[He's abandoned as much as he could. His only light forward is for the sake of a lost boy, burning like a red star, and a girl who is no longer who she used to be. That's all. That's it. No one else. And at the end, his own soul would be laid to rest, and that is that ("this is this" comes an echo from a familiar voice, far away).]
[Can he believe Lobelia? Stubborn man. Horrible man. He wormed in, killed him, tore out his heart. That same man who pushed him to despair is now pulling him up towards a brighter light. He needs it too, selfish young thing he is.]
[For some, the truth comes far too late, revelations coming at the end of life when the path forward can no longer be taken. "Death" was a release in much the same way that it was a new beginning, but Lobelia wouldn't have come to the realization that more awaits for him than the same persistent emptiness he's always known if it hadn't been for Vergilius.
Vergilius. His guide, his reason to exist, his path forward. Lobelia quietly presses their foreheads together and watches Vergilius through the veil of his lashes, considering how dutifully the man guided him towards genuine happiness and wondering what must be done to guide Vergilius just as effectively.
A long road lies ahead of them, but Vergilius taught him well. If someone like himself, hollow and broken, can be made whole, there isn't a doubt in Lobelia's mind that Vergilius can be pieced back together too.
With all of that considered, Lobelia falls silent until he can answer Vergilius in earnest.]
...Oui. I love you, Vergilius, even if your feelings do not mirror mine. That means it's my role to guide you to happiness just as you have for me. You have my word that I won't stop until I've seen my duty through.
[He doesn't know what his feelings are. Yes, perhaps they don't mirror Lobelia's. It would be simple if they did, but he's not that kind of person. He hates him. He tolerates him. He feels he's an anchor to hold onto in the bitter night. He wants to tear him apart. He wants to put him together.]
[He noses along the edge of the other's cheek for a quiet moment. His next words are like a whisper.]
[A simple 'thank you' is more than enough for Lobelia. It's splendid, fulfilling, like a shining gem he's been entrusted with protecting. Still, if anyone is grateful here, it is himself. Without Vergilius, he truly would have nothing.
Lobelia's acknowledgment comes in the form of a hum, joining Vergilius and closing his eyes.]
You're welcome. Now get some rest, hm?
[There's no guaranteeing that sleep will help Vergilius feel any better, but if nothing else, Lobelia knows that resting will give his mind an opportunity to compartmentalize that mess of emotion in him and bring him back to his baseline. If that will set Vergilius back on the correct path, then Lobelia will insist he get as much rest as his body demands.]
[What are you, his parent?? WHO IS THE DILF HERE????]
[But he's keeping his eyes closed despite the little huff of a statement. Sleep, huh. Even now, he feels like he's drifting off a little bit, the tension in his muscles easing. He still has Lobelia close - the hand against the other's back moves, and the wound from his finger stings, ever so slightly. A little raw. A little new.]
[Lobelia hasn't decided whether or not he'll join Vergilius in napping. There isn't anyone here he'd consider a threat against Vergilius' safety, but it doesn't hurt to keep an eye out, does it?
On the other hand, he finds that even if he wouldn't mind sleeping for a time, he's a bit too wound up to rest anything more than his eyes. Why that might be is nothing he lets his mind linger on, but beneath Vergilius' touch, his muscles remain tense.]
Mm... Oui. At the moment, I suppose I am. Why shouldn't I be?
[He's a little surprised at the question, one eye cracking open, the light from it like a passing candle held by a person at a door in the nighttime. He can feel the tension still, and wonders on it.]
[His thumb makes a circle on the other's back muscle, between the ridges near his shoulder blade.]
[—Ah, so Vergilius noticed the tension in his muscles. That doesn't surprise Lobelia, but it does inspire a chuckle and a crooked, if genuine, smile. Drawing in a breath, Lobelia attempts to relax, but it's not particularly effective.]
Would it have concerned you if I wasn't?
[He does his best not to sound too haughty when he asks, lest Vergilius treat him to another round of cbt.]
["Concerned" is an interesting word. Surely Lobelia has sung his praises to the moon and beyond in terms of his devotion and love for the man, even after his murder. But Vergilius hasn't expressed much of the same, choosing actions over words. Then again, does he know if he can feel concerned for such a man? Worry for him? Care for him?]
[He finally lets out a low hum. His finger is idly drawing a tree, puffy at its top.]
[Lobelia has never expected love from Vergilius in turn, anticipating his devotion to be a purely one-sided affair and resigning himself to that fate with ease... and yet he can't answer Vergilius' simple question as effortlessly as he had before.
He's happy, isn't he? Of course, of course. What could make him happier than having Vergilius? There are moments where he feels his elation much more strongly than he does now, but it's not as if he's anything close to unhappy. Still, he's happiest when Vergilius is embracing him, when his red gaze is boring into his own, when he's on the receiving end of his ravenous touch. A simple "thank you" should suffice, and yet...]
...I suppose I might wonder as well. Unfortunately, in such a case, I don't think I would have a proper answer for you. This is all quite new to me.
[Even what relationships he had at home were temporary at best, purely physical itches at worst. Fixers, at high levels, simply understood they were not made for bonds. His kids were an exception, perhaps, but...]
[New in a bad way? Vergilius really is perceptive. Lobelia isn't one to easily admit when he doesn't understand something, but he considers Vergilius' question with an arched brow and attempts to puzzle through the issue and come up with an answer. Think, think, think...
In the end, he opts for honesty. He'll accept the blow to his ego in the vain hope that discussing the matter might produce the answers he's looking for.]
Would you believe me if I told you that the answer eludes me? Something isn't quite right, but what that something might be... Well! I'm sure the answer will dawn on me eventually. I am a genius, after all.
[One can practically hear the eye roll in his words with that one.]
Genius or not, this is new to you. Hm. [What could be bothering him? He's trying to understand, himself, brow furrowing. He does lean on a light statement for now, masking his own slight confusion.] You're not missing your conches, are you?
[Vergilius suggestion manages to urge a lighthearted laugh out of Lobelia, at least. His precious conches... Please don't remind him of the real execution that took place after trial.]
Heheh! Perhaps that's it?
[No. I know that isn't right.]
Conches are the perfect medium for controlling sound, and while it's true that my heart aches terribly without my archive, this is a different sort of feeling. Somehow, this is much more uncomfortable!
[Ah. Uncomfortable. That's one way to put it, right? He's making progress.]
[He moves - a shift of the hands on his back, dipping his head to place his ear against the other's chest.]
[The heart beats, like it always has. Sometimes something like this would comfort a child with tears streaking down their face, unsure whether the pain they were feeling was physical or entirely emotional. It was always the latter.]
[Eh? Ehh?? He blamed the loss of his archive on his bruised and battered heart, but maybe Vergilius is right...? Lobelia doesn't have long to consider before there's an ear to his heart and his pulse immediately spikes. It's the feeling of being caught doing something wrong, but why?]
...Suppose that it does. What is the cure for a broken heart?
[Love, love, love. It all comes down to love in the end, doesn't it?
Lobelia doesn't meet Vergilius' answer with one of his own— not a verbal one, his pulse gradually slowing, arms coming up to keep the other man tucked close to his chest.
Love, perhaps? Turning Vergilius' words over in his head, Lobelia laughs an almost self-deprecating laugh, having realized something.]
Happiness is what my parents insisted I pursue at all costs, and yet love is a measure more valuable, isn't it? Heheh! What a fool I am.
[That statement could use some elaboration, but in lieu of that, Lobelia rolls onto his back so it's easier for Vergilius to remain lying with his head against his chest, protecting the heart steadily beating beneath him.]
Should it not be enough to express my love for those I care for? Is it not enough to simply love you, Vergilius? I don't suppose you have the answer either.
[He doesn't even resist as Lobelia pulls him over him, ear still pressed to his chest. If he listens closely, he can almost hear the flow.]
[This flow cannot be stopped. He can't stop Lobelia's love. He can't stop himself from getting caught up in the torrents, either. But should it be one way, like this?]
[Lobelia is throwing endless amounts of ropes for him into the well. Should he reach out and grab it?]
...Perhaps it isn't enough. You need something in return.
[Something in return. Vergilius dug around until he struck something tender, and when he does, it's evident in the way Lobelia's pulse quickens anew. Something in return. Instinctively, the first sounds out of his mouth are laughter.]
I've made it this far without demanding anything in return, haven't I?
[But there's a difference between surviving and living an empty existence and thriving with all of one's needs met. Honing in on the truth, Lobelia is less and less comfortable with it.]
I've survived this long on my own without demanding that others love and care for me. I don't need them to. Surely I can continue on as I have without issue.
[Now he's the one feeling like the man has pushed his hand into his chest again, something aggravating about the last few statements. Of course he recognizes them.]
[His mouth pulls into a grimace, his own heart quickening like he's been accused of some crime, but what crime, he doesn't know.]
...Sometimes it best to prevent you from being hurt, Lobelia. That's all.
[It's not hard to pick up on Vergilius' frustration, potent as it is, but why would he be angry? Why would he be upset? Lobelia glances down at him, but naturally, there are no answers to be found. Rather, the answers come to him through Vergilius' words.]
Hm...? Where is this coming from, Vergilius?
[As if he needs to ask when he has his hunches. Ones he wouldn't have settled on had Vergilius simply said nothing at all, but now he's clued Lobelia in. Now they're talking about this.]
What pain do you fear might come my way? More importantly, who is the assailant?
[He wants to elaborate. He doesn't want to elaborate. He's looking at a bleeding wound and he doesn't know how to fix it. He's reminded of it constantly. That forest made it sting and sputter and pulled at it like a cruel thing.]
...You saw it. [He says, finally, his voice gruff.] It takes things away.
[This is the biggest difference between them, isn't it? Lobelia has lived his life knowing nothing will last forever, the memory of those things contained within his mind, within the confines of a conch shell, only to be relived through recollection. Lobelia has never taken an issue with that. Never will, so he'd like to think, glancing down at the man on his chest.]
Can you live your life in fear of everything you'll lose? Life is finite, Vergilius. Eternity only awaits the damned. It's as they say: it's better to lose something you've loved than to have never loved at all.
[But none of that is news to Vergilius. Even so, Lobelia has a question for him.]
[Can you live your life in fear of everything you'll lose?]
[Yes.]
[Because he has.]
[Because even as he expected it, even as he was aware of it, it still happened. Knowing it would've happened didn't change a thing. He expected the other shoe to fall, and it did.]
[He doesn't meet the other's eyes, a bitter taste at the back of his throat.]
....I don't deserve to truly "live", Lobelia.
[In the end, the karma was just payment. He obtained happiness. But it was never meant to be.]
[Everything would be taken away from him in time.]
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[......]
[What does he even say to that?]
[He's abandoned as much as he could. His only light forward is for the sake of a lost boy, burning like a red star, and a girl who is no longer who she used to be. That's all. That's it. No one else. And at the end, his own soul would be laid to rest, and that is that ("this is this" comes an echo from a familiar voice, far away).]
[Can he believe Lobelia? Stubborn man. Horrible man. He wormed in, killed him, tore out his heart. That same man who pushed him to despair is now pulling him up towards a brighter light. He needs it too, selfish young thing he is.]
[He closes his eyes, finally.]
Mm. Dunno. Are you offering to be my guide?
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Vergilius. His guide, his reason to exist, his path forward. Lobelia quietly presses their foreheads together and watches Vergilius through the veil of his lashes, considering how dutifully the man guided him towards genuine happiness and wondering what must be done to guide Vergilius just as effectively.
A long road lies ahead of them, but Vergilius taught him well. If someone like himself, hollow and broken, can be made whole, there isn't a doubt in Lobelia's mind that Vergilius can be pieced back together too.
With all of that considered, Lobelia falls silent until he can answer Vergilius in earnest.]
...Oui. I love you, Vergilius, even if your feelings do not mirror mine. That means it's my role to guide you to happiness just as you have for me. You have my word that I won't stop until I've seen my duty through.
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[Another sigh.]
[I love you.]
[He doesn't know what his feelings are. Yes, perhaps they don't mirror Lobelia's. It would be simple if they did, but he's not that kind of person. He hates him. He tolerates him. He feels he's an anchor to hold onto in the bitter night. He wants to tear him apart. He wants to put him together.]
[He noses along the edge of the other's cheek for a quiet moment. His next words are like a whisper.]
...Thank you.
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Lobelia's acknowledgment comes in the form of a hum, joining Vergilius and closing his eyes.]
You're welcome. Now get some rest, hm?
[There's no guaranteeing that sleep will help Vergilius feel any better, but if nothing else, Lobelia knows that resting will give his mind an opportunity to compartmentalize that mess of emotion in him and bring him back to his baseline. If that will set Vergilius back on the correct path, then Lobelia will insist he get as much rest as his body demands.]
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[What are you, his parent?? WHO IS THE DILF HERE????]
[But he's keeping his eyes closed despite the little huff of a statement. Sleep, huh. Even now, he feels like he's drifting off a little bit, the tension in his muscles easing. He still has Lobelia close - the hand against the other's back moves, and the wound from his finger stings, ever so slightly. A little raw. A little new.]
[A quiet question.]
Are you happy?
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On the other hand, he finds that even if he wouldn't mind sleeping for a time, he's a bit too wound up to rest anything more than his eyes. Why that might be is nothing he lets his mind linger on, but beneath Vergilius' touch, his muscles remain tense.]
Mm... Oui. At the moment, I suppose I am. Why shouldn't I be?
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[He's a little surprised at the question, one eye cracking open, the light from it like a passing candle held by a person at a door in the nighttime. He can feel the tension still, and wonders on it.]
[His thumb makes a circle on the other's back muscle, between the ridges near his shoulder blade.]
I just wanted to hear if you were. That's all.
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Would it have concerned you if I wasn't?
[He does his best not to sound too haughty when he asks, lest Vergilius treat him to another round of cbt.]
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["Concerned" is an interesting word. Surely Lobelia has sung his praises to the moon and beyond in terms of his devotion and love for the man, even after his murder. But Vergilius hasn't expressed much of the same, choosing actions over words. Then again, does he know if he can feel concerned for such a man? Worry for him? Care for him?]
[He finally lets out a low hum. His finger is idly drawing a tree, puffy at its top.]
I would wonder why.
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He's happy, isn't he? Of course, of course. What could make him happier than having Vergilius? There are moments where he feels his elation much more strongly than he does now, but it's not as if he's anything close to unhappy. Still, he's happiest when Vergilius is embracing him, when his red gaze is boring into his own, when he's on the receiving end of his ravenous touch. A simple "thank you" should suffice, and yet...]
...I suppose I might wonder as well. Unfortunately, in such a case, I don't think I would have a proper answer for you. This is all quite new to me.
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[Even what relationships he had at home were temporary at best, purely physical itches at worst. Fixers, at high levels, simply understood they were not made for bonds. His kids were an exception, perhaps, but...]
[He sighs.]
What's new in a bad way?
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In the end, he opts for honesty. He'll accept the blow to his ego in the vain hope that discussing the matter might produce the answers he's looking for.]
Would you believe me if I told you that the answer eludes me? Something isn't quite right, but what that something might be... Well! I'm sure the answer will dawn on me eventually. I am a genius, after all.
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[One can practically hear the eye roll in his words with that one.]
Genius or not, this is new to you. Hm. [What could be bothering him? He's trying to understand, himself, brow furrowing. He does lean on a light statement for now, masking his own slight confusion.] You're not missing your conches, are you?
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Heheh! Perhaps that's it?
[No. I know that isn't right.]
Conches are the perfect medium for controlling sound, and while it's true that my heart aches terribly without my archive, this is a different sort of feeling. Somehow, this is much more uncomfortable!
[Ah. Uncomfortable. That's one way to put it, right? He's making progress.]
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[He moves - a shift of the hands on his back, dipping his head to place his ear against the other's chest.]
[The heart beats, like it always has. Sometimes something like this would comfort a child with tears streaking down their face, unsure whether the pain they were feeling was physical or entirely emotional. It was always the latter.]
So you're saying your heart aches?
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...Suppose that it does. What is the cure for a broken heart?
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.....
[What IS the cure for a broken heart?]
[Why would...his heart be broken?]
I don't know.
[Another pause, something feeling like its staring him in the face, but he still can't see it.]
Love, perhaps...?
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Lobelia doesn't meet Vergilius' answer with one of his own— not a verbal one, his pulse gradually slowing, arms coming up to keep the other man tucked close to his chest.
Love, perhaps? Turning Vergilius' words over in his head, Lobelia laughs an almost self-deprecating laugh, having realized something.]
Happiness is what my parents insisted I pursue at all costs, and yet love is a measure more valuable, isn't it? Heheh! What a fool I am.
[That statement could use some elaboration, but in lieu of that, Lobelia rolls onto his back so it's easier for Vergilius to remain lying with his head against his chest, protecting the heart steadily beating beneath him.]
Should it not be enough to express my love for those I care for? Is it not enough to simply love you, Vergilius? I don't suppose you have the answer either.
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[They're both fools.]
[He doesn't even resist as Lobelia pulls him over him, ear still pressed to his chest. If he listens closely, he can almost hear the flow.]
[This flow cannot be stopped. He can't stop Lobelia's love. He can't stop himself from getting caught up in the torrents, either. But should it be one way, like this?]
[Lobelia is throwing endless amounts of ropes for him into the well. Should he reach out and grab it?]
...Perhaps it isn't enough. You need something in return.
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I've made it this far without demanding anything in return, haven't I?
[But there's a difference between surviving and living an empty existence and thriving with all of one's needs met. Honing in on the truth, Lobelia is less and less comfortable with it.]
I've survived this long on my own without demanding that others love and care for me. I don't need them to. Surely I can continue on as I have without issue.
[Sounds familiar, doesn't it?]
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[Now he's the one feeling like the man has pushed his hand into his chest again, something aggravating about the last few statements. Of course he recognizes them.]
[His mouth pulls into a grimace, his own heart quickening like he's been accused of some crime, but what crime, he doesn't know.]
...Sometimes it best to prevent you from being hurt, Lobelia. That's all.
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Hm...? Where is this coming from, Vergilius?
[As if he needs to ask when he has his hunches. Ones he wouldn't have settled on had Vergilius simply said nothing at all, but now he's clued Lobelia in. Now they're talking about this.]
What pain do you fear might come my way? More importantly, who is the assailant?
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[He wants to elaborate. He doesn't want to elaborate. He's looking at a bleeding wound and he doesn't know how to fix it. He's reminded of it constantly. That forest made it sting and sputter and pulled at it like a cruel thing.]
...You saw it. [He says, finally, his voice gruff.] It takes things away.
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Can you live your life in fear of everything you'll lose? Life is finite, Vergilius. Eternity only awaits the damned. It's as they say: it's better to lose something you've loved than to have never loved at all.
[But none of that is news to Vergilius. Even so, Lobelia has a question for him.]
How long have you existed without truly living?
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[Yes.]
[Because he has.]
[Because even as he expected it, even as he was aware of it, it still happened. Knowing it would've happened didn't change a thing. He expected the other shoe to fall, and it did.]
[He doesn't meet the other's eyes, a bitter taste at the back of his throat.]
....I don't deserve to truly "live", Lobelia.
[In the end, the karma was just payment. He obtained happiness. But it was never meant to be.]
[Everything would be taken away from him in time.]
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