[This is...very new to Kronid. New to a man for whom very little novelty still exists. He's crying, shaking, rattled by something he's moved years beyond; that would be strange enough.
But...then there's more to it.
'You're all right.'
'You're not alone.'
He...finds himself believing it, held tightly, being kissed, being soothed. How long had it been since someone had done this for him? How long since it was Real?
He means it. He cares. For YOU. Let someone care for once. Our chains have gotten so heavy.
Let him help.
I don't know how.
You've already begun.
The choked sobs turn to open ones - the dam has, for the moment, broken open, and Kronid is adrift in the current. He cries for a man long dead, who is and isn't who Vicious is holding. Crying feels strange. He hasn't done it in a long time. He isn't sure he could have, before.
For now, he does. He sobs, and he clings, and he shakes, and he whispers, face buried, soft and without the usual edge:]
[Ugh, this breaks his heart. Whatever Kronid had dreamed about must have really gotten to him... It was a terrifying ordeal in his own mind, even if Vicious didn't recognize any part of it. Until now, anyway... that gentle, desperate voice muffled against him is distantly familiar, and while not entirely unlike Kronid's usual tone, it's... got an entirely different feeling to it. He can't place why, though.
Deserve...? He says it like he was given a gift. Like he's... actually grateful for his presence. When was the last time someone was grateful just to have him around? For so long, he's felt like he was forced onto people, he was too much for others to deal with...
That pang of guilt hits again.
Tell him the truth. Tell him how awful you are before he gets hurt.
No. Not yet. Not now.
He can feel a heat in his cheeks, that familiar tightness in his throat that comes with choking back his own tears-- but he isn't going to make this about him. His tears do not matter, here. He strokes long, dark fingers through the other's hair, closing his eyes with a soft smile. He sounds content, if a little strained.]
I'm glad to be here. [He chuckles. It's a breathless, quiet sound.]
[He tilts his head, settling back into the couch and crossing his legs. Teasing him is all well and good, but poor Spike looks frustrated. For real.]
Really? Was that what you were trying to do?
[He chuckles, lifting a hand to inspect the blooms across Spike's arms. They're so soft, frail looking, enough to make him worried he could bruise them.]
They may not be roses, but they're lovely all the same.
What were you trying to grow them for? Trying to woo someone?
[He frowns, taking a swig of his beer before setting it on the side table. Folding his hands over his knee, he sighs and allows his head to fall back against the couch cushion.
He knows Spike to be a bit of a schmooze, he has been as long as they've been friends. Always trying something cheesy to get a cute girl's attention. He's even tried to land a date or two on Valentine's Day if there was already someone he was interested in, but it's not terribly often either of them actually celebrated it without a girl being involved. It doesn't occur to him at all any of this is out of the ordinary.]
Don't you think she'd like them anyway? "It's the thought that counts"? Plus, you grew them yourself. That's pretty meaningful, if you ask me.
[It's funny, really. How similar these men are without knowing it. Perhaps the Fog has a sense of humor, or perhaps fate does - because while Vicious is at war with himself:
What am I - what are you doing?
I'm lucid. Please. Let me tell him-
Stop it. I'm not you any more. You're dead.
That's what I thought, too. But your heart leapt just now, when he spoke. What do you call that?
Shut UP.
The Goblin sniffles sharply - trying to collect himself. He takes a moment to focus on the hands in his hair, the sound of the Shade's voice, the sting fading on (and in) his chest.
Calm. He - needs to calm.
He finally tilts his head up, the sharp attention and wry tint back in his expression, even if his smile shakes at the corners.]
...Here. Of course I wanted you here. I...like having you around, my Knight.
I...trust you. You are the first presence I have slept in in... a thousand years. It's...nice.
I like...this.
[Dear God Almighty, give me the patience I need to listen to myself talk.]
[Spike only seems to hunch over himself even more. The vines trailing from his back like tails start to squeeze around his own legs in his mild humiliation. Somehow, though he's nearly completely a plant, there's a cat-like sense of indignation at his own embarrassment.]
I think the person it's meant for would like it entirely too much,
[He protests, scowling.]
And never let me live it down. So it's— fine.
[...At least he still thinks they're lovely.
Spike pushes up off the couch anyway, lumbering toward the kitchen.]
[It's his turn to snort, but he doesn't move from his place on the couch. His head simply lolls to the side so he can watch Spike sulk across the room. And enjoy the view.]
Oh yeah? [Smirking.] Who's harassing you over flowers? They sound fun.
[He snickers before he sits up a little more fully, reaching for his beer again.]
But isn't that the point, though? That the person you want to give them to would like them?
[By now, Spike has found something to shove in his mouth. Cheese curl-y, 50's daisies in one of those cardboard cans. It's a little muffled when he manages—]
[He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands over his mouth. He's... surprised, to say the least. But-- Christ, this man really needs help on the delivery doesn't he. Yes, Vicious knows he wasn't raised or whatever it is he says, but he knows he's better at it than this-- Then again, he's never tried to make his own flowers, before. These blooms were born of him... They really are as meaningful as he'd said. The thought... actually counts.
Not that it stops him from laughing. It starts as a stifled snort, then a barely audible giggle, holding his hand tighter over his mouth as if it's going to help. He has to look away-- it's the only thing that will save him.]
Y-you're so thoughtful, Fearless. [S-snicker.]
[Though, now... he's. Nervous. He never knows when to expect Spike to be home-- the stray cat that he is --much less for Valentine's Day. Their relationship has been in a rocky spot since... well. The second time (in V's recent memory, anyway) that he killed him, even if they'd had a chance to talk it out... He hasn't been entirely sure where they stood.
This little display just... definitely makes him feel worse about where he'd just come from. Crap. ...Shit, fuck.]
Really-- I-- I wish I'd known. I... would've gotten you something, too.
[A cheesy, puffed-corn daisy comes flying Vicious's way. He can't take it as anything but teasing.
This was supposed to be sweet. Smooth, even. Now it just feels— lame. Like a kid showing his babysitter a cut-up paper heart. Or at least, what he imagines that must feel like.]
Turned out shit, anyway. Just— forget about it, alright?
[But then, as he exits the kitchen and stares at the damn thing, another cheesy puff raised to his mouth, he mumbles—]
[If he had a tail, it would be wagging. There's nothing quite like the feeling of being enjoyed, being wanted. Especially to someone who wasn't lucky enough to feel it too often.
There's a new weight to Kronid's request to spend the night now that he knows it's been a thousand years since he's slept in the same bed with someone. That's absurd. How did he not have someone in his bed every night? He's not going to question it out loud, though. He's just going to allow himself to feel as blessed as he thinks he is for being given such an opportunity.]
As do I.
[He hums softly, glancing down to meet his gaze. That expression is more familiar than the last... Kronid must be coming out of it. Good. It hurts to see him like this.]
For what it's worth, you've never had to do something like this before.
[He sighs, stepping a little closer to him, but unsure if he... really wants to be touched. One should always be cautious when approaching a stray cat, especially if you haven't seen them in a while.]
I think you did... a beautiful job for something you've never done. It's alright if you're not good at something the first time you do it.
[It still feels strange. "Fearless" does. The name of a man who should be dead— barely a name at all, but still the only actual name Vicious had ever really known of him. The last time he remembers Vicious saying Spike it was with such vitriol, sharp as the name itself. Now how the same man says Fearless— it's gentle, sweet, timid.
That man, that child, sweet and timid, within that vicious exterior. Isn't that who he'd even tried this for? Because of the miracle it is that person hasn't truly bled away?
Because... they had the chance, this time, to be different?
Fearless—Spike—Six— he takes a slow, sauntering, cowboy step between him and Vicious. Another. He studies the tree again, and as if Vicious's gratitude has changed his mind, he adds—]
...Well, it is a fine looking— whatever it is.
[Before popping another cheesy puff daisy in his mouth. Another swinging, slow step, fidgety. One of the two vine tails unwraps itself from around his legs, swinging and curling like a cat's, like it's calling Vicious closer.]
[The hum that escapes him is... uncertain. Like he doesn't quite believe that. But... he can figure out a way around it without outright accusing him of not being okay.]
Can I... ask you something about it? The nightmare.
[He leans into the petting, closing his eyes for now. This is nice. Very nice. But... he can't pretend he doesn't have questions.]
[He frowns in thought, trying to recall the details enough to relay them. It's a little difficult, he's thoroughly exhausted from the night before, and his short-term memory is definitely suffering for it.]
I-- there was. Fire. Fire, and... people screaming. It looked like... like a town? A village, a little house. Or-- what used to be a house. I'm not sure.
And I was. Bloody. Just... absolute carnage. Like I'd torn someone apart with my bare hands. [He hates to think that that is the more familiar feeling out of the whole nightmare, but. It is.]
But I didn't recognize anything, at all. I've... never been to that place. Never seen it before in my life. But it was like... I could taste everything, feel it all. The ash, the smoke, the blood-- I could feel something burning in my chest, like I'd swallowed fire. It was-- well, it was a nightmare. It was awful.
[Kronid has a very good poker face, as a general rule. Years and years of lying, cheating, and manipulation have seen to that.
But given the circumstances, given how Vicious had just seen him break down, and given that he had never heard the description given spoken by another tongue before-
His smile drops away, the color draining somewhat from his pale face. The Shade can be a little bit obtuse sometimes, but this is not one of those moments. He knows the nightmare was his. He must. Even if he isn't fluent in Romanian, he certainly knows the sound of it.
...Wait. Could he-
FUCK.]
...I...I see.
How odd.
[There is no anger, but - he can see where this is going already.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
transilience
From:
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But...then there's more to it.
'You're all right.'
'You're not alone.'
He...finds himself believing it, held tightly, being kissed, being soothed. How long had it been since someone had done this for him? How long since it was Real?
He means it. He cares. For YOU. Let someone care for once. Our chains have gotten so heavy.
Let him help.
I don't know how.
You've already begun.
The choked sobs turn to open ones - the dam has, for the moment, broken open, and Kronid is adrift in the current. He cries for a man long dead, who is and isn't who Vicious is holding. Crying feels strange. He hasn't done it in a long time. He isn't sure he could have, before.
For now, he does. He sobs, and he clings, and he shakes, and he whispers, face buried, soft and without the usual edge:]
...Thank you.
I...I don't deserve this, you know. Deserve you.
But...
I'm so glad you're here.
From:
no subject
I wasn't accusing you, I was making an observation. I thought I'd give you a chance to fess up on your own.
[Reaching over to pinch his side--]
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Deserve...? He says it like he was given a gift. Like he's... actually grateful for his presence. When was the last time someone was grateful just to have him around? For so long, he's felt like he was forced onto people, he was too much for others to deal with...
That pang of guilt hits again.
Tell him the truth. Tell him how awful you are before he gets hurt.
No. Not yet. Not now.
He can feel a heat in his cheeks, that familiar tightness in his throat that comes with choking back his own tears-- but he isn't going to make this about him. His tears do not matter, here. He strokes long, dark fingers through the other's hair, closing his eyes with a soft smile. He sounds content, if a little strained.]
I'm glad to be here. [He chuckles. It's a breathless, quiet sound.]
I'm glad you... wanted me. Here. With you.
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no subject
Alright already. You're not stupid. I get it.
[With a defeated sigh, he leans his elbows against his knees. He looks tired.]
Turns out I can't grow roses.
From:
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Really? Was that what you were trying to do?
[He chuckles, lifting a hand to inspect the blooms across Spike's arms. They're so soft, frail looking, enough to make him worried he could bruise them.]
They may not be roses, but they're lovely all the same.
What were you trying to grow them for? Trying to woo someone?
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You could say that.
["You aren't stupid," he'd said. Now, he regrets it. Still;]
I don't even know what these things are.
Doesn't matter. Didn't turn out.
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[He frowns, taking a swig of his beer before setting it on the side table. Folding his hands over his knee, he sighs and allows his head to fall back against the couch cushion.
He knows Spike to be a bit of a schmooze, he has been as long as they've been friends. Always trying something cheesy to get a cute girl's attention. He's even tried to land a date or two on Valentine's Day if there was already someone he was interested in, but it's not terribly often either of them actually celebrated it without a girl being involved. It doesn't occur to him at all any of this is out of the ordinary.]
Don't you think she'd like them anyway? "It's the thought that counts"? Plus, you grew them yourself. That's pretty meaningful, if you ask me.
From:
no subject
He....
[It's funny, really. How similar these men are without knowing it. Perhaps the Fog has a sense of humor, or perhaps fate does - because while Vicious is at war with himself:
What am I - what are you doing?
I'm lucid. Please. Let me tell him-
Stop it. I'm not you any more. You're dead.
That's what I thought, too. But your heart leapt just now, when he spoke. What do you call that?
Shut UP.
The Goblin sniffles sharply - trying to collect himself. He takes a moment to focus on the hands in his hair, the sound of the Shade's voice, the sting fading on (and in) his chest.
Calm. He - needs to calm.
He finally tilts his head up, the sharp attention and wry tint back in his expression, even if his smile shakes at the corners.]
...Here. Of course I wanted you here. I...like having you around, my Knight.
I...trust you. You are the first presence I have slept in in... a thousand years. It's...nice.
I like...this.
[Dear God Almighty, give me the patience I need to listen to myself talk.]
From:
no subject
I think the person it's meant for would like it entirely too much,
[He protests, scowling.]
And never let me live it down. So it's— fine.
[...At least he still thinks they're lovely.
Spike pushes up off the couch anyway, lumbering toward the kitchen.]
From:
no subject
And enjoy the view.]Oh yeah? [Smirking.] Who's harassing you over flowers? They sound fun.
[He snickers before he sits up a little more fully, reaching for his beer again.]
But isn't that the point, though? That the person you want to give them to would like them?
From:
no subject
[He opens the cupboard, proceeds to scrounge through as though he's anything like casual.]
Well, you like them, don't you?
From:
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[A curious frown. Wait a moment.]
...Why-- wait.
Are they for me?
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Happy Valentine's.
Or— whatever.
From:
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You--
[He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands over his mouth. He's... surprised, to say the least. But-- Christ, this man really needs help on the delivery doesn't he. Yes, Vicious knows he wasn't raised or whatever it is he says, but he knows he's better at it than this-- Then again, he's never tried to make his own flowers, before. These blooms were born of him... They really are as meaningful as he'd said. The thought... actually counts.
Not that it stops him from laughing. It starts as a stifled snort, then a barely audible giggle, holding his hand tighter over his mouth as if it's going to help. He has to look away-- it's the only thing that will save him.]
Y-you're so thoughtful, Fearless. [S-snicker.]
[Though, now... he's. Nervous. He never knows when to expect Spike to be home-- the stray cat that he is --much less for Valentine's Day. Their relationship has been in a rocky spot since... well. The second time (in V's recent memory, anyway) that he killed him, even if they'd had a chance to talk it out... He hasn't been entirely sure where they stood.
This little display just... definitely makes him feel worse about where he'd just come from. Crap. ...Shit, fuck.]
Really-- I-- I wish I'd known. I... would've gotten you something, too.
[Fuck, fuck fuck--]
From:
no subject
[A cheesy, puffed-corn daisy comes flying Vicious's way. He can't take it as anything but teasing.
This was supposed to be sweet. Smooth, even. Now it just feels— lame.
Like a kid showing his babysitter a cut-up paper heart. Or at least, what he imagines that must feel like.]
Turned out shit, anyway. Just— forget about it, alright?
[But then, as he exits the kitchen and stares at the damn thing, another cheesy puff raised to his mouth, he mumbles—]
Or— forget about it when I get it out of here.
From:
no subject
There's a new weight to Kronid's request to spend the night now that he knows it's been a thousand years since he's slept in the same bed with someone. That's absurd. How did he not have someone in his bed every night? He's not going to question it out loud, though. He's just going to allow himself to feel as blessed as he thinks he is for being given such an opportunity.]
As do I.
[He hums softly, glancing down to meet his gaze. That expression is more familiar than the last... Kronid must be coming out of it. Good. It hurts to see him like this.]
How... are you feeling?
From:
no subject
[Oh. There's a sudden sinking feeling, that panicked tightness in his chest when he knows he's in trouble.]
I-- I said I really liked them, and I do.
[Pushing himself to his feet, he casts an imploring look toward the nymph.]
I'm not laughing at you, you know!
From:
no subject
Oh, you're not?
[And with a roll of his eyes, he adds—]
I would. Shit. Haven't fucked up like this in a while.
[He finally crunches on that cheese puff, regarding the tree with a distasteful turn of his nose.]
From:
no subject
The question shakes him the rest of the way from his thoughts, and he lets out a weak laugh, moving his hands up to idly play in Vicious's hair.]
I'm fine.
[Almost too brisk, a knee jerk reaction. He takes a long breath, then lets it out in a little rush.]
...It was...just a nightmare. One I've had a few times. It's - nothing.
From:
no subject
[He sighs, stepping a little closer to him, but unsure if he... really wants to be touched. One should always be cautious when approaching a stray cat, especially if you haven't seen them in a while.]
I think you did... a beautiful job for something you've never done. It's alright if you're not good at something the first time you do it.
[A step closer.]
Thank you, Fearless. I-- I mean it.
From:
no subject
That man, that child, sweet and timid, within that vicious exterior. Isn't that who he'd even tried this for? Because of the miracle it is that person hasn't truly bled away?
Because... they had the chance, this time, to be different?
Fearless—Spike—Six— he takes a slow, sauntering, cowboy step between him and Vicious. Another. He studies the tree again, and as if Vicious's gratitude has changed his mind, he adds—]
...Well, it is a fine looking— whatever it is.
[Before popping another cheesy puff daisy in his mouth. Another swinging, slow step, fidgety. One of the two vine tails unwraps itself from around his legs, swinging and curling like a cat's, like it's calling Vicious closer.]
From:
no subject
Can I... ask you something about it? The nightmare.
[He leans into the petting, closing his eyes for now. This is nice. Very nice. But... he can't pretend he doesn't have questions.]
Because... I, ah. I had one, too.
From:
no subject
Interesting.
He holds his expression steady. Years of practice and all.]
You did?
I...yes. Yes, what is it?
From:
no subject
[He frowns in thought, trying to recall the details enough to relay them. It's a little difficult, he's thoroughly exhausted from the night before, and his short-term memory is definitely suffering for it.]
I-- there was. Fire. Fire, and... people screaming. It looked like... like a town? A village, a little house. Or-- what used to be a house. I'm not sure.
And I was. Bloody. Just... absolute carnage. Like I'd torn someone apart with my bare hands. [He hates to think that that is the more familiar feeling out of the whole nightmare, but. It is.]
But I didn't recognize anything, at all. I've... never been to that place. Never seen it before in my life. But it was like... I could taste everything, feel it all. The ash, the smoke, the blood-- I could feel something burning in my chest, like I'd swallowed fire. It was-- well, it was a nightmare. It was awful.
From:
no subject
But given the circumstances, given how Vicious had just seen him break down, and given that he had never heard the description given spoken by another tongue before-
His smile drops away, the color draining somewhat from his pale face. The Shade can be a little bit obtuse sometimes, but this is not one of those moments. He knows the nightmare was his. He must. Even if he isn't fluent in Romanian, he certainly knows the sound of it.
...Wait. Could he-
FUCK.]
...I...I see.
How odd.
[There is no anger, but - he can see where this is going already.]
What...is your question, then?