soft in the way of his heart, soft in the heat of his lungs – soft, when the world itself fixed upon a solid axis and never deigned to spin. diluc had once been an ignorant thing, blessed by the ironies of the gods that knew not his name or his prospects. he had once been naïve, had once been young and full of dreams, never to be listened to. it was that foolishness, that harboring of sin without meaning, that had allowed him the illusion of sweetness to begin with. spun as though hay into each golden thread, it was the specter of love that filled him with hubris. it was the concept that each fantasy, so bright and unconditional and saccharine, was possible as they were everlasting. held tight in the fist of his heart, tucked firm beneath the tongue, he’d have given kaeya anything. he’d have given him the eggshell of the moon, would have carved from his body the strength of his limbs. but now, he dreams only of the evenings that kaeya would listen. tucked to his chest, hollowed to house him as the chamber of seashells, diluc used to think that kaeya would always fit against him just like this: two stars pinned and binary, balanced as they were fixed. where diluc went, so too did kaeya. and where kaeya went, so too did diluc.
it was no use. no matter how he tried to run, how he tried to forget – how might he have? how might diluc have ground his nails into the flesh of himself, pulled free the boundary that was his before kaeya? even without the heat of his vision, the dawning turn of kaeya’s lone eye, there was nothing in him that he could find. no matter how deeply he dug, no matter how far he’d turned from the sun, the darkness reflected only the truth. no matter how far he might go, he would always be there. in the rain dampened parts of himself, in the death of his father, in the fragmentations of his mother held in the moments before he’d awoken to what diluc could call you - it would always be him. ]
Better I didn't accept your drink, then. [ it is a grumble of a thing, tossed across the sheets. for all that diluc knows not at all the clear lines between sincerity and fabrication, he knows there is no mask in the way kaeya’s hands tighten. instinctive, in the basest parts of himself, he scents the tension that holds no fruit. he thinks how blessed he might have been, to be loved. he thinks he’d never deserved the concept. diluc thinks, as all that is selfish and asleep in him inches up against him stubbornly, that he’d always been a perilous thing – forever pushing his luck, thinking he’d never snuffed out the light that was turned over to his sun-bleached palms.
he huffs out once against kaeya’s shoulder, against the cool curve of his throat. the crown of his head rubs once against the dark underside of his chin, potent for all that it is display. he knows – will know – kaeya cannot discern the meaning in it. blind in this way, a fortune – was there ever any wonder that diluc came to be this because of him? ]
[ there's a niggling itch in the back of his mind as diluc's hair brushes against his chin, a faint alarm that he's missing some vital piece of a puzzle he isn't even aware he's trying to put together. it's not a feeling he's particularly accustomed to or enjoys, he who pries secrets out of most everyone he meets as easily as breathing. but then again, he's always been a little bit stupid when it comes to diluc, since the moment they'd met - clumsy in spite of his grace, foolish in spite of his wits, bewildered and blinded in face of someone who burned too bright beyond his comprehension.
beneath his palms and between his fingers and below his head, the softness of diluc's hair reminds him of fur, some wild creature huddling for warmth against the night. rabbit fur, he remembers suddenly, a memory of far younger days - there'd been a family of them once, nibbling on the vine-ripened grapes of the winery. he'd stared at their twitching noses stain purple as they gorged themselves on the winery's lifeblood, thought about the tenderness of their flesh, the fragility of their bones, about proving his worth to this strange foreign family so they'd keep him around a little longer. it'd taken but a moment to stun the rabbits with his slingshot and then slit their throats with a dagger - mother and child, the kits no bigger than the palm of his hand. the fur had been soft then too, blood pumping out to drench his fingers dark copper; he'd watched the light leave their eyes without any emotion save a vague curiosity on how easily a life could be exstinguished - at least not until he'd looked up and saw the expression on diluc's face, felt that same sick swooping sensation of having missed some crucial step somewhere.
his father had taught him survival at any cost, how to freeze his heart into unwavering ice. the courts had taught him how to lie with a smile, to navigate the seas of conversation without compass or map. diluc had taught him, step by fumbling step, how to be human.
it's the only lesson he's never been able to master. little wonder then, that when diluc left, he'd taken some vital part of kaeya's soul with him - the part that borrowed his flame to burn away the darkness, the part that desperately believed if he pretended hard enough he could do better, be better. and now the rabbit has grown into a wolf, snarling and snapping at the world around him - and yet here he still is, lain in bed with the bloodsoaked hunter he knows far better than to trust, so really who's the stupid one here?
(it's him. it's always been him.) ]
Since when have you accepted anything from me at all? [ too sharp, too personal, and he nearly bites his tongue off, hoping against hope diluc won't remember any of this once his fever's broken. he tightens his grip against diluc's hair and back, curls towards him in some mocking imitation of an attempt at a protective embrace - as if there's anything out there diluc needs protecting from more than the one in his bed. ] Go to sleep, Diluc.
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soft in the way of his heart, soft in the heat of his lungs – soft, when the world itself fixed upon a solid axis and never deigned to spin. diluc had once been an ignorant thing, blessed by the ironies of the gods that knew not his name or his prospects. he had once been naïve, had once been young and full of dreams, never to be listened to. it was that foolishness, that harboring of sin without meaning, that had allowed him the illusion of sweetness to begin with. spun as though hay into each golden thread, it was the specter of love that filled him with hubris. it was the concept that each fantasy, so bright and unconditional and saccharine, was possible as they were everlasting. held tight in the fist of his heart, tucked firm beneath the tongue, he’d have given kaeya anything. he’d have given him the eggshell of the moon, would have carved from his body the strength of his limbs. but now, he dreams only of the evenings that kaeya would listen. tucked to his chest, hollowed to house him as the chamber of seashells, diluc used to think that kaeya would always fit against him just like this: two stars pinned and binary, balanced as they were fixed. where diluc went, so too did kaeya. and where kaeya went, so too did diluc.
it was no use. no matter how he tried to run, how he tried to forget – how might he have? how might diluc have ground his nails into the flesh of himself, pulled free the boundary that was his before kaeya? even without the heat of his vision, the dawning turn of kaeya’s lone eye, there was nothing in him that he could find. no matter how deeply he dug, no matter how far he’d turned from the sun, the darkness reflected only the truth. no matter how far he might go, he would always be there. in the rain dampened parts of himself, in the death of his father, in the fragmentations of his mother held in the moments before he’d awoken to what diluc could call you - it would always be him. ]
Better I didn't accept your drink, then. [ it is a grumble of a thing, tossed across the sheets. for all that diluc knows not at all the clear lines between sincerity and fabrication, he knows there is no mask in the way kaeya’s hands tighten. instinctive, in the basest parts of himself, he scents the tension that holds no fruit. he thinks how blessed he might have been, to be loved. he thinks he’d never deserved the concept. diluc thinks, as all that is selfish and asleep in him inches up against him stubbornly, that he’d always been a perilous thing – forever pushing his luck, thinking he’d never snuffed out the light that was turned over to his sun-bleached palms.
he huffs out once against kaeya’s shoulder, against the cool curve of his throat. the crown of his head rubs once against the dark underside of his chin, potent for all that it is display. he knows – will know – kaeya cannot discern the meaning in it. blind in this way, a fortune – was there ever any wonder that diluc came to be this because of him? ]
no subject
beneath his palms and between his fingers and below his head, the softness of diluc's hair reminds him of fur, some wild creature huddling for warmth against the night. rabbit fur, he remembers suddenly, a memory of far younger days - there'd been a family of them once, nibbling on the vine-ripened grapes of the winery. he'd stared at their twitching noses stain purple as they gorged themselves on the winery's lifeblood, thought about the tenderness of their flesh, the fragility of their bones, about proving his worth to this strange foreign family so they'd keep him around a little longer. it'd taken but a moment to stun the rabbits with his slingshot and then slit their throats with a dagger - mother and child, the kits no bigger than the palm of his hand. the fur had been soft then too, blood pumping out to drench his fingers dark copper; he'd watched the light leave their eyes without any emotion save a vague curiosity on how easily a life could be exstinguished - at least not until he'd looked up and saw the expression on diluc's face, felt that same sick swooping sensation of having missed some crucial step somewhere.
his father had taught him survival at any cost, how to freeze his heart into unwavering ice. the courts had taught him how to lie with a smile, to navigate the seas of conversation without compass or map. diluc had taught him, step by fumbling step, how to be human.
it's the only lesson he's never been able to master. little wonder then, that when diluc left, he'd taken some vital part of kaeya's soul with him - the part that borrowed his flame to burn away the darkness, the part that desperately believed if he pretended hard enough he could do better, be better. and now the rabbit has grown into a wolf, snarling and snapping at the world around him - and yet here he still is, lain in bed with the bloodsoaked hunter he knows far better than to trust, so really who's the stupid one here?
(it's him. it's always been him.) ]
Since when have you accepted anything from me at all? [ too sharp, too personal, and he nearly bites his tongue off, hoping against hope diluc won't remember any of this once his fever's broken. he tightens his grip against diluc's hair and back, curls towards him in some mocking imitation of an attempt at a protective embrace - as if there's anything out there diluc needs protecting from more than the one in his bed. ] Go to sleep, Diluc.