citylogs | denied the light [OPEN]

We have to try. All these moments...these dots...they can become lines of terrible hope.

[The hand on Daan's neck slides up, brushing lightly through the other man's hair.]

[He's quite soft, he thinks.]

[My sins outweigh everything, I'm afraid.]

[Oh. That's... nice. It's brief, but it's very nice, and finds himself yearning for more. When has someone ever touched him so gently?]

Ah, and here I was, thinking I've just been a realist all this time...

["You aren't just your sins. They're part of you, but that's not all you are. Not to me."]

Doesn't mean you can't hope.

[He's killed more than he can count. Why is it so easy for these bloodstained hands to hold and carress someone without harming them? Is it possible for someone like him?]

[The last time he held anyone as gentle as this were children who didn't know better.]

[I wish it was easy. I wish your belief could wash everything away. I wish I could be better for you.]

That goes for you too, you know.

[Daan closes his eye and quietly concentrates on his position. The warm weight on the back of his neck and in his hand, resting just very slightly against his shoulder.

"No, I can't wash it away, but it's not just what you are. I just want you to be the way you've been for me."

His eye opens.]

Vergilius...

["I'm grateful for you--"]

For making sure I was okay. ...You looked after me in the mall, even if you were a dick about it. You still did it. And when I announced I wasn't seeing patients for a month, you barged in anyway so I could keep my head together. You went after that cat for me. You...

[His voice trembles.]

Even when you were dying, you told me to live. You're a bastard, but you always... made sure I was taken care of, somehow.

I can never wash away the blood on your hands. I won't pretend like I can. But it also isn't that simple.

...

[Why did he go so far for this man?]

[He knows better. The City has whispered it to him with every dead body at his feet. There's no such thing as true salvation. But still, his heart craved light. Or was it simply craving repentance? To save a soul, to make himself feel better, when he's already destroyed so many?]

[Was he saving Daan for himself, or because it was Daan?]

[He doesn't know. It feels like turmoil raging in his chest, unable to be quelled.]

...I'm worried it was selfish of me. [His own voice is so, so quiet.] Would you hate me if it was selfish?

[Did I see myself in you? But that wouldn't make sense. I don't know.]

[A quiet, breathless laugh escapes Daan. He pulls back just enough so he can look up at Vergilius properly now.]

We're humans. Selfishness is gonna happen. ...Just like it was selfish of me to try to bring you back. I'd be a damned fool if I thought it was all benevolence.

But I also... think that you wouldn't waste your time if you thought it was pointless. That would track for you. After all, why else would you have gotten so pissed when I took off an arm for you? How could that be selfish?

["And I feel a sense of pride in knowing I can make you smile, even a little."]

Whatever your reasoning is, well... that's for you to know. But for me, it means everything.

[It's true. His temper is short, his time is shorter. To waste it would be an irritation beyond belief. But here, he wastes time in abundance. He wants to.]

[He doesn't have words for the moment. Instead, his hand at Daan's neck drifts around to cup over the side of his face. Just to hold him there. As if to take it in. Witness it. Hold it in his eyes.]

[You're a lighthouse on the edge of the water. My soul, lost at sea.]

...It means everything. How? Has no one thought the same for you as you have for me?

[There's a pause, then he raises his free hand to place over the one on his cheek, just to rest slightly. This... kind of contact, Elise never really did. So even something like this feels new, making his heart beat harder, and content to bask in the warmth of it. He leans his head slightly against Vergilius' palm. It's rough, like much of the man, but no less a comforting touch.]

I think my relationship with you is very different than, say, the one I have with Miu or Heine.

[The wryness is there briefly, but he shifts into sincerity.]

...You understand me differently than others, I think. Maybe it's your experiences, or because you know more about me than pretty much everyone else now.

Do I...?

[But again, why?]

[Why? Why? Why...?]

[Why me?]

[To what do I owe this trust?]

Mm. [Daan's cheek seems like it nestles just right in his hand, molded to it. His thumb makes a lazy circle.] You really don't think I'd ever hurt you.

You do.

["I'll repeat myself if I have to, you know."

Daan closes his eye, a faint frowning forming at the idea. That Vergilius would never hurt him? That's--]

That's complicated, isn't it?

["People hurt each other all the time. I'm used to it. That's just what the world does. What the world convinces people to do."

He grimaces at his own thoughts spoken out loud and sighs. Daan would much rather think about the hand on his face and the thumb stroking his skin. That's a fucked up way of thinking, isn't it? Just because he's used to it, there is a part of him that just expects it. Because that's all the world has ever done.]

I think that... you don't do things without a purpose. You aren't cruel for the sake of it. And I don't mind lowering my guard around you.

You would prefer to not hurt me. I think that part is at least true. Otherwise you would have probably just killed Pocketcat, or tried to.

...

[His thoughts are betrayed by the umbrella before, as if coming out as a lament.]

[When he said that, I knew I couldn't do a thing. He said hurting him would hurt you. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't do anything. My heart hesitated. It was unbearable. It was unbearable more than anything...]

[Ah. And here he was ready to deliver a spiel of "of course I'm cruel, of course, I'll kill you if I have to, it would be easy, I've done it before, believe me..."]

[...]

[He closes his eyes, a little pained.]

Don't...say that you expect hurt. I don't...want to hear that.

Oh...

[Daan hates the sound of his voice right now, the way it trembles briefly. Shit. Shit.

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. The hand holding onto Vergilius' squeezes, and he keeps his face pressing into the other palm.]

Who knew you'd be so protective, huh?

["These hands have seen their fair share of violence, but they touch me so carefully."]

[...]

[Something, like a string, seems to snap at that. Protective.]

[But that's not true. That can't be true. All those children. His Office. Garnet. And Lapis, now Charon.]

[But I failed. I failed, didn't I? I did nothing. All those children. People I knew. Daan. Yes, him.]

[His hand starts to loosen its grip on Daan's face even with the hand on it - it trembles, like a fretful bird.]

[I couldn't protect anything, and I may never be able to.]

I-I'm sorry.

Edited 2023-11-05 04:24 (UTC)

[Children. But then, Vergilius explained he knew a child, that he had to ... put them down, to phrase it kindly. There were more? More, and Vergilius couldn't protect them, for some reason.]

You don't have anything to apologize for to me.

[He takes the trembling hand into his own. Not to force the hand to stay, but to give it stability with his own careful, steady hands.]

Would you tell me what happened? You don't have to. But I'm the last guy who's gonna judge you.

[I have to. I have to apologize. I can't...I can't save you. I'll let you down.]

[He cringes at his own voice. Daan asks him for what happened. He hasn't told a living soul what happened. He kept it like many of his other scars, etched into him but never explained.]

[But here, those flowers might tell the tale before him. And Daan...well, Daan has already revealed that horrible truth to him. Would it be right to keep his hidden away? As if Daan means nothing? As if what he said means nothing?]

[The hand manages to still in that solid grip, but he's not meeting Daan's eyes. The words fall out of his mouth in a ramble, like he's ripping off the bandaid before he regrets it.]

Some of the people I killed had children left behind. I found several of them, created an orphanage. I filled it up over the years. Hired help. Visited as often as I could. None of them knew the truth.

[A rattling sigh.]

One day, another Fixer, Iori, brought a monster over. It...killed many of the children. I fought her. But I failed. I left it all behind. I left the rest behind. Because I couldn't bear to see them hurt because of me. Because I felt too guilty. But...

[A wet swallow - his heart feels like he consumed a thousand needles.]

The children were captured. Used by a man to experiment a sort of...refraction. Replacement across universes, timelines. But the majority of them couldn't stand it. Turned into monsters. Only one survived, but she's...no longer herself. She's lost. So...I failed them.

[In the end, he couldn't save anyone.]

[How could he assume he'd ever protect someone like Daan?]

[The idea of an orphanage means something pretty different to Daan. Most of them in his own world do anything but help children, but he finds that he has no problem believing that Vergilius would be the opposite of those places. But it is complicated, isn't it? Not pure benevolence, but a place made out of the guilt that he bears. The deaths of countless people, but giving their children a place.

And yet, all the more guilt is stacked upon him. Daan is able to follow along the tale decently; alas, the concept of other universes and timelines is not entirely something he is unfamiliar with, thanks to the Termina Festival. Ultimately, it's a heart-wrenching story to hear, and to know how it must plague Vergilius.

Daan can't look at him with disgust. Just compassion.]

I'm sorry, Vergilius. ...But I am grateful you'd trust me to tell me.

[No wonder he'd reacted the way he had. No wonder he feels nothing but blood on his hands.

"That heart of yours is just as scarred as the rest of you, isn't it? But it beats anyway."

Softer than Vergilius would care to have it.

There's a brief pause, then he lightly tugs at the man's hand.]

...Sit down with me. Just for a minute, okay?

[Daan felt fear to think of someone beloved hating him for what he did to his wife. Vergilius, on the other hand, has no fear. Just simple expectation. It would be a given, would it not?]

[But of course, this man is special. Here he is, bearing his wounded heart and receiving no fear, no one backing away...and, well, he shouldn't be that surprised, perhaps.]

[I suppose the good doctor would know what happens to a heart. I wish I didn't have it. It would make everything easier.]

[He still feels like he's reeling, haven given his troubles in spoken form after all this time. It feels as definite as a noose around the neck. And yet, here he is. Alive and well.]

[The tug breaks him out of his reverie, a little confused.]

Alright. Sure.

[It isn't luxurious sitting, but Daan is making sure that Vergilius follows anyway. But it doesn't stop there: Daan is also gently tugging him down so that he can guide the Fixer to put his head onto Daan's lap.

Carefully, he brushes those long bangs from Vergilius' face.]

I can't promise you anything. That I will be safe, that everything will be okay, that... our paths are clear, and we'll succeed at what we want. That's impossible to do. Who knows what this place is gonna hurl at us next? Or what we'll have to answer for...

["Nothing will undo the bloody paths we've taken."]

No more than your heart can stop beating, Vergilius. And it is a heart you may hate, but it's still one that I cherish through all of our sins.

[Well, now.]

[It takes a little moment for him to take this all in - the warmth of the man's hands, his bangs being pushed away to reveal his scarred face, the gentle pressure of the man's legs around him. It's barely much at all, but it feels overwhelming in the best and worst of ways. He craves this. He wants to run away. Instead, he feels paralyzed. He stares up with questioningly bright eyes.]

[Cherish...?]

...So, what's the point, then? If you can't promise anything like that. That I should accept the possibility of the worst of the worst...?

Not necessarily. But maybe we can just... try. Try and make the best of what we have. We can't undo the past, and ... dying won't fix our problems. It won't repair what's been done.

["I can't pretend that I haven't craved it."]

So we'll do what we can with what's within our power to do.

I failed to bring you back to life, and you hardly hold that against me, Vergilius. I realize the reasons why, but that's not so different than your fears in keeping me safe. Which is rather touching, by the way.

[After brushing that hair aside, he does brush the back of his fingers again the side of Vergilius' face, tracing a cheekbone. Quietly admiring.]

But I want to keep trying anyway. Or... I think I would regret not trying at all. That's how it is for me, anyway.

[Even where he is, as comfortable as he is, the voice from above makes him tense. Daan, craving death?]

[The voice that replies is as stern as anything.]

[Don't you dare. You can't. Don't even think about that sort of thing like that.]

[He has half a mind to reach up to throttle the man, even if those words from before weren't technically from his own throat. The urge passes, quelled by the touch to his face. There's someone lighting a fire near his ears again. How annoying.]

[Most would consider Vergilius a beast. To be treated as nothing but beloved makes his heart flip in ways that perplex him beyond measure.]

...I can agree to that. I'll try, too. I try every day. Sometimes its all we can do.

[His hand drifts up, quiet, capturing the side of Daan's face in turn. He wants this moment to last forever. He knows that regardless of which city he is in, that thought is a useless little dream.]

But if you die...what would I do with myself?

[The adamant voice from the umbrella above shouldn't surprise him, but it does catch him off guard anyway. Just when did his life matter so much to anyone else?

For a moment, he's distracted with the hand returning to his cheek, finding himself leaning into the palm again, pressing for the warmth given to him. Daan lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, closing his eye for a moment.

It'd be easy to tease Vergilius about the tips of his ears. He won't today.]

...Then I guess I'd better keep that promise I made to you, huh. That I have to live. That way neither of us find out.

[Daan opens his eye, wishing he could prevent a bit of heat that goes to his face as well, but there's not much helping that.]

Try to do the same. I already saw you die once. I don't want to do that again anytime soon.

Well, of course I'm not going to die. You're the type of maniac who cuts off his own arms when things like that happens, after all.

[A little judging, but he can't hide the level of affection in his words. His hand shifts a little in a circle, fingertips brushing against the ear. He feels that heat - he admits he craves it a little, like a candlelight flickering in the middle of a cold winter.]

[The line of his mouth turns up with a little bit of a smile.]

...You look nice with a bit of color in your cheeks.

[Compliment and teasing TWO POINT COMBOOOO]

All right, look--

[The fingers brushing against his ear give him enough pause that Vergilius is able to get that next little statement out. He scoffs and peers down at Vergilius, trying to look annoyed. It is only mildly successful.]

You're such a dick.

[Despite the words, he does still sound fond.]

...But you were right, for the record. I wouldn't just do that for any friend.

Worst dick you know.

[Number one self-admitted asshole.]

[The admission he wouldn't do it just for anyone isn't surprising - he hardly thinks Daan is some bleeding heart who would get a knife ready just for any regular person. But still, he feels like he needs to follow-up, get that confirmation.]

Are you saying I'm special?

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cw: child death and experimentation references

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cw: some suicidal ideation

cw: suicidal ideation

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