[ that's what he is, isn't he? the center of some cosmic punchline, soft laughter caught in milk teeth. kaeya, his lone eye upturning, but there is no kindness in its study. there is nothing in the frozen boundary, expanses diluc fought himself to cleave. if emptiness has a weight, he thinks it is measured in the way that kaeya's hand leaves. he thinks it is calculated in every step kaeya takes back, in the way he does not lean as diluc leans into the spaces forged (incidental, accidental) in-between. and for all that the hollow in diluc's body keens, the sound that rises from within is tamped down, chewed up, mangled. the corpse of it piecemeals against the solidifying angles of diluc's body, the warning glimmer of his teeth. it cuts through the heat of his mouth, a sharp little sound that fissures near kaeya's hip. cracks in an ice floe, the molten core of some accursed creature digging its way up to see —
shut up, he thinks he says. devoid of anything, devoid of the sweltering curl of a quip — a nasty repartee, kaeya'd always known how to press. he'd known to how to command. no wonder, diluc had thought so many months back, that kaeya took to where he left. no wonder, diluc had thought, that he'd become captain for all of diluc's bitterness. no wonder, diluc thinks even now as he wobbles his way up on unsteady legs, that kaeya is where he is not. existent, separate but never separated. a singular entity, tied together in ways that diluc once could not fully comprehend.
before, he would have never thought to argue with kaeya. he'd have listened. listened, as kaeya would have listened to him. he'd have torn down the sky if kaeya asked, built him a tower to the pitiless expanse of the divine. he'd have cut through sinew of nations, pulled from himself all his vitality to rest upon his hands. he thinks he'd have carved himself open, if kaeya wanted to rest. and now — it's all of his stubbornness that gets him half-way there. all of the pride that he knows one day will kill him. all of the ugliness of wanting, even now, to show kaeya he capable enough to do anything.
see, he says with the blind stumble of his body, see? he's strong enough. fine enough. strong enough. he's all that the diluc of his sound mind can prove, all that the instinct in him simmers at the challenge. see, he heaves, his arm bracing against something toward what he remembers the lay of these townhouses to be. he doesn't need it. he doesn't.
but, it doesn't mean he doesn't want it. it doesn't mean he does not dip into some odd memory, the moments where kaeya would shadow him as much as diluc would shadow him. it doesn't mean, for all of his momentary fever, that some portion of him still doesn't scrabble at the corpse dirt of his body and grieve. ]
no subject
shut up, he thinks he says. devoid of anything, devoid of the sweltering curl of a quip — a nasty repartee, kaeya'd always known how to press. he'd known to how to command. no wonder, diluc had thought so many months back, that kaeya took to where he left. no wonder, diluc had thought, that he'd become captain for all of diluc's bitterness. no wonder, diluc thinks even now as he wobbles his way up on unsteady legs, that kaeya is where he is not. existent, separate but never separated. a singular entity, tied together in ways that diluc once could not fully comprehend.
before, he would have never thought to argue with kaeya. he'd have listened. listened, as kaeya would have listened to him. he'd have torn down the sky if kaeya asked, built him a tower to the pitiless expanse of the divine. he'd have cut through sinew of nations, pulled from himself all his vitality to rest upon his hands. he thinks he'd have carved himself open, if kaeya wanted to rest. and now — it's all of his stubbornness that gets him half-way there. all of the pride that he knows one day will kill him. all of the ugliness of wanting, even now, to show kaeya he capable enough to do anything.
see, he says with the blind stumble of his body, see? he's strong enough. fine enough. strong enough. he's all that the diluc of his sound mind can prove, all that the instinct in him simmers at the challenge. see, he heaves, his arm bracing against something toward what he remembers the lay of these townhouses to be. he doesn't need it. he doesn't.
but, it doesn't mean he doesn't want it. it doesn't mean he does not dip into some odd memory, the moments where kaeya would shadow him as much as diluc would shadow him. it doesn't mean, for all of his momentary fever, that some portion of him still doesn't scrabble at the corpse dirt of his body and grieve. ]