citylogs | denied the light [OPEN]

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?

[There's a pause. Sure, Daan has been absolutely dancing around the core of it, even if perhaps what he's said and done has been obvious. Contact and pretty words can do a lot of the heavy moving, but he knows he hasn't blatantly said his intentions and what weighs on him.

And it's probably better that Daan says it himself before some damned flower does it for him.

It feels harder to do than most things he's done in his life. Maybe because it's such a delicate thing, and too often those moments of joy seem so rare in his life. Still, he doesn't want to let this moment go without its deserved clarity.]

To me, you are. Even though you're a prickly bastard.

[He swallows hard.]

I love you.

[His eyes widen.]

[It reminds him of his feeling with the orphanage - one of those singular days where the happiness of the children was so palpable at the sight of him bearing gifts, it became something that seeped into his very being.]

[The emotions he felt and saw were more than he deserved.]

[The hope he felt that day. The despair he felt that day.]

[And here, now, it feels like the flower umbrella up above is a pale imitation of the bouquet of feelings spreading throughout his chest. It's been more than obvious with everything that has happened. The way Daan looks at him. The poetry. Being so adamant to save him to the point of self-mutilation. In a way, he always knew. But he was afraid to witness it, to say it directly, to engrave it into his eyes. Something as definite as this would certainly be destroyed if it took form.]

[And now here he is. He's never been happier. He's never been more sorrowful. He's doomed the man.]

[He's doomed himself.]

[And what to do now? He knows better. He can't have this. He doesn't deserve this. He knows he could say it over and over again to the point of making himself even more hoarse. But he knows Daan would be there to refute him again, and again, and again. Would he even mind it? Damn his heart.]

[He opens his mouth. Words don't come, right away, and there's a fear, suddenly. That the damn umbrella will take its chance, ruin this, and say his words for him.]

[His voice feels like the resigned creaking of a floorboard in a lonely house.]

I...love you too.

[It's been brewing a long time. Maybe it always has, since the day he met Vergilius. Mixing him a drink and getting to understand his new cage. It could've been later, he supposes, but he'd always enjoyed the other man's company either way. However it began, this is where they are now.

It seems loveless isn't a terribly suitable username anymore.

The admission Vergilius makes almost sounds painful, and Daan can understand why. The amount of guilt that weighs on the man, the fears he no doubt holds for this situation. Hearing it back does give Daan joy, of course it does, but he wonders how he can possibly reassure him.

Daan turns his head, hesitantly and very carefully pressing his lips for a small kiss against Vergilius' palm, cautious as anything.]

I'll be more careful. [Another tiny, light kiss against his hand.] Just... try to do that also, all right?

...I'm a little scared, too. But I want this.

...I will.

[Ah, the burden of love. There's never been a better leash he's encountered in his life. His connection with the children, with Garnet, with Lapis - it all forced him on the path, fixed him to a flow. It condemned him and saved him in equal measure. He's sure this will be similar.]

[For better or for worse, this string has been attached.]

[The kiss is almost too gentle for skin that has been roughened and scarred. His fingertips twitch. His lips twitch.]

[With the flower umbrella above them, it almost frames Daan's head like a halo.]

I've never...had anything like this. [......No, not even with Roland. Not even then. Nothing. Nothing at all. He feels a little lost.] Where...do we go from here?

[There's a pause as he considers. Daan's life with Elise was... complex. He loved her, still loves her, even as he's starting to recognize the flaws that were there. And maybe... maybe frankly, he'll never know the truth of her death, or the truth of her feelings. The temptation to know remains, but hardly enough to take up on a crooked cat's deal.

As it is, he doesn't have a good answer. Where do they go from here? Good question indeed.]

I guess... let's take it slow for now. While we figure it out.

But we can keep doing what we've been doing. I like what we have already. It's just... you deserve to know how much you mean to me, too. I want to be kind to you, but... [He gives a small, helpless smile.] I also like giving you shit, and that's not gonna change, either.

Of course you fucking do.

[Bastard.]

[He heaves a little huff of a sigh - his hand turns so he can take Daan's ear between his fingertips, tugging a little as if to admonish him. Even the voice from above can barely hide its affection.]

[His heart is beating heavily through his chest - its not a rushed, anxious feeling, but it almost feels like a little bit of adrenaline has been injected into his veins. Like a bird who's realized that the cage door is open, but has never understood what it means.]

I won't be nicer, either.

["YOU'RE a bastard, too."

The tug only earns a soft, amused noise, and he allows himself to more comfortably smile. It's still a frightening thing, isn't it? To have this, not knowing where it leads. If it means they'll come to regret it, or come out stronger for it.

He couldn't think of a reason to not try.]

Good. If you were, I'd be convinced it wasn't you.

[The world hasn't collapsed.]

[They have not exploded here and now. Nothing as far as he knows has come to an end.]

[He still feels it, of course. That hanging feeling of "this can't last, this won't last, you know the well of karma will have its due". He doesn't know how to be rid of it. Maybe even after this, he'll go home, stare at the wall, and ask himself if this is something he can even bear to go through.]

[Fixers are not made to have relationships, right?]

[He remembers a man, with tears streaking down his face under a mask, his suit soaked in blood.]

[If Daan dies, and dies for good, will he take a page from that book? (Ha. Book...]

["No matter whose death unfolds before me, I have resolved to walk down this path." He once told himself.]

[......But Daan is smiling. He's smiling, and he can't help it. His heart has always been a vulnerable thing.]

Say. You kept saying you had a list of reasons why you'd never let me go. What was it?

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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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