All right. Shut up so I can continue shitting on myself. How are you going to bless me anyway? You're the one parading about calling yourself a demon. Any blessing you give will wither into a curse, if we accept your declarations as true.
[An echo of the sensation, painful and persistent, tugs at Andersen's heart. He moves his hand, so his fingers rest on Edmond's hand.]
Then you understand why I'm warning you. This body, this heart -- neither of them are wholly mine. That is the curse of Innocent Monster. I will never be able to separate myself from my identity as an author. I'm as much a story as you are, with the heart of a demon who thirsts for tragedy.
Suffice to say, I don't have any confidence that I can make you happy.
[because happiness to him was too ephemeral to exist in a person, given from their hands. happiness occurred and left. a bird that might stop in a ruined garden for a moment, and fly off.]
You wish for tragedy, and I am a tale of woe down to the marrow in my bones. All I will ask - all I would ever ask - is that when you read me, you resist the temptation to rearrange me to the shape that pleases your eyes the most.
[do not wipe the blood from his wounds, the sweat from his brow. do not pretend he did not snarl and show his teeth. do not give him a sweet ending, for his story is nothing like a fairy tale.
Andersen could use his blood to write commentaries on life, and he would not utter a sound of pain. but he cannot be what he is not, if he will remain so close. that was his worst curse. that was what would poison anyone.]
[A story who wants to be treated as a man again. An author wishing such kindness wasn't shown to him. What a strange pair they made. He looks to him and his body turns ever-so-slightly his way. His hand shifts, moves so their fingers may lace together the best they can.]
I'm an observer. If I couldn't capture my subject matter, I would've been a mediocre scribbler who died penniless and alone in Copenhagen's gutters. Sure, I'll capture your essence, down to the last drop of blood. Why would I go through the trouble of editing you when I hate the very act of editing?
[his hold tightens just slightly, enough that it's secure. he's not letting go, and he shifts in kind, to finally look at Andersen again.]
You are you. And if you were not, I would not have sworn myself to you.
[he would not have felt the way he did when it happened. would not be here right now, sharing a place that is private. would not accept the way his name sounds from the other's lips.
[That's all that needs to be said. Over the Bond there's a sense of easing into the truth, as one would into a chair after a long day. His pride, the hate he held towards himself, the cynicism frosted on his heart -- Hans sets it all down to focus on the hands holding his, akin to a tender embrace.]
There's no point in bellyaching about it any further. Both our hearts are set upon it. It's only natural for an author to become enamored with a story. That's a testament to how it's taken a life of its own. Yes, I wouldn't mind amusing myself by loving you.
[no words come to reply to him, but Dantes looks, keeps looking, before he bows his head. raising one of their linked hands, he gently presses his lips to the back of Andersen's before lowering it back down.
an understanding not born of fists and flame, but in the spaces between words and subtle observations. that's all he dares to hope for and grasp.]
[That gesture speaks in ways words cannot. Hans' expression softens and -- before Edmond can move away -- closes the space between them so he may kiss him.]
[the way he freezes isn't rejection. it's disbelief, a stillness that comes from being shaken, even as his heart stops and restarts again from it. a question and an answer all in one. Hans has taken a step it would have taken Edmond so much longer to approach, flung him backwards - and oh, it isn't the abyss that surrounds him, but the sea.
his eyes close, and he relaxes enough to silently communicate that this isn't unwelcome - far from it. that Hans is invited to linger, if he likes, to stay near.]
[He worries, for a moment, he's overstepped. That this strange feeling in his chest is imagined, that their being here is a cruel prank (even if he knows edmond well enough to understand he'd never do such a thing), that all of the signs he's picked up were figments of his wild imagination. But Edmond stays where he is and Hans can't help laughing a little as he breaks off the kiss, his face still close, hand still in his.
He never thought he'd feel this warmth again. It melts the winter in his heart, enough for him to be painfully honest.]
[his eyes are shut for a pair of heartbeats still when Hans pulls away - he feels so much that he's slow to reopen them, recovering himself not as quickly as he might have otherwise. if nothing else, Hans can believe in that, as his expression says much about his feelings.
his voice feels a little faraway, but he manages.]
[What a look that is. It's enough to thaw the coldest of peaks and Hans feels his own face warm as his eyes meet Edmond's. How frequently he laughed at people's clumsy shows of affection when he was, deep down, cut from the same cloth.
To hold his gaze is overwhelming. This all feels unreal, as if it's simply a daydream, and Hans has to drop his eyes to their hands, red dusting his cheeks.]
Then I'll make it clear. You're permitted to have as much of me as you like.
[this time, Edmond reaches out, tilts his face back up, and it's him who crosses the distance to kiss Hans, with a gentleness that is at odds with his declarations of hell and darkness. in his chest is a sweet longing, the tension of instrument strings, but he can give it form and purpose in this.
still, his touch is light. as if saying you can escape, if you choose. so long in the flame, he barely knows how to exist out of it, to think that his touch won't poison and corrupt. and yet, they are still here.]
[He's always been the one to pursue, never the one pursued. Over their Bond there's a gentle surprise and Hans closes his eyes. Lets himself be carried away in the moment, to leave the past and future behind, to exist only in the present. He doesn't move away -- not until he needs to take a breath -- and when he does break it off it's with uncharacteristic shyness.]
So...
[Where do they go from here? He fumbles with his thoughts.]
Are we going to stay here? Romantic as it is to kiss among the ruins, it's nowhere as comfortable as a couch.
[there's the faintest dusting of pink on Edmond's face, highlighted by his usual lack of color, but he carries on as if it's not there.]
Where it's far more comfortable, though it's up to you how swiftly we go there.
[what he's not saying, what he could be, is that if they take their time, they could be spending it together, in each other's company. without responsibilities.]
[He hears what he means. Hans reaches up and brushes back a strand of Edmond's hair. It's softer than he expected it to be and his touch lingers. His fingers trail down the side of his Bonded's neck.]
... my offer to kill you still stands, I want you to know. Even this-- [this awkward love, this strange bond they've formed] --won't keep me from carrying out a promise.
[stillness, quiet. Hans is touching him so gently, and in the brief area of his skin that his fingers brush over, Edmond has to inhale softly, hold it close. to be touched, to have that boundary broken. it's almost too much to bear.]
Let's make that decision closer to the end of the month. It's too early for me to truly know if that's needed or not.
[he's not so eager to rush and let go of everything they have.]
[the promise and the bond both served to bring him down to where he needed to be, giving him that control over himself again, and he cannot hide how much it means to him. there was a path forward, now.]
[Over the Bond, there's a buzz of surprise that quickly settles into a calm hum. Hans isn't accustomed to being so important to anyone. It was his role to long and pine, but never to have. Not in his past life; not in his current life.
Or at least, that was what he told himself. Hans drops his hand.]
You understand I cannot promise to remain yours? That my being here is at the whim of forces beyond either of us? Will your resolve still stand if I were to be whisked away once more?
[he takes a breath, and there's the sense of him having to bend down an iron pride that rarely knelt to any except God. this is a moment of that high importance.]
I may also vanish before you do. The difference is that you accepted that before I could.
[I thought myself untouchable. the words he will not say, because that is still too much. but he had thought this would be different.]
Even if you are not my Bonded, you know my sentiments. Those existed without that connection - you're just aware of them now.
[And -- gently, slowly -- he tips his forehead against his. He doesn't believe his time in this world will be long. He doesn't think he'll be granted a chance to linger by Edmond's side. But it doesn't keep him from hoping, from wanting to be close for a little longer.]
Whether we stay in this world, or meet again at Chaldea or at the Throne... I'll wait and hope.
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[he scoffs, taking the metaphor and running with it.]
And I get to give you penance.
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It's true, I'm made up of curses and poison. No playacting at being a priest will change that.
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Then you understand why I'm warning you. This body, this heart -- neither of them are wholly mine. That is the curse of Innocent Monster. I will never be able to separate myself from my identity as an author. I'm as much a story as you are, with the heart of a demon who thirsts for tragedy.
Suffice to say, I don't have any confidence that I can make you happy.
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[because happiness to him was too ephemeral to exist in a person, given from their hands. happiness occurred and left. a bird that might stop in a ruined garden for a moment, and fly off.]
You wish for tragedy, and I am a tale of woe down to the marrow in my bones. All I will ask - all I would ever ask - is that when you read me, you resist the temptation to rearrange me to the shape that pleases your eyes the most.
[do not wipe the blood from his wounds, the sweat from his brow. do not pretend he did not snarl and show his teeth. do not give him a sweet ending, for his story is nothing like a fairy tale.
Andersen could use his blood to write commentaries on life, and he would not utter a sound of pain. but he cannot be what he is not, if he will remain so close. that was his worst curse. that was what would poison anyone.]
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I'm an observer. If I couldn't capture my subject matter, I would've been a mediocre scribbler who died penniless and alone in Copenhagen's gutters. Sure, I'll capture your essence, down to the last drop of blood. Why would I go through the trouble of editing you when I hate the very act of editing?
[Though he says that...]
And what about me?
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You are you. And if you were not, I would not have sworn myself to you.
[he would not have felt the way he did when it happened. would not be here right now, sharing a place that is private. would not accept the way his name sounds from the other's lips.
would not have kept a room for him, waiting.]
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[That's all that needs to be said. Over the Bond there's a sense of easing into the truth, as one would into a chair after a long day. His pride, the hate he held towards himself, the cynicism frosted on his heart -- Hans sets it all down to focus on the hands holding his, akin to a tender embrace.]
There's no point in bellyaching about it any further. Both our hearts are set upon it. It's only natural for an author to become enamored with a story. That's a testament to how it's taken a life of its own. Yes, I wouldn't mind amusing myself by loving you.
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an understanding not born of fists and flame, but in the spaces between words and subtle observations. that's all he dares to hope for and grasp.]
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his eyes close, and he relaxes enough to silently communicate that this isn't unwelcome - far from it. that Hans is invited to linger, if he likes, to stay near.]
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He never thought he'd feel this warmth again. It melts the winter in his heart, enough for him to be painfully honest.]
That's where you should have kissed.
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his voice feels a little faraway, but he manages.]
I wasn't sure if I was permitted to.
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To hold his gaze is overwhelming. This all feels unreal, as if it's simply a daydream, and Hans has to drop his eyes to their hands, red dusting his cheeks.]
Then I'll make it clear. You're permitted to have as much of me as you like.
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still, his touch is light. as if saying you can escape, if you choose. so long in the flame, he barely knows how to exist out of it, to think that his touch won't poison and corrupt. and yet, they are still here.]
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So...
[Where do they go from here? He fumbles with his thoughts.]
Are we going to stay here? Romantic as it is to kiss among the ruins, it's nowhere as comfortable as a couch.
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[there's the faintest dusting of pink on Edmond's face, highlighted by his usual lack of color, but he carries on as if it's not there.]
Where it's far more comfortable, though it's up to you how swiftly we go there.
[what he's not saying, what he could be, is that if they take their time, they could be spending it together, in each other's company. without responsibilities.]
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... my offer to kill you still stands, I want you to know. Even this-- [this awkward love, this strange bond they've formed] --won't keep me from carrying out a promise.
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Let's make that decision closer to the end of the month. It's too early for me to truly know if that's needed or not.
[he's not so eager to rush and let go of everything they have.]
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You sounded so sure earlier. Come, don't tell me you're becoming as sentimental as I am.
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[the promise and the bond both served to bring him down to where he needed to be, giving him that control over himself again, and he cannot hide how much it means to him. there was a path forward, now.]
Enough has changed since then.
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Or at least, that was what he told himself. Hans drops his hand.]
You understand I cannot promise to remain yours? That my being here is at the whim of forces beyond either of us? Will your resolve still stand if I were to be whisked away once more?
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[he takes a breath, and there's the sense of him having to bend down an iron pride that rarely knelt to any except God. this is a moment of that high importance.]
I may also vanish before you do. The difference is that you accepted that before I could.
[I thought myself untouchable. the words he will not say, because that is still too much. but he had thought this would be different.]
Even if you are not my Bonded, you know my sentiments. Those existed without that connection - you're just aware of them now.
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[And -- gently, slowly -- he tips his forehead against his. He doesn't believe his time in this world will be long. He doesn't think he'll be granted a chance to linger by Edmond's side. But it doesn't keep him from hoping, from wanting to be close for a little longer.]
Whether we stay in this world, or meet again at Chaldea or at the Throne... I'll wait and hope.