tilting his head. Like some steadfast barnacle, unwilling to peel himself from its chosen place.]

[His thumb makes a little circle over Daan's hand.]

One would think you'd find better specimens to be this generous with.

[Ah.

That earns a startled, tired little laugh out of him, and his hand squeezes Vergilius'.]

Okay, but you won't get rid of this menace, so what's that say about you?

[There's still the hint of dreary grief in him. Not yet gone. How could it be, after all of this? But this does feel more natural.]

I told you, Vergilius. I have a list of reasons. Even if you don't agree with it.

That I'm very bad at getting rid of menaces.

[That seems to be the truth. Even as hard as he works to try to keep people at arm's length, they come worming in like he left a door open somewhere.]

[My house is too open for soft things]

I obviously need to be meaner to you.

Heh, clearly.

[There are things he yearns for, but he won't ask. Not now, not when they're still raw and exposed and vulnerable. But... maybe this is enough, fingers curled against his.]

Gonna be more of a bully, then? What a rude bastard.

[too bad he's into it]

...I'm glad you're here, Vergilius.

[I think you like it.]

Mm.

[Is it selfish, to like holding his hand like this? Well, yes. It is.]

[But maybe he can allow himself this, just this once. A little secret for himself, before the wave of guilt buries him once more.]

[He gently smiles.]

I'm glad you're here too, Daan.

["I do."

In turn, Daan lets himself hold onto this moment, the way Vergilius smiles. It feels like a small victory.]

You'll change your mind once I start making trouble for you.

[This is enough. After all, Daan has given away his most guilty moment in his life to Vergilius, the truth of it looming over his head as he assumed it would mean he'd be hated. He wouldn't have blamed the man.]

Well. I think I'm burned out on this supposed museum, personally. You?

Bring it.

[I like it, too.]

[The tips of his ears feel a little warm - he turns to glance around them, as if the admission from above somehow makes him more vulnerable than anything it whispered before. Acchem.]

...Yes. I think we need to complain to the staff. Nobody needs to see this junk.

[Oh. That's kind of endearing, the way his ears seem to warm up, but Daan just smiles a little bit at the sight. He keeps it to himself.

Even the umbrella is keen to do so.]

Hm, I wonder if there's a suggestions box?

[There's a pause, then he steps close again, just enough to brush his cheek against Vergilius' shoulder. It's careful, just a bit of contact, but... he feels a bit lighter. Better than the dark cloud over his head earlier.]

Second time to a museum, and I gotta say, not sure if they're for me.

Need to make one if they don't. Just for the principle of it.

[It might be a light gesture, but it makes him feel like he's melting all the more, too weak, too covetous of the warmth of a human touch despite knowing better.]

[His free hand goes up, cups over the other's neck.]

Yeah? When was the first time?

Sounds like a good idea to me.

[Ah. For a moment, goosebumps prickle up his arm at the touch, but he closes his eye and just enjoys the warm hand on his skin. Whatever, he can feel guilty about this later and dwell on it.]

Mm. It was a museum in Prehevil. You can imagine how good that was for me. A lot of the ... people in there were basically doing everything they could to enjoy themselves. And the interior didn't follow the usual laws of physics. Kind of fucked up, but I'm sure that's not shocking of me to say now.

I'll write the angriest notes. You know me.

[A little exhale...of course it was fucked up. Of course.]

Let me guess. It was created by some god's whimsy?

[A helpless shrug.]

Rher's Termina festival, I guess. I assume, anyway. That cat was in there, just waiting to act as a merchant. Everyone else inside... they could speak, but they were still malformed. Acting in revelry, like it was their last days.

Well. It probably could've been worse.

That already sounds bad.

[Again. That damned cat. I can't stand that thing. It took you away from me.]

...Mm. [Yeah.] Moonscorched, again? When you say...malformed.

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