[ As much as G'raha wouldn't mind tinkering with his van all on his own, ultimately he knows that one wrong move could be potentially disastrous. Alisaie and Alphinaud need their singular (working) vehicle, and he does not want to have to go into further debt to make repairs. So it isn't long before he takes Eliot up on his offer to learn more about the inner workings of cars.
Of course, G'raha came prepared. He has put together his own little tool kit of pieces, although purchased with intent, that may be of value--wrenches, screwdrivers, a tire pressure gauge, jumper cables, a jack, a hammer (you never know). And, of course, numerous books, guides, and magazines he's collected over the previous weeks.
He lays them all out in the back of his van with a look of pride and hope as he watches Eliot for his reaction. ]
[ God, what Eliot wouldn't give to be able to pat G'raha on the head. The way his ears perk up...
(Look. He recognises that G'raha is a whole person with person thoughts and feelings but his mind keeps saying 'cat'. What he wouldn't give to be able to pet him...) ]
That's... pretty impressive, G'raha. Good job.
[ He shouldn't be so surprised; he's got first hand experience in how resourceful G'raha is and in how much he loves his research. There ain't no way they were going to go into this without him having done his homework. ]
So then maybe I should start with what you've managed to figure out.
[ Little does Eliot know, that cat or not, ear pets are actually very, very nice to be on the receiving end of. Too bad it's been over a century since the last time...
But said ears only wiggle happily at the approval and praise. He does want to do a good job and not put the full burden of supplying the, well, supplies when Eliot is already being generous enough to teach. From what he understands cars can be quite complicated. ]
I believe I have the basics that are covered in the manual--refueling, changing the oil when necessary. I have successfully changed and rotated all the tires as well, though I admit I'm not entirely sure how often that is required or if the van needed it. The engine itself is a bit of a mystery to me, however. And I'm not certain how much I would be able to do myself in regards to repairs to the, erm, the hull, for a lack of better term.
[ He's rambling a bit, but he's excited, okay. ]
I have it on good authority that garages around here aren't to be trusted.
[ There is a little bit of a smirk as he glances back to Eliot. ]
[ Eliot rolls his eyes at that little poke at him but it could almost be described as fond; certainly he's smiling a little about it. ]
The main body of the vehicle is just called the body.
[ Though 'hull' was a very interesting choice. More used to travel by sea or air? Eliot puts a pin in that for later. ]
But it doesn't sound like you need me all that much; you got a lot of it figured out. I'd be happy to go through the engine with you though. Pop the hood and—
[ a pause ]
So 'the hood' is the [ American? No, he's not getting into that, he's not having G'raha call it a fucking bonnet. ] name of the front compartment of the car, in case they never covered that in your manuals. Pop the hood and I'll walk you through how the engine works. I think you'll like this part.
[ Whoops? But knowing the proper nomenclature is important, especially if he needs to ask for assistance or as he procures parts.
Including "pop the hood". What a delightful way to describe it! And the way Eliot says it sounds so natural. G'raha's brows raise for a moment and then he smiles again. ]
Very well, I shall "pop" it.
[ Which he (correctly) guesses means to open it up. He had taken a look at it before, though it still takes him a moment to locate the latch as he feels around underneath it. Once it is "popped", he props it up with the stand, his tail swishing proudly behind him once again as he turns back to Eliot. ]
The hood has been successfully popped.
[ Phrase of the week! ]
just pretend this was written by someone who knows what a car is
[ Eliot has to stop for a second—hands braced against the car, head bowed a little—just to laugh a little.
(And to marvel at this man who somehow manages to be so relentlessly earnest, god help him.)
It never occurred to him a) to explain the word 'pop', or b) just how ridiculous a word it is. And now the word pop has lost all meaning to him. ]
Alright, good job.
[ He claps a hand on G'raha's shoulder in congratulations, and then leans over the open hood and gestures G'raha in close, pointing at the parts as he speaks. ]
So this is the engine. It works by combusting the fuel you put in the car inside the cylinder here. Combusting the fuel moves these pistons which turns something called a crankshaft which in turn turns the wheels and makes the vehicle go. And I just threw a whole lot of words at you so: got any questions?
[ The laugh is a good thing, right? It feels good-natured and G'raha knowingly was being a little cheesy. And he does feel accomplished with the praise and it shows in the way his tail swishes again.
But he does pay attention when the lesson starts, nodding along with the parts he knows and pausing at the new pieces of information. He was aware that it was a combustion engine, which is quite a bit different than the sort of mechanics he's used to. Using the energy of explosions rather than the ambient potential of aether is really interesting. ]
That does make sense, even if it's a mode of energy generation that is not oft seen on my star. Is the engine something that needs regular maintenance or do they tend to be fairly hardy?
[ There have been better and worse reactions to the news about the Solar Clinic. While they're still far from finding everyone, well over half of them had returned soon after the forum message was posted. By the time he'd had a moment to breathe, Adrian had worked nearly a full 24 hour shift. Like it or not, he was going home.
He'd waved off a co-worker's offer to walk him back to his van despite the hour. It was only a few blocks. He'd never had any issues before, and it wasn't as if he couldn't defend himself... Even when someone fell into step beside him, he had been a bit too tired to startle.
You're the one who posted on the forum? The man had asked him. Tall and pale, with pointed teeth. Adrian had wondered how he would know, but nodded, concern in his expression. Then he'd met the man's eyes.
The rest of the world seemed to slip away in an instant. One second he was walking down a well-lit street, and the next he was in a dingy alley with his back to a wall, hands roughly bound. It was disorienting, to say the least. Two more vampires joined the first, fangs barred, moving in a slow half-circle like a pack of hunting dogs.
Don't move. The first one says, and he can't. Hypnosis of some sort, if he had to guess. Gods damn it. You poisoned the blood, didn't you? To get to us. And now you're covering your tracks. Confess. ]
Why in the hells would I do that? [ He's too tired for this. ] Look, I appreciate that this is a stressful situation but you are not being targeted. Most of the affected people were not vampires—
[ Collateral. The leader snarls. I know how your kind work. I can smell the stench of holy magic in you, Battle Priest.
Adrian would hardly call himself battle anything, but a knife pressed against his throat shuts him up before he can explain. This is all a mistake. A misunderstanding. The vampires seem equal parts angry and fearful of whatever a Battle Priest is and, at the moment, anger is winning out. Something about making him suffer like they've suffered. The knife moves lower down his body, and Adrian braces himself. ] I know you're afraid, but you don't have to do this—
[ The walk back from work at night is practically routine now. Not actually routine, of course; Eliot doesn't work anything regularly or on rotation and he definitely isn't going the same route back to his apartment. No one's watching him, but that's no reason to get sloppy about it.
But a late night to early morning walk has been a staple of his life for a long time now, long before he ever got stranded here. It's nice to know that even in a world of magic and experiments and people put together in ways he'd never thought possible, some things stay the—
I know you're afraid, but you don't have to do this—
Speaking of things that stay the same. Eliot spins on his heel and immediately takes off running down the alley towards that—strangely familiar, in fact—voice, because he doesn't need to be psychic to know that something bad is about to happen, and new world or not Eliot's still the same.
He takes in the scene at a glance: someone up against the far wall, hands tied. Someone with a knife to them. Two more closing in. There's debris on the ground and trash piled up by a door and a fire escape hanging halfway down the wall, but Eliot is out of time. He scoops up a chunk of concrete as he runs in and lobs it at the head of one with the knife just as he lands knee first on another one, driving them face first into the ground. ]
It's late, I'm tired, and I haven't eaten yet. Let's make this quick.
[ One second Adrian is preparing Tomb of Levistus, and the next a chunk of concrete slams into the vampire's head. The vampire clutches at his eye and drops the knife. Whatever hold he has on Adrian seems to dissipate with his concentration.
Adrian turns, startled. Eliot Spencer is there, taking on the pair of minions single-handedly. He's not as fast or as strong as they are, but even Adrian can see that he's far more calculated. If they were on more even footing, the vampires would be no match at all. But they aren't on even footing, not by far.
The leader whips around to glare at the lot of them, barking orders to Dmitri and Nadia. The moment his back is turned, Adrian goes for the knife on the ground.
—can't even deal with the fucking food! Just kill it. We're in the middle of something.
Fine. Nadia says, and Adrian hears Eliot's grunt of pain, as she pins him against a wall.
The rope slips free.
The leader turns back to him to scoff. And what do you think you're... ]
Enkindle.
[ The leader screams as radiant light burns through the skin of his face, followed swiftly by Nadia as two lances of light hit her. She releases Eliot.
Adrian is on his feet again. A pair of wings have sprouted from his back, white feathers dripping gold-like blood. His halo burns.
Adrian's expression is blank and, for once, utterly pitiless.
The vampires scatter out of the way of his light as he glides to Eliot's side, hovering barely a foot off the ground in front of him. It's clear that they can't get near Adrian without harm, but Eliot will suffer no such consequences. For him, the light is warm. ]
I'll stay near you. [ Adrian reaches behind his head, pulling one of the radial spikes free of his halo. ] As you said, let's make this quick.
[ It's quick.
Adrian incinerates one of the vampires entirely, and Eliot disarms the other, saving him from a bullet. That one burns too. The leader bolts, feverish and terrified, and they let him. Adrian will have to speak to Fern later about hunting that one down.
Adrian's wings disappear, but his halo remains as he rounds on Eliot and shoves him back against the alley wall again, a gloved hand on the center of Eliot's chest. His fingers tremble slightly. His eyes are full of unshed tears, but his expression is furious. In truth, he's far more angry at himself than at Eliot. ] You stupid, selfless idiot. They could have killed you! What were you thinking? Don't move. I'm healing you.
[ He is, in fact, using the last of his healing on Eliot. ]
[ The thing is that Eliot has been looking for Adrian. Hasn't been able to sleep right since that time in the motel all those months ago. There's a black hole where his memories should be, but that doesn't stop his mind from trying to fill in the gaps. Especially since though Eliot never went to college he can put the ache in his knuckles together with the bruises on Adrian's face and come out with a halfway decent answer.
(And sometimes, when he dreams he sees—)
So he's been looking for him. Just to see whether— Just to see. Maybe get some answers. Texting got him nowhere, just polite nothing answers, like Eliot wasn't even worth the time of day. Which means that it should be a good thing, finding him here, now. Looking at him and knowing that Eliot didn't— that he's fine. A good thing that this time Eliot's there to help him, and not— anything else.
But no. Eliot grunts as his back hits the wall, injuries flaring, grunts again as Adrian's magic seeps into him, fills him like an overbrimming cup, so sweet it his teeth ache with it. Adrian's here, but instead of answers he's got Adrian yelling in his face, and it's like his anger is the spark that kindles his own. ]
Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Am I supposed to keep fucking walking? You were seconds away from being gutted.
[ His voice has been rising this entire time, anger at Adrian and at himself—inexplicably because he was helping, what the fuck else was he supposed to do?—churning inside him. And now Adrian is crying because of him and suddenly he can't stand Adrian's hand on him—
deep breaths. put your hand on mine.
—so he slaps it away. Can't stand his back up against the wall so he flips it, pushes Adrian into it instead, hand fisted in his top. ]
But let me guess, it's none of my business, right? Well maybe if everything wasn't a fucking secret with you I'd have known what I was walking into. You ever fucking think of that?
[ Adrian wants to argue that he had it under control, but the truth is that he really didn't. He could defend from a stab wound, but it would leave him vulnerable. He had no way to counter the hypnosis. Even Morgan wouldn't last long as a distraction. He's never been much for fighting, but he can see how it would have played out, and he has no counter for Eliot's point.
Fern would have been furious, and worse than that she would have been upset. Finding his body in an alley would have been one last disappointment.
Apparently, she isn't the only one.
He lets Eliot slap his hand away, his halo finally flickering out like a light as he burns through the last of his healing. He doesn't resist when he's pushed back against the brick wall again. Eliot seems to tower over him, but he's not afraid of Eliot's anger. It feels good, in a strange way, to have him say it out loud.
This is just the conclusion of the dance they've been doing since that night in the motel room. All of Adrian's non-answers and Eliot's careful prodding for answers that he already knows — it's led to this. It always leads to this. Inevitably, everyone is violently disappointed. Inevitably, it just ends.
He grabs the front of Eliot's shirt in turn, dragging him perilously close. Despite the tears streaking his face, his heart is hammering in his chest. ]
You want me to be honest? Fine. I don't want to be saved if it means putting your life at risk. There's no point in living i-if the people I care about die. I hate hurting people and I hate seeing them hurt. [ His grip tightens on Eliot's shirt. ] Even you, and your ridiculous kindness and your misplaced guilt over something that wasn't even your fault. So what if I lied about it? What does it matter? You were better off hating me. It was easier for both of us.
Adrian's words hang in the air between them, fill the space like something tangible, and just like that Eliot's anger dissipates as though it was never there to begin with. He feels like he's been ambushed, like he's been climbing the stairs only for a step to disappear out from under his foot.
If the people I care about—
Eliot sighs, and they're close enough for it to heat the air between them for a brief moment. When he speaks his voice is low, quiet. No reason to yell when they're practically forehead to forehead. ]
Don't go throwing your life away over me, Adrian.
[ His worst nightmare, someone thinking that he needs to be saved and putting their life on the line to do it. He's fought for people and he's fought beside them but he doesn't ever want to see someone stepping between him and whatever it is that's trying to kill him.
And there's no world, no universe, no turn of events that would make his life worth the loss of someone like Adrian. ]
And definitely don't go crying over me either. I ain't worth the tears.
[ Adrian was right about one thing though: it was easier when Adrian hated him. Especially since for Adrian it seems to be nothing more than a burden.
His hand is still twisted in the front of Adrian's top. For some reason he can't quite convince himself to let go. ]
[ He can almost feel it, the moment the anger tips into something more honest, and Adrian can't hold on to it despite how hard he tries. He feels gutted and exhausted, like the wall behind him and Eliot's hand in his shirt are the only things keeping him on his feet.
It's funny. He'd just demanded the same. ]
You don't get to decide that. [ He says, still holding Eliot's gaze. ] Awful, isn't it?
[ Because it's both of them, trapped by the same force. No matter how hard they try, they can't prevent the things they're most afraid of.
In my dreams, I kill you.
There's a brief catch in Adrian's breath. He remembers that night perfectly well. Eliot could have killed him or, at the very least, one of them would have died. He finds it hard to be afraid, though perhaps he ought to.
He releases Eliot's shirt, but his hand remains flat against his chest. He holds the other man's gaze as he tilts his head back, exposing a sliver of his throat not covered by the high collar of his shirt. ]
One of the books I found did. It doesn't yet seem dangerous, but I haven't yet determined what precisely is making it move. A spell, I assume, unless something's possessing it.
( girl you haven't even told him you're a witch yet )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text.
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desperately
meet me at this address
please hurry
[ If Eliot responds, the mannequin won't reply again. :) ]
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Mid-August
Of course, G'raha came prepared. He has put together his own little tool kit of pieces, although purchased with intent, that may be of value--wrenches, screwdrivers, a tire pressure gauge, jumper cables, a jack, a hammer (you never know). And, of course, numerous books, guides, and magazines he's collected over the previous weeks.
He lays them all out in the back of his van with a look of pride and hope as he watches Eliot for his reaction. ]
Is this a decent start?
[ Did he do good?? ]
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(Look. He recognises that G'raha is a whole person with person thoughts and feelings but his mind keeps saying 'cat'. What he wouldn't give to be able to pet him...) ]
That's... pretty impressive, G'raha. Good job.
[ He shouldn't be so surprised; he's got first hand experience in how resourceful G'raha is and in how much he loves his research. There ain't no way they were going to go into this without him having done his homework. ]
So then maybe I should start with what you've managed to figure out.
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But said ears only wiggle happily at the approval and praise. He does want to do a good job and not put the full burden of supplying the, well, supplies when Eliot is already being generous enough to teach. From what he understands cars can be quite complicated. ]
I believe I have the basics that are covered in the manual--refueling, changing the oil when necessary. I have successfully changed and rotated all the tires as well, though I admit I'm not entirely sure how often that is required or if the van needed it. The engine itself is a bit of a mystery to me, however. And I'm not certain how much I would be able to do myself in regards to repairs to the, erm, the hull, for a lack of better term.
[ He's rambling a bit, but he's excited, okay. ]
I have it on good authority that garages around here aren't to be trusted.
[ There is a little bit of a smirk as he glances back to Eliot. ]
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The main body of the vehicle is just called the body.
[ Though 'hull' was a very interesting choice. More used to travel by sea or air? Eliot puts a pin in that for later. ]
But it doesn't sound like you need me all that much; you got a lot of it figured out. I'd be happy to go through the engine with you though. Pop the hood and—
[ a pause ]
So 'the hood' is the [ American? No, he's not getting into that, he's not having G'raha call it a fucking bonnet. ] name of the front compartment of the car, in case they never covered that in your manuals. Pop the hood and I'll walk you through how the engine works. I think you'll like this part.
[ nerd (affectionate) ]
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[ Whoops? But knowing the proper nomenclature is important, especially if he needs to ask for assistance or as he procures parts.
Including "pop the hood". What a delightful way to describe it! And the way Eliot says it sounds so natural. G'raha's brows raise for a moment and then he smiles again. ]
Very well, I shall "pop" it.
[ Which he (correctly) guesses means to open it up. He had taken a look at it before, though it still takes him a moment to locate the latch as he feels around underneath it. Once it is "popped", he props it up with the stand, his tail swishing proudly behind him once again as he turns back to Eliot. ]
The hood has been successfully popped.
[ Phrase of the week! ]
just pretend this was written by someone who knows what a car is
(And to marvel at this man who somehow manages to be so relentlessly earnest, god help him.)
It never occurred to him a) to explain the word 'pop', or b) just how ridiculous a word it is. And now the word pop has lost all meaning to him. ]
Alright, good job.
[ He claps a hand on G'raha's shoulder in congratulations, and then leans over the open hood and gestures G'raha in close, pointing at the parts as he speaks. ]
So this is the engine. It works by combusting the fuel you put in the car inside the cylinder here. Combusting the fuel moves these pistons which turns something called a crankshaft which in turn turns the wheels and makes the vehicle go. And I just threw a whole lot of words at you so: got any questions?
both g'raha and i are impressed
But he does pay attention when the lesson starts, nodding along with the parts he knows and pausing at the new pieces of information. He was aware that it was a combustion engine, which is quite a bit different than the sort of mechanics he's used to. Using the energy of explosions rather than the ambient potential of aether is really interesting. ]
That does make sense, even if it's a mode of energy generation that is not oft seen on my star. Is the engine something that needs regular maintenance or do they tend to be fairly hardy?
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Early October
He'd waved off a co-worker's offer to walk him back to his van despite the hour. It was only a few blocks. He'd never had any issues before, and it wasn't as if he couldn't defend himself... Even when someone fell into step beside him, he had been a bit too tired to startle.
You're the one who posted on the forum? The man had asked him. Tall and pale, with pointed teeth. Adrian had wondered how he would know, but nodded, concern in his expression. Then he'd met the man's eyes.
The rest of the world seemed to slip away in an instant. One second he was walking down a well-lit street, and the next he was in a dingy alley with his back to a wall, hands roughly bound. It was disorienting, to say the least. Two more vampires joined the first, fangs barred, moving in a slow half-circle like a pack of hunting dogs.
Don't move. The first one says, and he can't. Hypnosis of some sort, if he had to guess. Gods damn it. You poisoned the blood, didn't you? To get to us. And now you're covering your tracks. Confess. ]
Why in the hells would I do that? [ He's too tired for this. ] Look, I appreciate that this is a stressful situation but you are not being targeted. Most of the affected people were not vampires—
[ Collateral. The leader snarls. I know how your kind work. I can smell the stench of holy magic in you, Battle Priest.
Adrian would hardly call himself battle anything, but a knife pressed against his throat shuts him up before he can explain. This is all a mistake. A misunderstanding. The vampires seem equal parts angry and fearful of whatever a Battle Priest is and, at the moment, anger is winning out. Something about making him suffer like they've suffered. The knife moves lower down his body, and Adrian braces himself. ] I know you're afraid, but you don't have to do this—
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But a late night to early morning walk has been a staple of his life for a long time now, long before he ever got stranded here. It's nice to know that even in a world of magic and experiments and people put together in ways he'd never thought possible, some things stay the—
I know you're afraid, but you don't have to do this—
Speaking of things that stay the same. Eliot spins on his heel and immediately takes off running down the alley towards that—strangely familiar, in fact—voice, because he doesn't need to be psychic to know that something bad is about to happen, and new world or not Eliot's still the same.
He takes in the scene at a glance: someone up against the far wall, hands tied. Someone with a knife to them. Two more closing in. There's debris on the ground and trash piled up by a door and a fire escape hanging halfway down the wall, but Eliot is out of time. He scoops up a chunk of concrete as he runs in and lobs it at the head of one with the knife just as he lands knee first on another one, driving them face first into the ground. ]
It's late, I'm tired, and I haven't eaten yet. Let's make this quick.
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Adrian turns, startled. Eliot Spencer is there, taking on the pair of minions single-handedly. He's not as fast or as strong as they are, but even Adrian can see that he's far more calculated. If they were on more even footing, the vampires would be no match at all. But they aren't on even footing, not by far.
The leader whips around to glare at the lot of them, barking orders to Dmitri and Nadia. The moment his back is turned, Adrian goes for the knife on the ground.
—can't even deal with the fucking food! Just kill it. We're in the middle of something.
Fine. Nadia says, and Adrian hears Eliot's grunt of pain, as she pins him against a wall.
The rope slips free.
The leader turns back to him to scoff. And what do you think you're... ]
Enkindle.
[ The leader screams as radiant light burns through the skin of his face, followed swiftly by Nadia as two lances of light hit her. She releases Eliot.
Adrian is on his feet again. A pair of wings have sprouted from his back, white feathers dripping gold-like blood. His halo burns.
Adrian's expression is blank and, for once, utterly pitiless.
The vampires scatter out of the way of his light as he glides to Eliot's side, hovering barely a foot off the ground in front of him. It's clear that they can't get near Adrian without harm, but Eliot will suffer no such consequences. For him, the light is warm. ]
I'll stay near you. [ Adrian reaches behind his head, pulling one of the radial spikes free of his halo. ] As you said, let's make this quick.
[ It's quick.
Adrian incinerates one of the vampires entirely, and Eliot disarms the other, saving him from a bullet. That one burns too. The leader bolts, feverish and terrified, and they let him. Adrian will have to speak to Fern later about hunting that one down.
Adrian's wings disappear, but his halo remains as he rounds on Eliot and shoves him back against the alley wall again, a gloved hand on the center of Eliot's chest. His fingers tremble slightly. His eyes are full of unshed tears, but his expression is furious. In truth, he's far more angry at himself than at Eliot. ] You stupid, selfless idiot. They could have killed you! What were you thinking? Don't move. I'm healing you.
[ He is, in fact, using the last of his healing on Eliot. ]
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(And sometimes, when he dreams he sees—)
So he's been looking for him. Just to see whether— Just to see. Maybe get some answers. Texting got him nowhere, just polite nothing answers, like Eliot wasn't even worth the time of day. Which means that it should be a good thing, finding him here, now. Looking at him and knowing that Eliot didn't— that he's fine. A good thing that this time Eliot's there to help him, and not— anything else.
But no. Eliot grunts as his back hits the wall, injuries flaring, grunts again as Adrian's magic seeps into him, fills him like an overbrimming cup, so sweet it his teeth ache with it. Adrian's here, but instead of answers he's got Adrian yelling in his face, and it's like his anger is the spark that kindles his own. ]
Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Am I supposed to keep fucking walking? You were seconds away from being gutted.
[ His voice has been rising this entire time, anger at Adrian and at himself—inexplicably because he was helping, what the fuck else was he supposed to do?—churning inside him. And now Adrian is crying because of him and suddenly he can't stand Adrian's hand on him—
deep breaths. put your hand on mine.
—so he slaps it away. Can't stand his back up against the wall so he flips it, pushes Adrian into it instead, hand fisted in his top. ]
But let me guess, it's none of my business, right? Well maybe if everything wasn't a fucking secret with you I'd have known what I was walking into. You ever fucking think of that?
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Fern would have been furious, and worse than that she would have been upset. Finding his body in an alley would have been one last disappointment.
Apparently, she isn't the only one.
He lets Eliot slap his hand away, his halo finally flickering out like a light as he burns through the last of his healing. He doesn't resist when he's pushed back against the brick wall again. Eliot seems to tower over him, but he's not afraid of Eliot's anger. It feels good, in a strange way, to have him say it out loud.
This is just the conclusion of the dance they've been doing since that night in the motel room. All of Adrian's non-answers and Eliot's careful prodding for answers that he already knows — it's led to this. It always leads to this. Inevitably, everyone is violently disappointed. Inevitably, it just ends.
He grabs the front of Eliot's shirt in turn, dragging him perilously close. Despite the tears streaking his face, his heart is hammering in his chest. ]
You want me to be honest? Fine. I don't want to be saved if it means putting your life at risk. There's no point in living i-if the people I care about die. I hate hurting people and I hate seeing them hurt. [ His grip tightens on Eliot's shirt. ] Even you, and your ridiculous kindness and your misplaced guilt over something that wasn't even your fault. So what if I lied about it? What does it matter? You were better off hating me. It was easier for both of us.
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Adrian's words hang in the air between them, fill the space like something tangible, and just like that Eliot's anger dissipates as though it was never there to begin with. He feels like he's been ambushed, like he's been climbing the stairs only for a step to disappear out from under his foot.
If the people I care about—
Eliot sighs, and they're close enough for it to heat the air between them for a brief moment. When he speaks his voice is low, quiet. No reason to yell when they're practically forehead to forehead. ]
Don't go throwing your life away over me, Adrian.
[ His worst nightmare, someone thinking that he needs to be saved and putting their life on the line to do it. He's fought for people and he's fought beside them but he doesn't ever want to see someone stepping between him and whatever it is that's trying to kill him.
And there's no world, no universe, no turn of events that would make his life worth the loss of someone like Adrian. ]
And definitely don't go crying over me either. I ain't worth the tears.
[ Adrian was right about one thing though: it was easier when Adrian hated him. Especially since for Adrian it seems to be nothing more than a burden.
His hand is still twisted in the front of Adrian's top. For some reason he can't quite convince himself to let go. ]
You know, in my dreams I kill you.
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It's funny. He'd just demanded the same. ]
You don't get to decide that. [ He says, still holding Eliot's gaze. ] Awful, isn't it?
[ Because it's both of them, trapped by the same force. No matter how hard they try, they can't prevent the things they're most afraid of.
In my dreams, I kill you.
There's a brief catch in Adrian's breath. He remembers that night perfectly well. Eliot could have killed him or, at the very least, one of them would have died. He finds it hard to be afraid, though perhaps he ought to.
He releases Eliot's shirt, but his hand remains flat against his chest. He holds the other man's gaze as he tilts his head back, exposing a sliver of his throat not covered by the high collar of his shirt. ]
And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
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i guess this is the most appropriate icon i have
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( girl you haven't even told him you're a witch yet )
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1/2
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