#➻ 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐎𝐔𝐒 —《vers. 1 - main》

[pre1ude]

'I never hated you.'

❛ don’t lie to me. ❜ // @vilestblood

And just like that, the wound opens.

By god, he'd imagined it all so differently for almost three years now. Gone over the scenarios diligently before he'd bare-knuckled the decision to come here. All the viable outcomes, joyful and humiliating and selfishly cruel alike ― what do you tell someone who's both kissed and betrayed you? ― Written down what to say and sat with the words for days, and still it had taken little more than his favourite chair on the eastside balcony, the feeling of warm velvet on his skin again and the sight of him alone for all sense to flee Daniel. He'd outgrown the little joys of this place, he tells himself. Replaced morsels of rare contentment with true peace, clawed and scratched his way up to something resembling happiness. The big empty manor on the edge of town is no longer a respite, nor Antonin - a beacon of comfort - and yet here he is, more willing to jump the parapet than bear to sit where they once laughed together and speak to him like a stranger. Like something worse.

In the end, he has no means to prove they're anything else... not when they'd parted so bitter. His aching heart would make for poor evidence.

So he sits there, straight-backed and prim, and all but takes the words like an arrow. Eyes and fists closed, mouth thin, feeling it fly true. Maybe it would've angered him instead, back then, when Antonin was overfond of his perilous tones and imploring eyes. Part of him misses that time still. Wishes it'd been said like an order than this resigned, tired plea that lodges under his third rib and sits there like a stinger. Something quietly weeps there now.

"...I couldn't hate you, Antonin," his voice is quiet and calm when it fights its way up at last. He can't bear looking at him, knowing he would look back. "Even when it seemed like the most reasonable thing to do."

He trains his eyes on the horizon evenly. Rests his hands in his lap and lets the admission hang in the scarse stitch of space between them. In the chasm that has opened there since. Here is the implication too: he had tried his hand at hatred. Played at it. Had yearned for the closure of that finality, the end of what they'd shared, only for it to never come. What else do you do with a dark, unsalvageable chasm than try to cut the last bridge? What do you do when it no longer looks like a chasm in the daylight?

"It would've made everything easier, I think... Hatred is such a horribly simple, uncomplicated emotion... Love is not. When it comes to you, I've only ever managed one."

[pre1ude]

@s4ints , “   i  never  should  have  let  you  talk  me  into  this .   ”

❝  oh,  heaven  forbid  you  have  some  fun.  ❝  yes,  fine,  he's  being  a  huge,  giant  hypocrite,  but  it's  rather  important,  as  a  good  host,  to  source  entertainment  for  a  visiting  guest.  especially  one  who  so  effortlessly  gives  him  the  distant  impression  that  it's  very  much  the  other  way  around.  he  occasionally  forgets  Todd  is  something  else  and  becomes  struck  with  the  notion  again  at   a  horribly  inopportune  time,  usually  in  the  very  middle  of  inane,  silly  things.  he  takes  a  bundle  of  park  tickets  from  the  vendor.  they  have  little  ghosts  on  them.

❝  provided  heaven  exists...  ❝  he  figures  he  could  push  for  it  later.  they  have  a  halloween  themed  amusement  park  to  explore.  ❝  alright.  haunted  house  first?  or  rollercoaster?  ❝  he's   only  a  little   nervous.  they've  seen  at  least  three  attendees  with  scythes  so  far.