[ he suspected this truth, and the wounded, betrayed part of him feels a modicum of satisfaction in the confession. the part that knows the unending pain of losing a brother feels only grief. but he does not allow himself to feel remorse for the man standing before him, hardening himself to his better instincts, his softer inclinations that have only left him scarred again and again.
something flares violently in his chest when he recognizes the offer of help before him. he needs it. he needed it as a child after auguste's death, drowning in his grief, and accepted it from his uncle. not again. never again. ]
You don't have to live with that burden. [ a vicious darkness twists in his chest, rage rising so quickly it makes his vision falter. ] You could do us all a favor and end your miserable, pathetic existence. But you won't, because you're weak. Because you're holding out hope that one day, the man you want will fuck you. How long are you going to wait? Are you going to watch him take up with that girl as Soulmates? How long before you try to kill him again, too?
[ blood splatters the snow as he coughs, every violent shiver from the cold sending searing pain through his battered body — and yet the thought of sasuke taking him anywhere makes his blood boil as much as he wishes to accept a rare instance of help. he can't. he can't explain that the tiny spark of trust between them has been extinguished, because that would mean admitting to the existence of it in the first place. a mistake. and not even the first time he's made this particular one, with disastrous consequences. ]
Don't touch me. Unless you're planning on killing me now, don't put your fucking hands on me. [ his words are jagged, sharp enough to draw blood, and his expression twists to one of hurt, his restraint breaking. ] You're no different from any of the rest.
[ his hand slides from the hilt of the sword, the strength going out of him as he wavers, the snow cushioning his fall when he collapses. he barely feels the cold, a painful numbness gripping his body, and his vision swims. the snow feels as soft as silken sheets, as downy pillows. he can't move, everything too heavy. ]
No more, Uncle. [ a whisper, his frosty lashes drooping. ] No more.
it's ok i forget to warn for laurent's foul mouth 24/7
something flares violently in his chest when he recognizes the offer of help before him. he needs it. he needed it as a child after auguste's death, drowning in his grief, and accepted it from his uncle. not again. never again. ]
You don't have to live with that burden. [ a vicious darkness twists in his chest, rage rising so quickly it makes his vision falter. ] You could do us all a favor and end your miserable, pathetic existence. But you won't, because you're weak. Because you're holding out hope that one day, the man you want will fuck you. How long are you going to wait? Are you going to watch him take up with that girl as Soulmates? How long before you try to kill him again, too?
[ blood splatters the snow as he coughs, every violent shiver from the cold sending searing pain through his battered body — and yet the thought of sasuke taking him anywhere makes his blood boil as much as he wishes to accept a rare instance of help. he can't. he can't explain that the tiny spark of trust between them has been extinguished, because that would mean admitting to the existence of it in the first place. a mistake. and not even the first time he's made this particular one, with disastrous consequences. ]
Don't touch me. Unless you're planning on killing me now, don't put your fucking hands on me. [ his words are jagged, sharp enough to draw blood, and his expression twists to one of hurt, his restraint breaking. ] You're no different from any of the rest.
[ his hand slides from the hilt of the sword, the strength going out of him as he wavers, the snow cushioning his fall when he collapses. he barely feels the cold, a painful numbness gripping his body, and his vision swims. the snow feels as soft as silken sheets, as downy pillows. he can't move, everything too heavy. ]
No more, Uncle. [ a whisper, his frosty lashes drooping. ] No more.