#sorry diz i clobbered u have fun waking up to this

[schleckermaul]

HOW MANY OPPORTUNITIES DID HE HAVE? after his eye had healed, when the bitterness became an aftertaste more than anything else. there was the time he threw himself onto his own sword at yura's mansion. and chasing rufus barma, as pandora was under attack. their imprisonment— his imprisonment. though, he had already somewhat clung to life at that point. how had he put it, when the little girl watched him choke up another breath of blood, held up by chains wrapped around each hand?

no way. i can't die. not yet.

   a life spent on borrowed time, knowing the inevitable outcome. xerxes break should be forgotten. it's what he wished for, for a long time, that his passing wouldn't touch those around him, that the wall he built would be high enough to spare them the pain. why feel sad about the death of a man who's killed so many?

   he died, and now he's here. and people from his world have returned, and people he's grown close to in this one have forgotten— and break doesn't know what to do, anymore. talking to yuri, he'd said it outloud. with his purpose gone, what comes next? what will give him a reason to cling, now? what happens when the time borrowed has run out, and he's still alive?

   ismael returned zhilan's memories, he knows that. they should all hate him, and yet, his biggest struggle seems to be that people simply won't do him that small of a favour. to toss him aside, to despise him, no matter how cruel he is. he bites his cheek and relishes in the familiar taste of blood, warm when the rest of him is so cold, aching and broken.

   the ringing of the phone is inevitable, but break doesn't pay it any mind. he hears the familiar melody sitting by the window, cane in hand's reach, miserable form sprawled out on the ground. at the very least, the noise of it touches him enough to move, slow and hesitant, as if the shadows were clinging to the lapels of his coat, begging him to stay down. he heaves himself up holding onto the cupboard that holds lady shelly's memorial, bends to pick up his cane, leaves the phone where it's sitting on his desk, still ringing.

   he could leave. where would he go? gilbert would be capable of finding him, if not by himself, with the help of his chain. he could ... he could be cruel, again. hurl another few insults at zhilan before he makes it through the doorway. or he could stop. entirely.

   what if he stopped?

not yet.

   there's a key, turning in the door, just as break rounds the corner to retreat into the kitchen. for a second, he thinks it might be aurelius, until he stops in his step to feel the presence out, and realizes it's somebody entirely else— the influx of emotions has mad hatter nervous, the chain speaking at the same time as a small burst of power extends from break at the same time that zhilan finally stands in the open doorway.

usel̷e̴s̷s̵, it starts, and then d̷a̵n̵g̸E̴R̶O̵U̷S̴, and then their mind becomes a mess between demands to flee and demands to fight, voices fighting amongst each other, all while break is staring blankly in the direction of the entry. the grip around his cane has become so tight that his hand trembles with it. the shadows are gone the second they appeared, reaching forward without any reach at all, ending wrapped around break's legs and shoulders before they dissipate.

   when he opens his mouth to speak, his mouth is too dry for any words to form. when he swallows, it tastes familiar. like iron.

   ' ... what are you doing here? ' voice staggering with uncertainty and vitriol at the same time, though there's no rage supporting it. only tired exhaustion, evident in his posture, no longer hidden away.

   ' i thought i was clear the last time around. '

@archaictold / pls god i want to heal so bad