#but like also picturing those black nails wrapped around himself as he jerks o- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

I Fold

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Book 1, chapter 12)

Word Count: ~2400

Rating: PG-13 (language, mild sensuality)

Summary: Spending time with her always feels like a gamble

Author’s Note: Written for the @choicesmonthlychallenge for August 21 - temptation. With TRH3 coming out today, I found myself feeling a little bummed that I had no desire to play this series I once loved, so I decided to throw this together to revisit a time when I adored this series and these characters.

Drake stepped into the lounge almost tentatively, scanning the room quickly from the doorway and letting out a sigh when he confirmed he was alone. He didn’t want to think about the fact that there was a lot of disappointment mixed in with his relief at that realization.

He walked over to the bar, rooting through the bottles of liquor until he found the Bushmills he was looking for. He had no reason to suspect that she would be joining him tonight. She wouldn’t even know about this lounge at Applewood. But then again, she’d stumbled upon him in that lounge back at the palace without any warning, and she hadn’t exactly known where to find him then, at least at first. It had been pure coincidence.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was that he’d rather enjoyed the handful of nights they’d spent drinking whiskey and playing poker. Before they’d made the trip to Applewood, it had kind of settled into a late night tradition, with her waiting for him in the lounge after the first couple of times. But now, things were apparently back to normal, which Drake knew in his soul was for the best. Since his birthday yesterday, he was having thoughts he definitely shouldn’t be. Or rather, more thoughts he shouldn’t be. But part of him still just wanted to spend a little more time with her.

He took his glass of whiskey and headed for the couches, pulling out his phone and trying to not feel let down that it looked like she wasn’t joining him. After all, he’d never had problems drinking alone before she dropped into his life. So, he pulled up scores from the football matches today and was ready to watch some highlights when he heard the door creak open.

His eyes flew to the door in an instant. There she was, her dark hair swinging as she glanced around the room, a smile appearing when she met his gaze.

“There you are. I’ve been hunting for where you might be hiding,” she said, stepping fully into the lounge, closing the door behind her. She’d changed into a pair of tight jeans and a loose, purplish sort of top. She looked good, so much more comfortable than he’d seen her all day. “After not only being forced to bake today, but forced to bake with Olivia, I definitely need a drink.”

Drake moved to stand up and pour her some whiskey, but she shook her head. “I got it. Why don’t you find some cards?” And just like that, she was striding over to the bar like she owned the place. His eyes drifted down, watching the way her hips and ass rolled in those jeans before he snapped out of it, jerking his head to the side and standing up, running his hands through his hair as he made his way to the small cupboard off to the side. He needed to stop. He couldn’t let himself get carried away here.

“What’s on the drink menu tonight?” he heard her call out as he dug around, trying to find a deck of cards and some poker chips.

“Bushmills, but if you want something else, Liu-”

“Nah, that’s fine with me.” He heard the splash of liquid into a glass as he continued his search. He eventually found an old deck of cards, but there did not appear to be any chips.

“How’s the hunt going?” she asked, her voice much closer. She must be at the coffee table.

“I don’t think there are any poker chips here, Liu.” He reached his arm in as deep as he could, feeling around the back of the cupboard, but he was still coming up empty.

“Hmmm. Do you have any cash on you? We could use that.”

He pivoted to face her, finding her sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Are you literally trying to take my money? Because of all your potential marks at the manor, I’m probably the dumbest choice.”

She threw her head back and laughed at that, deep and rich, her black hair hanging like a surreal curtain behind her. “Maybe I just figured I could start small, gradually work my way through the court!” He chuckled lightly at that before she continued, “But seriously, I don’t know. I was just trying to come up with something we could use. So unless you have other ideas…” She trailed off with a little shrug, her dark eyes wide as they locked on his. The silence that followed was tense and expectant.

Drake swallowed roughly. He could think of one option besides poker chips as he let his eyes drift across her body, picturing each piece of clothing she was wearing piled on the table in front of her. Those damn jeans that fit her like a second skin. That shirt that was loose and slipping off her shoulder just a bit. The bra he knew was blue based on the strap he could see on that shoulder. Her panties, probably not a matching blue, but still undoubtedly perfect, regardless of color.

He tried to reign in his overactive imagination, dragging his eyes back to her face, shocked to see a coy little smirk on her face. It almost felt like she was flirting, like she wanted him to suggest strip poker or something, but he knew he had to be just imagining things, so he shook his head to get that way too appealing fantasy out of his mind, twisting back to the cupboard and looking at their actual options.

“How about Scrabble tiles?”

There was a slight pause before she answered, “That could work.”

So he tugged the old box of Scrabble from the shelf and joined her on the floor, resting his back against the couch behind him as he set the game on the coffee table and handed her the deck of cards, ignoring how her fingers brushed against his as he did so. As she shuffled the deck, he sorted out the tiles, dividing them into vowels and consonants, then sliding half of each pile over to her.

“Alright, vowels are one, consonants are five, ante is one? That work for you, Liu?”

She nodded. “Five card draw?” They’d mixed it up a couple of times, but they seemed to both prefer the standard.

“Sounds good.”

And so she dealt the cards. He watched her hands as she briskly alternated placing cards in front of each of them. He noticed a bit of glitter in her pink nail polish. He wasn’t sure if she knew that wasn’t exactly appropriate for court, or if she did and it was a tiny bit of rebellion. He liked to think it was the latter.

“So, how long do Apple Court cup-bearer duties last?” Riley asked as she picked up her cards, scanning them over without changing her expression. “Should you have tasted my whiskey before I had any?”

Drake lifted his eyes from the five cards he was holding to look at her. Her eyes were bright and playful, an eyebrow cocked and the corner of her lips quirked up.

“Ha. Ha,” he deadpanned, looking back at his cards, trying to decide whether he should play it safe and keep his pair of tens, or trade in one of them and to go for a flush as he tossed in an “I” as his initial bet. “Nice to see the power of being fake queen is already going to your head. Good practice for when you’re actually queen.”

She let out a little hum at that, but didn’t say anything else when she matched him with an “O.” It surprised Drake, as normally she gave as good as she got. But for whatever reason, his little teasing comment didn’t draw a response from her. He wondered if he’d struck a nerve. That hadn’t been his goal, but maybe she was worried he really saw her as just as stuck up and irritating as the rest of them. He didn’t know how that could be, because who else at court would sit on the floor and drink whiskey straight up with him? But this place tended to have a way of screwing with minds. He knew that better than anyone probably.

“Liu, I was just teasing. I know you aren’t-”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted, shaking her head lightly as she took the three cards he offered her and passed him three new ones from the deck. “It’s just… Do you really think I’ll be queen?”

He felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Of course she was just worried that Liam wasn’t as interested as she was. She didn’t care how he saw her at all. He glanced at his new cards, disappointed to find nothing useful. The pair of tens was going to have to be good enough. He tossed an “E” tile into the pot before he answered, “Liu, I’m not gonna act like a teenager and gossip about my best friend’s feelings. You are smart enough to see that-”

“That’s not what I meant. I… sometimes… I don’t know. I just don’t feel like I’m cut out to be queen, you know?”

His eyes jumped to her face, but she was staring at her hand, aggressively avoiding eye contact with him as she tossed in a “K” tile, raising his bet.

“Liu, where is this coming from?” He kept staring at her, trying to determine what she wanted here. Did she want a confidence boost and pep talk? Or did she want his honest assessment? Because while he was sure she could be an amazing queen, a breath of fresh air, bringing common sense and real world experiences to the role, he also was scared of what being queen might do to her. To be queen was to play peacemaker, to embody decorum and diplomacy at all times. And she was too fierce, too intense, too free to ever be truly happy locked away in that gilded cage.

She gave a little shrug after a moment, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “I just don’t have anything in common with any of the other suitors. I’m nothing like them at all, and it just makes me wonder if I’m right for this. They’ve trained all their lives for this shit, and if I am so different from them, then I don’t see how I am remotely the right choice.”

“Your differences from them are why you are the right choice, Liu. You aren’t sheltered or out of touch or completely stuck up your own ass.”

“I just don’t know. It feels so weird and the closer the Coronation gets, I just…” she trailed off, biting her lip and staring at him with those damn eyes. She looked lost and unsure, and he wasn’t used to that.

“Did Olivia or Madeleine say something today?” It was the only thing he could think that would have made her suddenly unsettled.

Riley shook her head aggressively. “God no! And I know better than to let anything those bitches say get to me. I’ve just been thinking about it more lately, and I just can’t picture myself sitting there with a crown on my head and a smile plastered on my face.”

Drake shrugged. She wasn’t exactly wrong, and he wasn’t going to lie to her. She would have to put on a happy face publicly a lot when she married Liam.

When he didn’t say anything, she kept going. “Sometimes it all just feels so surreal, like I’m an actress in some cheap romance movie. I don’t know… I guess the only times I feel like I’m still a real human are…”

Her eyes dropped to the surface of the coffee table as she trailed off again. He followed her gaze, surprised to see her hand mere millimeters from his, his little finger nearly touching her thumb. It happened almost in slow motion, as he watched her thumb scoot over, brushing over the back of his hand deliberately.

Drake looked up and was shocked to find her staring at him, her gaze so intense it almost felt like it could cut through him. He didn’t know what she was looking for, what she was searching for in him, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the moment, to look away. So he stared right back. The urge to slide their hands together, the temptation to lean over and kiss her was so strong, he almost felt himself leaning towards her.

But he knew he couldn’t. It would be a massive mistake. She was just getting worn down by the stresses of the social season, and she was looking for comfort where she could find it. He knew it had to be true. Hell, the only reason she kept coming back for these midnight poker games was probably because she just needed a moment away from all the pressure and he kind of just represented the antithesis of that whole world. It had nothing to actually do with him beyond his outsider status.

She was here for Liam. He should be the one to kiss away her worries and fears, to hold her close, to reassure her. Drake was just supposed to keep an eye on her, not steal those intimate moments. So he closed his eyes, trying to break the spell it felt like she had him under with her stare as he cleared his throat, sliding his hand back. “I fold.”

He opened his eyes to find her still staring at him, an almost skeptical look in her eyes. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warm with her continued attention, so he shoved the handful of Scrabble tiles over to her, trying to move this evening back in a safer direction. “Here, just take your damn winnings so I can deal the next hand.”

She didn’t say anything as she tossed her hand onto the discard pile and handed him the deck. Out of curiosity, he flipped over those five cards. The five of clubs, the three and nine of diamonds, and the six and Jack of spades. She had nothing, had been bluffing the entire time.

“What can I say? Sometimes you just need to raise the stakes.” He glanced up at her statement and saw her watching him. “What did you have?”

“It doesn’t matter, Liu.” And with that, he shuffled his hand into the deck, dealing the cards out without saying another word. From where he was sitting, the stakes were already high enough.

Permatag: @choicesficwriterscreations @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @iaminlovewithtrr @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @no-one-u-know @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr #choices fanfiction #the royal romance

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honeyandfiregame · 5 years

Note

Day's pov when he finds out mc is being abused while he's in love with them could be interesting? :o

Put under the cut for violence, mentions of abuse of course, no happy ending, and for length (3.5k words. Also I did not edit this in the slightest and there’s definitely mistakes.)

In this line of work, whatever way you try to live, life provides you an aesthetic. It doesn’t care who you try to be, it knows who you are. A style that bleeds into the cracks and solidifies, marking you like a second skin. An identifier of your being. Who are you. How lonely you are.

You can wear your longcoat, your hat, the boots sturdy enough to stomp someone’s skull in. You can wear the scowl on your face and the tightness in your muscles. You can put up your fronts, but the truth is always the devil in the details.

They’ll see the whole picture, but they won’t see the tears in the seams of your coat repaired again and again, the bloodstains too dark to be seen in the black fabric of your hat. They won’t see the shine behind your glare, the emotions kept in check, or the fact the tightness in your muscles has had you incapable of unclenching your jaw for almost 20 years. Or all the years of running and fighting that dulled the leather and weathered the sturdy heels of those boots.

And how those weathered heels are now grinding into the cheek of someone who deserves a little more than a skull-stomping.

Day’s eyes are cold, nearly completely dull and dead. His mouth and ears shut to the world, his heart unbeating in his chest; he hasn’t the energy to spare for worthless scum.

The man cries out against the pressure, one hand wrapped around Day’s ankle, the other trying to find purchase further up his leg, trying and failing to remove the weight that’s now shifted to his throat. A frown finds its way to Day’s face at the feeling.

“You don’t have permission to touch me, swine,” he growls. Memories swirl in his mind, half blown out of his head with the force of his bloodied rage.

But it’s not the usual memories, no, for the past hour he’s actually been trying to force those memories back into his head. For once. If only because the fear-induced dissociation would keep his anger in check from the actual memories taken hold of him for the time being.

Memories of you. The tears you thought he didn’t notice, the excuses you gave. To him. Your best friend. That’s not a title he’s given willingly before. And now you’re lying to him, lying with bruises on your skin and all because of…

Day’s head slowly tilts, the red of his eyes nearly vanished in the black as he stares with dilated pupils down at the gallows walker pinned under his boot.

Him.

He did this. He made you hurt, he made you cry, he made you feel like you need to lie to your friends.

Day’s heart would twist if it didn’t already feel like it’s leapt halfway up his throat.

“I never liked humans much.” His mouth is disconnected from his cognizance, no command given for the words that are falling out. Though, that’s not out of the ordinary for him. “But I work with a few of them. Good people… so I always felt bad for thinking that.”

His foot finally removes itself from the throat of the man, who begins to choke and gasp with the gratefulness of someone who doesn’t know what’s coming. Day jerks back a step, raising a hand to wipe some of the blood from his chin. It might be his, but it’s probably not. Although his claws have no doubt shredded up his palms by this point. He swallows down the tremor in his throat that threatens to shake his hard tone. Why does everything that has to do with you do that to him?

“But you… people like you.” A woman’s face, with the deepest of red hair and the sharpest of shark’s smiles, appears in his mind for just a brief moment and he’s safe. There’s no tremble in his dead tone. “People like you serve to remind me why I never fucking liked humans, just certain people.”

He can’t help the way his frown deepens, eyebrows drawing together, like he’s staring at something disgusting. It’s because he is. And every second facing the man who not only stole your heart but shattered it feels like Day’s own heart is dying. If he could be certain he had one anymore.

But then again… perhaps it’s you who proved there’s still something beating in his chest. Weakly, ever since he watched you choose another man, but still there.

Day shakes the thought away. Not the time to get soft now. He focuses his eyes and mind on the bleeding mess of a human crumbled on the ground at his feet.

“I’m wondering if I ought to keep beating you into the ground or…”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence when the sorry excuse chokes, spluttering words between spatters of blood.

“W-wait! Please, I’ll-I’ll stay away from them! I promise!” His begging just makes Day’s throbbing headache worse. “We’ll break up, if that’s what you want! Just… just let me go…”

Wait…

Day tilts his head like a curious dog. His eyes are as cold as ever.

“Do you… think you’re getting out of this alive?” The words come with a tint of confusion, a furrow in his brow, a genuine realization that he hadn’t yet killed the hope within this man.

“Oh, no, no…” he breathes, crouching down. He reaches out and, with the gentlest of touches, drags his finger through the blood smeared across the bastard’s face. “I don’t think you realize just what you’ve done. You see, I won’t… I don’t let people like you live.”

He leans closer, ever so gently, perhaps even with the impression of someone loving, cupping a bruised cheek. He’ll pretend a primal, sadistic part deep inside of him doesn’t shiver with pleasure at the way the man’s eyes widen, fear blooming in huge pupils.

“Never have, never will. And I can’t lie and say this isn’t about them.” He taps black claws against a vulnerable temple. “But I also know what people like you deserve and since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else who’ll give it to you, I’ll be the one to do it.”

He drags a claw sharpened to a point across the man’s throat, watches the way it moves with a nervous swallow, watches the absolute terror that sprawls his features. Like a person seeing a real, true monster.

The thought makes Day smile.

Because that’s what he is.

“Because I’m a bad person. Not unlike you.”

***

The silence is suffocating and that’s not a feeling Day usually has. Typically the silence is a soothing balm on a bruised, dissociated mind. Now it’s just a reminder of what’s to come.

And what’s to come has him nervously shaking his leg, digging his nails into his upper arms.

Consequences trail actions; how many times is he going to learn that? Eventually, he’s going to have to start thinking before he acts.

…

Yeah, no, he’ll burn in all seven Hells before he does that.

Besides, he holds no regret. He did that for you. And for him. And for every man, woman, and child that’s suffered at the hands of another.

Hells, when did he get so righteous…

But more importantly than that, he did it for you. For an angel like you, you deserve only the best the world has to offer. Which wasn’t that guy… which might not be him either.

Just as a sigh escapes him, a hand comes down on his shoulder. He jolts, a rush of adrenaline having his fingers aching with the urge to lengthen his nails to claws.

“Settle yourself.” The familiar deep voice has Day relaxing before the sentence is finished. “This isn’t going to get easier anytime soon.” But that doesn’t.

Zenos moves around the desk to basically fall into his chair, leaning back with a sigh. Day watches him with a careful, scrutinizing eye.

“You look tired,” he says without a further thought.

Zenos smiles, which only serves to highlight the exhausted evidence on his features of the all nighter he pulled. “I wonder who caused that,” he replies levelly, idle smile stuck in place.

Day at least has the sense to not reply.

He watches as Zenos leans forward to shuffle about some papers on his desk. It’s hard not to notice the way his eyes are being avoided.

“You’re angry at me,” he states and tries to ignore the way saying that aloud makes his stomach twist.

“As a matter of fact”—Day jumps at the slam of a book on the desk—“I am beyond angry at you.”

Zenos stands, like there’s so much energy in his rant he can’t sit any longer. “I am so thoroughly pissed at you for what you’ve done, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Zenos slams his hands on the desk and Day presses himself back into his chair. His default stoic expression suddenly becomes an effort to maintain as Zenos leans forward, eyes narrowed into a glare. “I don’t know what to do with you. This is one of the worst things you’ve ever done.”

“I’ve done worse.” That sounded weak even to him. And not at all helpful.

“No, Day, you haven’t. You’ve done a lot, all of it really bad, and I forgave you. I didn’t give up on you, I still put up with you. But this is…”

Day sets his jaw, hardening his stare as well as his heart for what he knows is coming.

“Look, I understand.” And that definitely wasn’t it. Day clears his throat, awkwardly shifting in his seat as he finds himself now unsure what to do with the new wall he built for what he expected to be a lot more painful.

Zenos continues, ignoring Day’s sudden discomfort, “You’re not the only one who noticed what was going on. I saw it too, and I wanted to…”

He sighs, coming around the desk to lean on it in front of Day. His voice has dropped to a soft tone that has Day shifting again. “I care about them too. I don’t want to see them hurt. I know why you did it, but Day… there are other ways to handle things.”

Except when you don’t know any other way, because pain and violence is the only way you were taught. To give and to receive, until tears and blood is all you know, until it turns fatal.

Day’s teeth feel like they’re going to crack, his jaw clenched so damned tight.

“I have to punish you for this, you know? But this is so far over the line I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do.”

“You can’t do this again, Day.” Zenos’ eyes are too sincere as he speaks. “And I say that because I know you and I know you would do it again in a heartbeat.”

That’s true. Day’s already thinking back on it, the satisfaction of crushing that bastard’s life in his hands. He would do it again and again to keep you safe, he always will.

A silence falls, Day neither having the words nor the energy to respond. It’s uncomfortable for many reasons, but if Day were to hazard a guess, Zenos might be the most uncomfortable dealing with this situation when his oldest friend is involved. He wants to get angry at him for breaking their promise. But Day knows Zenos enough to know the naive, incredibly sweet dumbass really thought it would never come to this, not to mention the circumstances that lead to this…

He doesn’t know what to do or how to feel and he probably just wishes the whole situation never happened so he never has to deal with it. Being a responsible adult sucks. It’s another bruise beneath the surface of Zenos’ skin.

A sigh breaks him out of his thoughts and he looks up as Zenos pushes himself off the desk.

“You are suspended for now and you will need to go home while I think of just what can make up for what you’ve done… I hope you realize how incredibly lucky you are that no one suspects you and I can keep the Guard off your back.” Day gives a short nod, swallowing down his gratitude as a rock forms in his stomach. He has a bad feeling about what’s going to happen next. And he was right to feel like that, because the hardened mask of a leader has melted and now there’s nothing but pity on Zenos’ face.

“There’s someone else who needs to speak with you before you leave. I will leave you two to sort this out alone.”

Yeah, there it is. That gut-wrenching feeling that has Day wanting to scratch scars into his wrist again.

“No…” He finally speaks, but it’s a broken whisper, nearly inaudible, and Zenos doesn’t hear it. There’s no salvation he can offer even if he had, anyway.

And then the door shuts and then Day is alone. In silence. In the calm before the storm. With discomfort layering an itch on the surface of his skin, making him shift again. Uncomfortable. Nerves. Hard to breathe.

Is this what the verge of a panic attack feels like? Has he had one of those before? Probably… He prefers the dissociation, which is unfortunately not gracing his mental health today. Gods damn it all.

He doesn’t have time to ponder it further. The slam of the door behind him nearly causes him to break the arm of the chair off. A chill shoots up his spine.

“I cannot believe you.”

He doesn’t know the word to describe the emotion in your voice, but it’s not good. It’s not good.

Okay, calm down. Breathe in, do not breathe out. Straighten up; shoulders back, spine stiff. Kill your emotions, end them, make them cry for Mommy. Now breathe out. Slow. Unnoticeable.

The mask slips on too easily.

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

People really seem keen on calling him out for that today. Shoving the shadowy remnants of his feelings back into the closet, Day rises to his feet and brushes down his pants.

“Is it?” If he bothered to feel anything, he might even pride himself on the dark, steady tone his deep voice settles into with ease. But that all crumbles away as he turns to face you. His eyes widen just a fraction before he catches himself.

It’s not the massive bruise peeking out from the collar of your shirt, he already knew about that, he already got angry about that. It’s that that’s… not an expression he’s ever seen on your face before. He can’t name that emotion either, but it’s not… it’s really not good. You look… more than broken. Your eyes are the same as the pair he sees in the mirror.

The mask slips with the slight tremble of his jaw but he firmly shoves it back in place with a smear of blood.

You step closer and his mettle further bends as he gets a look at the shine of tears in your eyes. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“You already said that,” he rasps.

“Day.” Your tone makes him clamp his mouth shut.

He shuffles back a couple of steps, trying to escape the bubble of tension created around you two. It doesn’t work.

“I thought you were my friend.” The words are nothing more than the whisper of someone trying to hold back tears. Day’s gaze flicks down towards the floor.

“I am your friend…” That, too, sounded weak even to him. And maybe it’s only true on his side, he realizes.

“You…” And there’s the incredulous look. “You think you’re still my friend after you ruined everything like this? Day, I can never forgive you.” And now it’s anger. “You are so beyond fucked I can’t believe I ever trusted you in the first place. You know, I used to think you actually had some decency in you, buried deep inside. Deep, deep inside. Buried under all that broody bullshit!” And that anger has born a vicious glare. “I guess I was wrong.”

Okay, that’s enough.

Day closes the gap in one long stride. You jump as his hand moves so fast you can’t stop him, yanking open your shirt enough to expose the ugly, colorful bruises all across your collarbone.

“I did it because I care,” he hisses. “Deeply. Because he put these bruises there and that’s so fucking wrong, of course I did something about it. You deserve so much better.”

You stare at him, shellshocked, swallowing in disbelief or from maybe his sudden proximity. It only lasts a moment before you bat away his hand and try to recompose yourself. “Who are you to say what I-”

“Because I’m your best friend,” he cuts you off, placing both hands on your shoulders as if that’ll show you how serious he is right now. “I know what you deserve because I’ve been watching you. I watched you pull yourself out of the rubble, only to have some bastard who has no clue about what you’ve been through come and just fucking pile it back on top!”

His mettle breaks. The mask slips off and shatters to the ground and he knows all you can see is every emotion he thought he’d buried under the floorboards, exposed, completely naked and raw on his face.

“I know you deserve the best,” he continues. His voice cracks, so little range to deal with the influx of emotion he never allowed before. “That’s all I wanted for you. I wasn’t going to do anything if you were happy, because that’s all I wanted for you. I wanted to see you smile, in the arms of someone who loves you like I-”

The words slam to a halt in his throat as his brain finally plays catch up. Fuck… this is why he needs to work on his impulse control. He gets it now. Fuck.

Day yanks his hands back, stumbling a step back and straightening himself up. The way you’re looking at him… no, no, he never wanted to see that.

Fuck.

Fuck…

Fuck it.

“Who loves you like I do,” he finishes and finally breaks his own heart. Bandage off. Knife in his throat. It’s better to end it now.

He doesn’t meet your wide-eyed stare, but he does flinch when you whisper his name. It’s too late, isn’t it?

“I just… wanted to protect you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “So you can pick yourself back up. There’s no one out willing to protect people like us, so we have to…”

It’s like you don’t even hear him, you’re so focused on staring at him. Slowly, you reach out. You don’t make contact, like he’s a fragile glass ornament holding your fascination, at least that’s what he thinks he sees in your face.

“Day, are you…”

His hand flies to his face and he feels the wetness of his cheeks at his fingertips. Gods damn it all. He takes a breath to steady himself, as if he can get back any of his stoicism now.

“I’m sorry. All I can do is offer you an apology because I can’t take back what I did… And I wouldn’t if I could, anyway.” There’s too much finality in his words and he can see you thinking the same. It’s too late. “I am sorry. For being in love with you. And for ruining you.”

His jaw trembles again.

“I’m not a good person. I don’t know gentleness or loving. I think I only know hurt and I think I heard once you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” The wry smirk feels as broken as it probably looks. “So, I will stop crossing the line. I will let you handle your life the way you want to and I will leave you alone. For good.”

He brushes past you, you’re left so frozen in place, processing what he’s already said. He stops, hand on the doorknob, when your voice drifts from behind him.

“Day… What are you trying to say?”

He doesn’t look back, he just twists the doorknob with more aggression than he should.

“I’m leaving Amveros.”

He doesn’t hear what your response, he doesn’t listen. He keeps walking.

In this line of work, whatever way you try to live, life provides you an aesthetic. Life gives you the tears in your clothes, the weathered look of your shoes, the dead look in your eyes, the bruises and scars on your skin.

Life does that. Life puts the bruises and scars on your skin. People aren’t supposed to do that. That’s what he always thought. And that’s what he’ll continue to think.

This is another scar for you. You still have enough space on your skin for them. But he just closed the door on his final scar.

#Day #Zenos #Honey and Fire #abuse mention #angst #shorts #featuring a Zenos lecture

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