#dar vc: we dont talk abt my crush rn ( its a poorly kept secret anyway )

[innerbeast]

a thud rings in his ear from the fist against the wall, the warrior unflinching. this all had a bitter air of familiarity to it. a being of higher status looking down upon him -- upon others like him -- as though their lives meant naught in a grander picture. it set his veins aflame; caused blood to boil beneath skin not his own.

the jaw he possesses grows tight, teeth clenched together to the point of grinding. every word aurelius speaks sets a spark that catches, has dar'khol grasping at every tendril of emotion he can muster within this shell of a man he was forced to be. he didn't want to be this anymore, never had, but he's reached his limit on patience with it.

memories brought with them nothing but a growing distaste for a man he was otherwise indifferent to, left him sitting with guilt over a situation he held no part in.

it wasn't right. he couldn't just sit with that.

"do you not already!?"

his voice rises. it's almost uncharacteristic to hear it go so high, so loud.

"you look at the denizens of this world as if they're no better than dirt, keeping klaus on a mental pedestal all the while. you regard him before anyone else, speak of him like he's your sole purpose for being -- yet you want to tell me there's nothing there?!"

( you're full of shite! )

fingers tangled within his borrowed feathers are met with the quivering of those very appendages, dar'khol adamant on making use of them yet. he didn't care if aurelius managed to tear them from his back, he'd force himself forward one way or another. the weight of his body is brought forward, stubbornly forcing himself from the wall behind him. to hell with the warning before, he'd find use for this wretched, 'holy' hands -- against what should be his own throat, even, while its twin finds purchase against a shoulder.

"emotions are not suppose to be easy. they're a tangled mess at times; overwhelming and burdensome, but fulfilling all the same. they're part of who we are -- part of what makes us!"

"i have the time to untangle mine and grab my chance… while you continue to twist the cord on yours by remaining so secretive and empty."

fingers curl, tightening their hold where they could. he didn't care if it burned, didn't care if he managed to scar already worn flesh. what mattered now was prying the angel away from him, and putting an end to this disgusting excuse of a conversation. thinking on it further only had his lips pulling back, teeth bared as though they would expose fangs.

"what is their to ruin that you have not already? if our attachment to sentiment is as hopeless as you claim, if your path of truth is the only way forward -- then tell him.

you want him to understand, don't you? you hold no love, so the fear of hurting him is nonexistent. show him your truth."

his voice drops, a snarl rolling into a voice that should not carry it.

"what are you afraid of."

「 X 」 How dare he.

To be censured by Heaven is one thing, but condemned by someone wearing his face and voice is an indignity he cannot tolerate. A hand moves towards his back, grasping instinctively for a weapon that should be there, before the angel transfers the near-murderous rage (not his wrath, he tells himself once more, no, never mine) to his fist and then the wall.

"Do not judge me," he snarls, leaving flecks of plaster flaking in his wake, "with your standards. You and your love—"

His voice stutters as scattered images fill his mind, both completely unfamiliar and painfully intimate. A woman (mother), bending down to pick him up with laughter in her eyes and a song on her lips, the melody changing to notes on a flute from an older boy (brother) playing them slowly so he can follow along; anxious breaths as he rushes into a room full of beds, not daring to blink until the people on them (friends) start waking up one-by-one; the distinctive gait of a tall, thin man with pointed ears striding casually into his room and the flutter of his heart that greets him, and at last someone familiar—Yuri, looking stubbornly indifferent as he thanks him for a meal and turns his back on the table, going home alone.

He thinks he feels his heart twist and crushes that beneath his fury, diluting it with something bitter. These are not his memories. He's never felt this way.

"—you and your kind's hopeless attachment to sentiment," Aurelius goes on after a shuddering breath, "have no place in my realm."

The light from himself is more familiar—bright and golden, incomparably pure. He has lived bathed in it since he was a child, beholden to its standards, unwavering in his faith.

“I am divinus, Holy Light of my world—a place I'm duty-bound to protect!"

"I don't pursue Klaus for love, but because he's worthy to stand by my side! You would have me put him before the lives of thousands and millions, and for what? A single moment of impulse? A feelin' of warmth at the end of a day? If it was so easy, why didn't ya try it yourself wit' yours?!"

His hands grab at fistfuls of feathers, crushing bundles of it between his fingers. It hardly causes pain, but it gives him something to grasp while keeping Dar in his place. Gold has been his color since birth: a sign of blessing and divine favor, elevating him above the rest. For a long, long time, that pedestal had been his alone.

"My duty has always been to God and His utopia. Ignorance is Anghelescu's blessin—" Until he understands. Until he can learn to accept the one and only truth.

He tells himself there is no doubt, that whatever trepidation preying on the edges of his mind is this body's and not his own. Certainly, he's never experienced anything like it before.

"—if you would ruin us, let it be on your conscience, not mine."