#;this time i won't fail. this time i'll be strong enough (wwriothesley; wriothesley & wriothesley)

[daybreakrising]

@wwriothesley | i promised u the angst and here it is-

Some days are harder than others.

Even now, even after so long, they still have some twisted hold on him that he cannot shake. It's his curse, he thinks - to never be free of them. It's not enough that they've left their marks upon him. They had to sink their teeth in, leaving their venom to fester inside his mind, a pollution he will never cleanse.

It was a bad night. That's how it always starts. The dreams don't chase him as often these days, but they sneak up on him from time to time, often just at the point when he starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, that was the last one. He ought to know better by now. There will never be a last of anything.

There's no scream as he wakes - there never is. They're under his skin, crawling inside his head, but they'll never have that power over him again. He threw out the fear the moment he resolved to exterminate them like rodents. But he lies stiff beneath the tangled sheet, muscles tense, until he methodically works to loosen them one by one - a process that never fails to calm, to relax.

Sleep is a thing of the past now; he knows this as fact. He cannot, will not, submit to the oblivion of his dreams again, not when everything is so fresh and raw. It was a rough one this time - they're never easy, but this one hit hard in all the right places. The guilt sits like a lead ball in his gut, makes it hard to breathe. Normally, he would take himself to the ring, go a few rounds with a mek, channel his feelings the only way he knows how - the way he was taught.

Instead, his feet carry him in a different direction, towards the only one in the world who can ever truly, honestly, know how he feels.

The night guards know better than to question why the Duke - either of them - is wandering the Fortress at the witching hour, and he makes his way undisturbed to the central office where, in all likelihood, his twin is still asleep. The dimness of the lamps when he enters confirms his suspicion, and he considers leaving him to rest.

Archons know they both need it.

But there's a part of him that needs this - needs to seek out the comfort of a sibling the way he used to as a child. He has recollections of crawling into an older sister's bed after a bad dream, of falling asleep curled into her while she uttered whispered songs to soothe him. And suddenly, achingly, he wants that.

There's no more hesitation. His feet ascend the stairs in soft, rapid succession, carry him right to the private chambers of the Duke and to the side of his twin. Asleep, yes, but surely becoming aware of an additional presence in his private space - if not already.

He crawls atop the bed and curls against his brother's back, face pressed hard to the space between his shoulders. He can sense the exact moment his brother wakes fully, acknowledges his presence. Were he anyone else, Wriothesley is sure his twin would not have woken so gently.

"I'm sorry, Wri..." he utters quietly, voice lacking any of its usual strength. "It's..." He doesn't need to explain; his brother will know. "I just... need a minute." He needs to be free of them. "Do... do they haunt you, too?" His twin seems so much more... together than he is. They've never talked about their own experiences in any depth - they didn't need to, they understood without either of them saying anything. Yet he cannot help the question, because he needs to know.

He needs to know if it ever gets better.

[daybreakrising]

The Festivesley. There's no holding back his own snicker of laughter. That's the great thing about being the same person - they have the exact same sense of humour. It's a blessing and a curse. A blessing for him, and a curse for his brother, usually.

Just as he's getting over the - frankly terrible yet hilarious - pun, his twin goes and delivers a perfect imitation of Neuvillette that sets him off all over again. How he can even perfectly replicate the Iudex's facial expressions baffles and amazes him. "Ah, Monsieur Neuvillette, how kind of you to join us for tea..."

Speaking of tea. He sets the teapot to brewing, prepares cups and - since it's called for - appropriate snacks.

"Now I want to buy you a glass giraffe. Do they even make those?" He's definitely going to browse the shops in the Court the next time he goes to the surface. "I'll get one commissioned if they don't."

      “ nah. but you could make up some pretty funny reasons about it- or even festivities. imagine this━ ” he stretches an hand in front of himself, and follows his next words with a barely repressed snickers as he moves the flat palm across the air. “ the Wriothesley Festival. or, the Festivesley. with half the people unable to pronounce it, and the other half being too scared to attend. ”

      it's one of the funniest thoughts he had ever conceived- he's still chuckling to himself, wrinkles at the edge of his eyes. 

      “ i mean- who else could tell you in a deadpan tone that this teapot is indeed blue, Wriothesley? ” he seems to be in an excellent mood today, because the imitation of Neuvillette is spot on, down to the polite, inquisite and slighty concerned tone that wonders if the Duke hasn't gone mad by asking him such a question.

      “ also nope, ” he confirms, “ you'd have spoiled the present the second i touched it- though, you could have told me we were going glass giraffe shopping, and i would have kept up the joke until the very end. ”