citylogs | denied the light [OPEN]

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?

What, you wanna hear that embarrassing shit?

[But he does oblige, despite his words. Daan can't remember the last time he's managed to smile this much; expressing more than a nudge always felt too exhausting, but right now it feels all the easier.

Even if it's still all the more terrifying.]

...For all the things you've done for me. And all the ways you mean to me. Looking out for me, even when I was ready to just let myself be consumed by despair again. Even if I didn't exactly appreciate being smacked in the head in the mall. Or you threatening to break down my door.

Other things, too. ...How... it felt like a triumph when I could make you smile. And I wanted to keep finding ways to do that for you. Your companionship's important to me as well.

...I said this was embarrassing, didn't I?

Heh.

[H E H]

[But seriously, this is very sweet, he thinks. Even if at the time, doing all of that felt more like things he simply had to do, as easy as breathing. Check on Daan. Save him from monster cats. That sort of thing.]

[His hand finally falls back, getting tired from holding it up for so long, but he's comfortable where he is.]

This is the good kind of embarrassing.

Don't laugh at me, asshole.

[But he isn't offended, despite his words. It's weirdly just become part of his love language for the other man.

Though the hand goes down, Daan is keen to place his fingers over it. Just to touch, just to enjoy this a bit longer.]

Good. Because I definitely can't take those words back.

...I hate to ask, but... I want to be sure. How private do you need me to be about this? [because APPARENTLY according to KAVEH it's REALLY OBVIOUS]

I'll laugh all I want.

[You can't stop him, bastard.]

[He doesn't mind the touch, looking more comfortable - honestly, Daan now has the right to touch him as much as he wants to, now, a privilege that most people would probably die for back in the City (like certain people with names that rhyme with Ron Ruixote).]

...Mm. [A good question. He closes his eyes for a moment, pensive.] I will say, I don't exactly want us to scream it from the rooftops. In my profession, to keep it secret would be paramount. It's about protection.

[But...]

I realize it might be harder to hide than one thinks.

[Fingers absently trail over the back of Vergilius' hand, no real directly other than simply wanting to stay touching him. Daan nods, understanding; he wasn't exactly eager to draw attention to themselves either, but he can't help but think of how easily Kaveh picked up on it.

Then again, Daan had been an absolute bloody mess at the Haunted House from desperately trying to revive Vergilius.]

No, I'm... with you on that. And I don't want to make anything more difficult on you.

If I may, I at least want to keep a couple of people informed. Just so there's no surprises. But I don't plan on making it a big deal either. Does that work?

[His fingers gently lift up as the other moves his hand, interlocking. He doesn't think his heart will be perched so directly on his sleeve as to be obvious, but its not like he's the best predictor of such things. He didn't even keep the orphanage secret from his Office, back then, after all.]

...That works. But. [And now he's opening his eyes, a little frown on his face.] Don't tell any of my...well, to choose a word, "employees". I could do without the hassle of them knowing.

[He makes an amused sound, gently squeezing the hand in his own.]

Oh? You don't want me to tell Don? Shame. [A shake of his head.] Yeah, don't worry about that. I don't plan on telling them. Seems like it'd be a real headache for you otherwise.

If you tell Don Quixote, I will snap your head off.

[>8|]

Wow, so fierce.

[Once again, Daan is not intimidated when he probably should be, even a little bit. Welp.]

I won't tell her, I promise. I didn't even show her your stunning photo as a stallion. That's real love right there.

[With a withering stare:]

Maybe I should take back everything I just said about you just now.

Ouch. I thought we had something special. Our torrid love affair lasting a whole five minutes... tsk.

cw: some suicidal ideation

cw: suicidal ideation

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