[How could they, when he's buried so much of what drives him? But he thinks they might try, anyway. That brilliant, endless determination. His focus fixates on them now fully, voice no softer than before.]
And you, Dante.
[He moves towards them with slow barefooted steps, hands rising to see if they'll let him take their head into the grasp that has destroyed so much more than a mirror and a sink.]
What I wouldn't do...
Edited (the same word?? twice in a sentence????) 2025-06-27 18:14 (UTC)
[They will, of course. Even as their thoughts race and thoughts spiral endlessly about in their mind.]
< Zekarion, what's this about? >
[They're not so foolish as to believe they can solve every problem out there, whether it belongs to him or anyone else. But the way he's speaking now...]
[Zekarion thinks about the first time he held them like this. The sympathy and care he had then was no less real than what he harbors at this moment, but it pales in comparison—much like the shade's hands would to the man's now, solid but gentle against their clock. What he tried to do then was just another aspect of his greater desires: to save every single soul, leaving none behind.
He can't erase their worries now like he did then, nor will he try. All he can think of is the solution he's favored for so long.]
It's about the truth.
[Even he can only carry the weight of his lies so far. It feels like he's made the mistake of trying to weave them into something solid, leaving only a gilded surface to hide how frail and hollow it all is.
His eyelids lower as he stares into their face, a dark mirror by itself. ... yes, he thinks he's come to the answer. If he can't bring himself to push them away, and if they refuse to leave him, then...]
I want to tear you away from all of it. [Harsher:] Distortions, Abnormalities, your company. [But not just that. Barely softer but no less unpleasant, he continues.] Your Sinners. The path you've chosen. Everything you seek. ... To take you with me.
[There's something so tender yet so intense behind his words. Deep-seated and all-encompassing. The light buzzes overhead and yet it feels as if Dante had never turned it on at all.
Unlike when he'd come to them before, their vessel remains full--resolutely so. He can't reach into them like before to rip those feelings or attachments away. But it's plain as day to them now that he still wants to, whether what they hold is painful or precious.
They take his hand in both of theirs, holding it between them.]
< I can't go that far. >
[They feel guilty about that, despite it all, and the weight of their response drags their gaze from his.]
[The response is nothing less than what he'd expect. It doesn't change anything about his feelings or his expression—or rather, the idea of the rejection isn't what brings an edge to his voice.]
You thought I was asking...?
[His hand curls around theirs, tighter as he tips his head, forcing himself into their view even as they turn to look elsewhere. There's a gleam in his eye of something wild waiting to be released, even though his words remain even.]
I don't give a damn... what you think you can't do.
[His grip is tight, almost to the point it hurts. Though it leaves them more concerned than before, they continue to meet his eyes and stay the course.
Is this something the system has decided to impose upon them? Is something affecting his mind? It feels so similar to before.]
< Then why did you let me go when you were affected by the wish seeds? You stopped when I asked you to, even though you could have ignored me and took everything. Why? >
[Why did he let go of them then, when there were any number of ways he could have taken them? Clung to them with every movement, destroyed the ground underneath them, collapsed a building to trap them, leaving them no avenue to escape. The answer is an easy one and he doesn't bother lying.]
Because it sapped away my will to fight.
[His own determination that's pushed past so much, stolen from him due to nothing more than a stray moment of weakness and a foolish girl's arrogance. His jaw clenches to think about it and his disdain is clear.]
The effort was too much for that defeated, pathetic thing it made me.
That creature's aim was to kill you once there was nothing but a body left. What good would that have done me?
[A temporary death, only for them to come back with yet another piece missing. A victim, a witness. Someone who could question his motives, or at least was more likely to avoid him rather than do as he asked.
That he didn't manage to complete that aim with any of them was... a relief would be too strong a word. "It could be worse." A phrase he's always detested, no matter how true.]
I hated— [myself] —this place. For forcing me to lose control and do something I didn't intend.
[He doesn't say that he ached to think of stealing from them what little they had, and of making them suffer when they already had several lifetimes' worth of it. It would be stupid to admit, when he's just expressed a willingness to ignore their desires now, but—for a moment his grip twitches around their hand and there's a pain in his eyes the late hour doesn't allow him to hide.]
[They think they see something in his expression shift, just a little. At least they think they do. For all they know, it could just be their own pathetic desperation making them see things that aren't there.
But they want to hope. They want to hope just a little more. That this is caused by something else or some attempt to push them away or something. That it's something like La Manchaland and some part of the Zekarion they know is there. That they aren't deluding themselves.
So they ask a question they shouldn't.]
< ...Who am I, Zekarion? >
[How do you see me?
Please tell me that I'm something more than an object to you.]
[He answers them as solidly as he did once before, his harsh grip loosening as he turns his wrist to thread his fingers through theirs.]
You... are Dante.
[For however much he may be willing to try to destroy their agency, disregard their choices so he can keep them by his side. And he'd be a fool to try to deny his feelings entirely, to play it off as considering them nothing more than a trophy or a tool.]
You're what I want more than... [almost, he thinks, but—no. He breathes out,] anything.
[That's what's makes this so important, isn't it? To have them know. To make them understand just what sort of person he is. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered; he would have maintained the facade, kept them in the dark until the time came for this to end.]
My beloved fool who keeps hoping, and reaching, and trying, despite everything.
[An exhale, a flutter of ticking, the faintest quiver of the minute hand.
His answer soothes them less than they would like, but it does soothe. He still sees them. Whatever his reasoning may be, however he may have seen that moment before, however foolish he may think they are, they can still believe, still hope that he does.
...
Maybe they really are foolish.]
< So why ignore my choices? If that me is the me you want so badly, why take that away? >
[He drags his thumb slowly over their fingers, one at a time in one direction, then back the other. In contrast to the affectionate gesture, his vocal answer is frank.]
I expect you'll fight me on it until the end.
[In their own way, whatever way they can.]
So stand tall and show me your strength, or surrender.
[And thus the last of the tension in their shoulders melts away.]
< I can do that. >
[They don't expect it to be an enjoyable experience, that fight. But if he expects it and--if they're reading them correctly--welcomes it, then it might just be a worthy one.]
< You know, I suppose I do have some blame in this. I'm the one who encouraged you to find that path, after all. >
[As if they needed any confirmation that was what he wanted to hear. His hands are slow to return to his sides, to let go of them, but return they do. Zekarion takes a long moment to look at them, to consider their words and the consequences of his own.]
This is what happens when I'm given hope... my dear.
[He starts to step around them. He needs a hard drink, and not one to simply magic away the consequences of.]
[That sound of his name draws his steps to a stop quickly enough. Then... he feels his heart pounding in his chest and a chill on his neck, all of a sudden. Perhaps all his secret-keeping has become so instinctive that his subconscious is slow to catch on when it's no longer relevant.]
You know, [he starts, almost conversationally if not for the atmosphere he's set for this night. He doesn't turn to face them, but he answers them all the same.]
That was when I started to really look at you. More than all the rest.
[And so they did again, and again... he was drawn to them like a moth to their flame. Unable to stop himself, until he started to enjoy the searing heat of it.
He turns to look over his shoulder. Zekarion only wants the source of that golden shine in the way that he wants their hands, their scent—because it's a part of them. But now they both know the other understands the stakes for the game. The veil isn't being lifted—they've set it alight to watch it burn.]
I stopped caring what that thing in your head can do a long time ago.
[He almost means it as a reassurance, to acknowledge they've interpreted his words the way he intended them.]
[A soft laugh leaves him as a small but sharp smirk curls his lips and narrows his eyes. Thanking him, despite everything he's just admitted to, and despite the battles he's deliberately set up before them. It's so absurd, and so... Dante.
His love for them only grows; his answer is sincere and so fond.]
You're welcome.
[Zekarion smiles at them for a few more seconds before turning once more to head towards the kitchen. Somewhere in the cupboards he'll find a silent space between dull and numb, where his thoughts can no longer drown out the call of sleep.]
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no subject
[How could they, when he's buried so much of what drives him? But he thinks they might try, anyway. That brilliant, endless determination. His focus fixates on them now fully, voice no softer than before.]
And you, Dante.
[He moves towards them with slow barefooted steps, hands rising to see if they'll let him take their head into the grasp that has destroyed so much more than a mirror and a sink.]
What I wouldn't do...
no subject
< Zekarion, what's this about? >
[They're not so foolish as to believe they can solve every problem out there, whether it belongs to him or anyone else. But the way he's speaking now...]
no subject
He can't erase their worries now like he did then, nor will he try. All he can think of is the solution he's favored for so long.]
It's about the truth.
[Even he can only carry the weight of his lies so far. It feels like he's made the mistake of trying to weave them into something solid, leaving only a gilded surface to hide how frail and hollow it all is.
His eyelids lower as he stares into their face, a dark mirror by itself. ... yes, he thinks he's come to the answer. If he can't bring himself to push them away, and if they refuse to leave him, then...]
I want to tear you away from all of it. [Harsher:] Distortions, Abnormalities, your company. [But not just that. Barely softer but no less unpleasant, he continues.] Your Sinners. The path you've chosen. Everything you seek. ... To take you with me.
[To the end he's promised so many already.]
no subject
Unlike when he'd come to them before, their vessel remains full--resolutely so. He can't reach into them like before to rip those feelings or attachments away. But it's plain as day to them now that he still wants to, whether what they hold is painful or precious.
They take his hand in both of theirs, holding it between them.]
< I can't go that far. >
[They feel guilty about that, despite it all, and the weight of their response drags their gaze from his.]
< I can't leave them behind. I'm sorry. >
no subject
You thought I was asking...?
[His hand curls around theirs, tighter as he tips his head, forcing himself into their view even as they turn to look elsewhere. There's a gleam in his eye of something wild waiting to be released, even though his words remain even.]
I don't give a damn... what you think you can't do.
no subject
< Zekarion, stop. I'm not leaving them behind. >
[Each ticking "word" is resolute.]
no subject
Didn't I just tell you? What anyone else wants makes no difference to me.
[Zekarion won't let go until he makes them understand just what it is they've asked for tonight.]
I've broken past that kind of determination before for much less.
no subject
Is this something the system has decided to impose upon them? Is something affecting his mind? It feels so similar to before.]
< Then why did you let me go when you were affected by the wish seeds? You stopped when I asked you to, even though you could have ignored me and took everything. Why? >
no subject
Because it sapped away my will to fight.
[His own determination that's pushed past so much, stolen from him due to nothing more than a stray moment of weakness and a foolish girl's arrogance. His jaw clenches to think about it and his disdain is clear.]
The effort was too much for that defeated, pathetic thing it made me.
no subject
[The gears grind together. It echoes in their head.]
< Afterwards, it bothered you. >
[Didn't it?]
no subject
[A temporary death, only for them to come back with yet another piece missing. A victim, a witness. Someone who could question his motives, or at least was more likely to avoid him rather than do as he asked.
That he didn't manage to complete that aim with any of them was... a relief would be too strong a word. "It could be worse." A phrase he's always detested, no matter how true.]
I hated— [myself] —this place. For forcing me to lose control and do something I didn't intend.
[He doesn't say that he ached to think of stealing from them what little they had, and of making them suffer when they already had several lifetimes' worth of it. It would be stupid to admit, when he's just expressed a willingness to ignore their desires now, but—for a moment his grip twitches around their hand and there's a pain in his eyes the late hour doesn't allow him to hide.]
I had to prove I could overcome that.
no subject
But they want to hope. They want to hope just a little more. That this is caused by something else or some attempt to push them away or something. That it's something like La Manchaland and some part of the Zekarion they know is there. That they aren't deluding themselves.
So they ask a question they shouldn't.]
< ...Who am I, Zekarion? >
[How do you see me?
Please tell me that I'm something more than an object to you.]
no subject
You... are Dante.
[For however much he may be willing to try to destroy their agency, disregard their choices so he can keep them by his side. And he'd be a fool to try to deny his feelings entirely, to play it off as considering them nothing more than a trophy or a tool.]
You're what I want more than... [almost, he thinks, but—no. He breathes out,] anything.
[That's what's makes this so important, isn't it? To have them know. To make them understand just what sort of person he is. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered; he would have maintained the facade, kept them in the dark until the time came for this to end.]
My beloved fool who keeps hoping, and reaching, and trying, despite everything.
no subject
His answer soothes them less than they would like, but it does soothe. He still sees them. Whatever his reasoning may be, however he may have seen that moment before, however foolish he may think they are, they can still believe, still hope that he does.
...
Maybe they really are foolish.]
< So why ignore my choices? If that me is the me you want so badly, why take that away? >
[When they already choose so little.]
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I expect you'll fight me on it until the end.
[In their own way, whatever way they can.]
So stand tall and show me your strength, or surrender.
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< I can do that. >
[They don't expect it to be an enjoyable experience, that fight. But if he expects it and--if they're reading them correctly--welcomes it, then it might just be a worthy one.]
< You know, I suppose I do have some blame in this. I'm the one who encouraged you to find that path, after all. >
no subject
[As if they needed any confirmation that was what he wanted to hear. His hands are slow to return to his sides, to let go of them, but return they do. Zekarion takes a long moment to look at them, to consider their words and the consequences of his own.]
This is what happens when I'm given hope... my dear.
[He starts to step around them. He needs a hard drink, and not one to simply magic away the consequences of.]
no subject
[They call after him softly before he can leave the room.]
< It was you, wasn't it? All those months ago, when everyone was showing up in eachother's dreams. >
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You know, [he starts, almost conversationally if not for the atmosphere he's set for this night. He doesn't turn to face them, but he answers them all the same.]
That was when I started to really look at you. More than all the rest.
no subject
< Your parting words then, they reminded me of what you said just now. Your challenge. >
[So it was something of a recent realization. A hand reaches up to the necklace they've yet to remove, playing with the pendant.]
< Just so you know, when I said I was planning on getting you something in gold, it's not going to be that. >
[A last attempt at levity on their part, as well as a way to let him know they know what he's been seeing.
They know he knows why they can't just leave the Sinners behind, either.]
< What you said when I asked you to tell me who I am says that that's not what you're looking for anyway. >
no subject
[And so they did again, and again... he was drawn to them like a moth to their flame. Unable to stop himself, until he started to enjoy the searing heat of it.
He turns to look over his shoulder. Zekarion only wants the source of that golden shine in the way that he wants their hands, their scent—because it's a part of them. But now they both know the other understands the stakes for the game. The veil isn't being lifted—they've set it alight to watch it burn.]
I stopped caring what that thing in your head can do a long time ago.
[He almost means it as a reassurance, to acknowledge they've interpreted his words the way he intended them.]
You are my light with or without it.
no subject
Because he remains the second star in their sky: the one that Dante can embrace but should never follow.
They'll light his way for as long as they can.]
< ...Thank you. >
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His love for them only grows; his answer is sincere and so fond.]
You're welcome.
[Zekarion smiles at them for a few more seconds before turning once more to head towards the kitchen. Somewhere in the cupboards he'll find a silent space between dull and numb, where his thoughts can no longer drown out the call of sleep.]