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Post by Val on Jul 13, 2020 4:08:17 GMT
Caspian had always prided himself on his patience, but when it came to Roman all of his virtues seemed to crumble to pieces. He hated how they had left things. The second Roman stepped out his door, he felt deep seated worry root itself into his stomach, and it had been growing like a suffocating vine ever since. He'd had nightmares of Roman hurting himself, and those visions had become so real that he felt he had no other choice than to check on the man for himself to make sure that he was okay. He knew it wouldn't be easy to get to Roman, especially since he seemed keen on distancing himself, but Caspian was beyond determined.
It was an exceptionally hot day and Caspian had to shield his eyes from the beaming sun as he approached the front gates of Raevaryn castle. As expected, several guards were lined up at the entrance, but the path was otherwise clear of any other outsiders. The road seemed noticeably quiet. He slowed his horse- the same horse he'd had the pleasure of meeting Roman with- and eventually dismounted a few yards away from the soldiers. They were already preparing to interrogate him and he attempted to steel himself as he approached the men.
"State your business," one of the guards commanded, stepping forward to get a look at the peasant that had arrived. In their eyes, Caspian had to be the plainest person imaginable and, without any obvious goods for sale, was virtually useless.
"I'm here to speak with Roman. The King's Advisor," he quickly corrected, stating the truth without hesitation. Caspian didn't have a single manipulative bone in his body, and lying felt useless to him. He wasn't good at it, and he had hope that they would at least pass his message along. Little did he know, that was far from the case.
The soldiers paused to glance at each other before bursting into laughter, leaving Caspian to stand and watch with growing frustration. He didn't have the slightest idea of how to deal with these people, and it seemed like getting past the castle walls was proving to be even more difficult than dealing with Roman's emotional trauma.
"You hear this village idiot? Thinks we're going to walk him right up to the Lord's bedchambers so they can sit and chat over tea," a man mocked, "The castle is no longer accepting visitors. If you know what's good for you, you'll turn around and head back where you came from." The guard turned his back on Caspian while another spit in his direction.
It was beyond humiliating, but Caspian only sighed and turned away, taking his horse by the reigns as he trudged back up the road. Once he was out of the guard's sight, he veered from the road and found a shady spot to sit under a tree. He collapsed against it and sunk to the ground, cursing as he rubbed his hands over his face. He'd never allowed feelings of inferiority to manifest within him before, but it was difficult when he felt so powerless. Although, despite what the soldiers thought of him, Caspian was far from powerless.
Rummaging into his pockets, he produced a piece of paper and carefully unfolded it to read what he had written: "Roman. I don't like the way we left things. I understand if you do not want to see me, but please let me know you are safe. I'll be outside the castle until nightfall. Caspian." It was short and simple and his hand writing was beyond shit, but it was all that was necessary to get his point across.
Caspian folded the paper back up and whistled a tune as he leaned back against the tree, waiting for his call to be answered. Only moments later, a pigeon landed nearby, cocking its head to the side to get a good look at him. "Hey there," he reached out, gently scoping up the bird so he could tie the message to the creatures foot, "I need your help," he murmured, allowing the bird to remain perched on his hand.
Caspian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. A few seconds ticked by and, suddenly, the pigeon's mannerisms seemed to change. It stretched its wings out, as though testing them, and hopped off of Caspian, leaving the man behind where he remained in a meditative state. It was extremely rare for Caspian to go so far as to place his consciousness into that of an animal, but he needed to see Roman for himself, even if through another's eyes. He often felt guilt for utilizing his abilities to such an extent, feeling as though he was disrupting the balance of nature by doing so.
Pushing his regret aside, the pigeon spread its wings and took off, soaring directly over the heads of the guards without a second glance. Fortunately, Caspian knew exactly where Roman's living quarters were, and it didn't take long for him to fly up and land on the window sill of the man's bedchambers. He peered through the glass, but it was difficult to see much of anything with clarity through a pigeon's eyes. He pecked at the glass a few times before he noticed that one of the windows was ajar. He slipped into Roman's room and landed on a desk where he set about chirping and flapping his wings to draw attention. It dawned on him that Roman would likely treat the pigeon as a disgusting pest, and so he began to try to claw the note off of its foot just in case.
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Post by starrea on Jul 13, 2020 19:14:09 GMT
The knife sliced through the air, the blade deeply embedding itself in the center ring of the the target painted on the tree. "Do it like that," Roman instructed, walking up to the tree and yanking the knife out by the handle. He walked back over to the other boy, handing him the knife. Neither boy could have been older than thirteen years old and they were in the middle of the woods. There was no snow of the ground but it was cold, and the trees were bare of leaves. "Imagine Master Archelaus's face right in the center and your aim will be true." Both boys shared a laugh and the other boy cocked his arm back, his body tense with concentration as he prepared to throw the knife.
Roman's fist collided with the punching bag, pain resonating through his wrists and up his arms. He tried desperately to latch onto the pain but it fizzled away under the overpowering resurgence of the memory. It had been looping endlessly through his consciousness since he had fled from Caspian's house and he was powerless to stop it. It didn't matter what he did, it didn't matter how many times his fists collided with the punching bag or how many times he soaked himself in freezing water or how many times the whip sliced open his back - he was forced to relive the same moment over and over again. "Is that why you never miss, Roman? Do you imagine my face in the center of the targets?" A voice growled from behind the boys, and they both spun around, stunned that they had been caught. They both dropped to their knees, bowing their heads. "My apologies, Master, we didn't -" Roman started to stutter out an apology but Archelaus simply raised a hand and Roman abruptly cut off. "It matters not why your aim is true, only that it is."
Roman's punches sped up as he frantically chased the aching pain that he prayed would free him from the relentless torture of this memory. Despite both hands being so bruised they were almost entirely purple, the pain he felt was overpowered and lost into the background as the memory swept him away.
"Roman, you leave in three days to Raevaryn. Are you ready?" The response was immediate - Roman nodded his head fervently, "I am, I am ready." Archelaus didn't look convinced, though, and Roman dropped his gaze back to the ground. "But are you ready to kill for your cause?" Archelaus pressed and again, Roman nodded without hesitation. "Absolutely, my Lord."
His fists rhythmically collided with the punching bag but the pain offered no relief. Roman couldn't even feel the pain in his hands anymore. A numbness had taken over and all that was left was the urgent anxiety that was bubbling up, desperate to do anything to prevent the rest of the memory from playing out but powerless to do anything to stop it.
"Prove it. Kill him. You've beaten Soren before, it shouldn't be hard." He paused when neither boy moved, "If you don't, you both die."
It was as if Lord Archelaus was right there beside him, whispering the command in his ear. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow stop himself from seeing what happened next.
The boys circled one another. Soren still had the knife in his hand, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were white. Both boys were so scared that it was palpable and their gazes flicked between each other and their Lord, praying that he wouldn't make them go through with it. Of course, Lord Archelaus never granted mercy. Roman was the first to lunge. He was bigger, stronger, and faster, and it was only a matter of seconds before he had Soren on the ground. In the struggle, the knife flew from Soren's hands and landed on the ground. Roman could have grabbed it, but he didn't. "Fight back," Roman whispered before he slammed his fist into the side of Soren's face.
Roman didn't know exactly when he stopped punching the punching bag. He became entirely immersed in the memory and there was no amount of pain that would bring him out of it. This was his penance, forced to constantly relive what he had done. Even though Roman hadn't forgotten what he had done, not even for a moment, he hadn't fallen into one of these episodes in years. He had carefully managed to lock the guilt away and now that Caspian had cracked him, he was drowning in it.
"Finish him, or you're both dead!" The command came from behind the boys and Roman looked regretfully down at his childhood friend who had yet to even fight back. "I'm sorry," He whispered, his hands wrapping around Soren's throat. He kept repeating that, that he was sorry, as Soren desperately clawed at Roman's hands as they restricted his ability to breathe. The boys locked eyes, one dying and one not, but there was no relief, no mercy to be found in either of them.
Roman stopped fighting the memory. He staggered backwards until his back hit a wall and he slowly slid down, his eyes shut, and prepared himself for what he knew came next.
Blood dripped out of Roman's mouth and onto Soren's face. He didn't die immediately, like he had thought he would. Or maybe he did, but it felt like whole minutes had ticked by before Roman's grip finally relaxed on Soren's throat and his body toppled over sideways. Soren hurriedly ripped the knife out of the side of Roman's neck, completely unaware that the absence of the knife would allow the blood to spurt out the whole in his neck like an angry river. If he had, he probably would have left the knife in there. But it was too late now, and the blood exploded out of Roman's neck and splattered all over Soren. Soren was motionless, too stunned to wrap his mind around what had just happened. A hand on his shoulder finally broke the trance and Soren looked up at Lord Archelaus, still well within the range of the blood spurting out of Roman's neck. "Love is weakness, and hesitation kills." Archelaus said slowly, looking down at the blood soaked boy. "Raevaryn officials are expecting a boy named Roman in three days' time. Congratulations, Roman. Let us go get you ready." And with that, Archelaus guided him away from the bleeding corpse whose name Soren just stole, without even giving him the chance to say he was sorry.
In that moment, Roman didn't feel like Roman. He was Soren again, being led away by Archelaus and forgetting to say goodbye because the blood had dripped down into his eyes and he could hardly see. But it didn't matter that the boy named Roman died on the forest floor that day, because Soren also died. Soren ceased to exist and Soren became Roman, and Roman was strong, Roman didn't have to apologize for doing what needed to be done to survive.
He wanted to apologize but it was too late. Even if Roman could hear him, he wouldn't forgive him and the words wouldn't alleviate the guilt that was crushing him. He was going to carry the weight of this guilt around with him for the rest of his life and he needed to get himself to a place where he could bear it again. He took a deep breath, trying to imagine his life before Caspian had uprooted everything Roman had thought about himself. He needed to go back to being that Roman, the one who unapologetically survived, no matter the cost.
A scraping sound was enough to catch his attention and Roman looked up to see a bird perched on his open window sill. Roman couldn't even work up the motivation to get himself off of the ground to shoo the pest, but then he saw something tied around the bird's leg. The temptation of a distraction was enough to get himself to push himself up off of the ground and walk over to the bird. It had successfully clawed the note free of itself and Roman pushed the bird towards the window with one hand, scooping the note up with the other. The bird didn't seem to want to leave but Roman's preoccupation with the note distracted him from chasing it out.
The handwriting was so atrocious that Roman almost couldn't read it, but his stomach dropped when he saw Caspian's signature. A spell of nausea washed over him he crumpled the note up, throwing it to the floor. There was no way he could face Caspian, not with his hands and wrists almost entirely bruised and the still-open cuts that spanned across his back. And he especially couldn't face Caspian because Caspian seemed to be able to draw secrets out of him like magic, and no one could know what Roman wasn't Roman.
Hours passed and Roman spent that time pacing his room like a caged animal. As much as he didn't want to face Caspian, he grew more and more anxious as the sun sank lower in the sky. He was strong enough to stay away from Caspian when he was across kingdom lines, but knowing that he was just outside the castle walls proved too hard for Roman to resist. The sun had almost completely set before Roman cracked. He threw on a t-shirt and some sweat pants, grabbing a pack of cigarettes before he hurried his way outside. He didn't know where Caspian was hiding out, but Roman wasn't going to look for him. He was going outside to have a smoke, and that was all.
Roman pushed his way outside, the chilly air biting at his skin. He took in a deep breath, his eyes scanning the area to see if he could spot Caspian but by the time he had gotten outside, the sun had sunk below the horizon and it was too dark to see very far. Maybe that was for the better, his bruises were harder to see in the dark. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall and pulled out the box of cigarettes with shaky hands. He pulled one out, leaning over to light it with the lamp that hung next to the door. And then he took a long drag of his smoke and stared out into the darkness and waited.
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Post by Val on Jul 14, 2020 2:01:06 GMT
Caspian was so preoccupied with removing the note from the bird's leg that he didn't notice Roman's presence until an unmistakable shadow loomed over him. The scrap of paper finally broke free of its binding right as a large hand came into view, effectively shooing him back toward the window. Caspian complied, landing on the window sill but making no move to fly away. Instead, he peered up at Roman with round, beady eyes, studying him as he read the note.
It was a common misconception that animals' vision worked the same way as humans. Everything was distorted in a way that suited each creature as a means to survive. And so, looking upon Roman through the eyes of a common pigeon, he was only able to focus on one thing at a time. First, his outstretched hands as he read the note. The disturbing swelling of his knuckles was immediately evident and Caspian was so overcome with the need to say something that he almost lost control of his avian vessel altogether. Finally, he took in the sight of Roman's expression, witnessing the storm of emotions first hand. The stress in the room was quite palpable and, as Roman tossed the note aside, Caspian realized that it was not his place to intrude upon Roman's privacy. He hadn't come to spy.
With a parting chirp, the pigeon spread its wings and flew from the window sill, disappearing into the sky. Caspian abruptly released his hold on the creature, but made sure to maintain contact. He would need his small friend to surveil the castle walls in the event that Roman decided to come out and see him.
Caspian's eyes flickered back open and he found himself face to face with his horse who seemed to be eyeing him with genuine concern. Now that his consciousness had returned, the emotions came rushing up full force. He squeezed his eyes back shut, rejecting the urge to shed tears over what he had just witnessed. Roman was hurting so much and in so many ways, but he was of no use if he couldn't handle his own emotions. Taking a deep breath, his eyes strayed toward the castle in the distance, silently praying for Roman to show up.
With each hour that passed, Caspian only grew more anxious. He alternated between pacing in circles around the tree, laying flat on his back to cloud watch, and having one sided debates with his horse. As the sun finally dipped below the horizon and eventually plunged him into darkness, he found himself gravitating toward the later.
"I have to stay," he insisted, glancing at his horse who only blinked at him sleepily, "What kind of message would it send if I gave up so easily? Does he need me to prove that I care?" His rhetorical questions remained unanswered as he gazed out across the expanse of grass and trees that stood between him and the castle. "It's final. I'm staying here for as long as I have to," he announced decidedly. Roman had to leave the castle eventually, and Caspian would be there when he did. Loyalty was an understatement when it came to his feelings toward Roman. He felt devoted to the man in a way that had him putting every other aspect of his life on hold.
As Caspian moved to settle down under the tree again, the distinct flap of wings sounded from above. The pigeon landed on a branch above his head and peered down at him, chirping excitedly. Against all odds, Roman had left his tower. He was waiting for him. Hope swelled within Caspian, momentarily overpowering any of the trepidation he felt over facing the man again.
"Good bird," he praised, "Show me," he urged, allowing the pigeon to land on his shoulder. With the guidance of his useful companion, he set off toward the castle on foot. To his relief, the bird appeared to be guiding him away from the main gate. He wasn't sure he'd be able to face the hateful guards again on top of everything else.
With limited knowledge of Roman's troubled past, Caspian felt almost entirely responsible for Roman's regression. He'd pushed too far, too soon, and he was being ignorant to believe that simply opening up was the answer to whatever plagued Roman. He spent the silent walk reflecting on what he could possibly say to make things right, but found himself just as lost as before by the time the dim light of a lantern came into view. He headed straight for it until a shadowy figure materialized against the backdrop of the castle wall. The distinct smell of tobacco infiltrated his senses and he knew he had to be close enough for Roman to see him. He stopped abruptly, leaving distance between them as he tried desperately to make out Roman's features in the darkness.
"I didn't know you smoked," he commented to break the silence, feeling like the rapid beating of his heart had to be audible. He gave the pigeon on his shoulder a gentle nudge and the creature disappeared into the night sky, leaving them completely alone. "Sorry about the...bird," he continued, making an effort let the tension dissipate before things inevitably got real, "I had to get creative, I suppose."
He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels before stepping forward. Instead of heading directly toward Roman, he settled on a spot against the wall, keeping a careful distance between them. He leaned against the rough brick and tilted his head toward the sky, observing the sliver of moon that was visible, "Are you going to share?" he prompted, not against allowing a cigarette to calm his nerves.
Despite everything, it felt right to be near Roman again. Seeing him alive and well was a relief, but he knew that wounds were festering behind the shield of darkness- literally and figuratively. It didn't feel right to start prying for answers, so he remained patient, waiting for Roman to address whatever he felt was necessary. If anything.
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Post by starrea on Jul 14, 2020 3:42:40 GMT
Roman took a long drag of the cigarette and even though it had been years since he had smoked, he picked the habit back up without missing a beat. He allowed the nicotine to do what it did best - bring him back from the edge of having a nervous breakdown. He usually didn't like to rely on substances to calm himself down, but he needed something to take the edge off if he was going to see Caspian and alcohol was now off-limits. When he brought the cigarette back up to his lips to take a drag, he noticed his hand was shaking.
Roman, the real Roman, had taught him how to smoke a couple of months before he died. Him, another boy named Silas, and Roman would sneak off into the woods to smoke some cigarettes and try to have a moment of normalcy. At first, they mostly did it to be a little rebellious, but soon they needed the nicotine in order to relax.
"Shit, he's coming. Put them out, quickly!" Roman hissed, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. Soren copied him, frantically waving his hands to try and waft the smoke away. No one said anything, but all three boys knew their secret would discovered. Finally, Silas offered the tiniest of nods, and Roman and Soren nearly collapsed with relief.
"Master Archelaus, Silas is smoking!" Roman called out, pretending to notice their mentor for the first time.
When Silas had offered himself up to take the punishment for the three of them, he didn't know what was going to happen next. None of them did. Roman welcomed the memory, anything other than the moment out in the woods that would happen a couple of months later. This memory, however horrific it was, wasn't weighed down with guilt.
Two boys held Silas's mouth open as Archelaus dipped another cigarette in gasoline and lit it ablaze. Silas's eyes were wild and wide with fear as they followed the cigarette and his body started to shake with fear. At some point, he had pissed himself. Archelaus tossed the lit cigarette into Silas's mouth and the two boys restraining him slammed his mouth shut around it, holding his jaw shut. Silas's body thrashed and convulsed with pain but he wasn't allowed to open his mouth again until he had swallowed the cigarette. On the ground with the other boys, Roman and Soren silently watched as Silas swallowed six lit cigarettes before passing out. Six days later, the same number of cigarettes as he had swallowed, Silas died.
Roman hadn't picked a cigarette up since that day. The image of smoke pouring out of Silas's mouth as he screamed in agony had haunted Roman for years and even now, it felt wrong to be smoking to Silas's memory. Roman wasn't looking for gratification, though. He needed something to help him through the moment, something so he didn't crack and fall to pieces in front of Caspian, and then he would never smoke again.
Even though Roman couldn't immediately see Caspian in the darkness, something in the air changed and Roman knew he was there. Roman took another drag of the cigarette, blowing the smoke out, "I don't," was all he said, ignoring the apology altogether. He didn't look at Caspian as he moved into the light, leaning up against the wall next to Roman. Wordlessly, Roman held the lit cigarette out to Caspian, his hand still shaking ever so slightly. He still had a whole pack of unlit cigarettes in his pocket but now that he had conjured up the memory of Silas's face as he swallowed the lit cigarettes, the taste made him nausea.
"Is this what you wanted? To see that I'm okay?" Roman asked slowly, his words carefully devoid of any emotion. As far as Caspian would know, he was okay. He would be okay. But it was clearer than ever that he couldn't be with Caspian. Roman couldn't handle destroying someone else he cared for and if they stayed together, Caspian would surely be consumed by the darkness that surrounded him.
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Post by Val on Jul 15, 2020 2:20:22 GMT
Caspian wasn't sure what he had expected from Roman, but indifference had never really crossed his mind. And it stung. He would have preferred annoyance, anger- anything but the detached response he was receiving. It was selfish of him to expect anything else, but this day was beginning to summon long forgotten feelings. Being involved with someone who had such tumultuous emotions was starting to rub off on him. Perhaps Roman wasn't the only one who needed to confront their past.
He glanced sideways at Roman as he extended the cigarette and carefully reached out of retrieve it. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly, but the tremble of Roman's hand was unmistakable. He brought the lit cigarette to his lips and took a small drag, too distracted to really appreciate the smoke. All he could envision were Roman's brutalized hands. The need to know what else he had done to himself loomed large, but Caspian couldn't bring it up. If he did, he would have to admit to seeing him and he feared that Roman wouldn't take kindly to the intrusion.
"Yes," he responded quietly. But you're not okay. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he stifled them with another drag. He'd been incredibly up front with Roman so far, but things had changed. He felt guilty for pushing Roman too hard, and now he felt like he was walking on thin ice.
Falling uncharacteristically silent, Caspian cast his gaze toward the ground. The air between them felt contemplative, and he could almost sense that Roman in a state of remembrance. Finally, despite his resistance, Caspian freed the memory that had been begging to surface ever since Roman walked out on him.
"You know why we kill animals, Cas? So we don't starve." Caspian avoided making eye contact with his father, instead looking down at the knife in his hand. He was just a boy at the time, standing in the midst of their family's meager chicken coop as his father stared down at him disapprovingly, "I've had enough of the lies and excuses. With your brother gone, you need to start pulling your weight. Leon did as he was told, and so will you." His father bent to snatch up one of the chickens by its leg, handing the panicking creature off to Caspian who reluctantly took it. The chicken immediately calmed in Caspian's grip, but his father didn't seem to notice. He never did.
"Gone?" Caspian uttered. His father had started to walk away, but paused to look back at his only remaining child, "He's not just gone. Leon killed himself." Caspian's words were heavy with anger and regret and the desperate need to let it all out, but his father only regarded him with a detached look and replied: "And who's fault was that?" Caspian would never forget those words, the guilt that followed, and the moment he raised the knife to the chicken's neck and did as he was told.
"I saw you, Roman. Your...hands. The look in your eyes when you left..." This time he wasn't quick enough to suppress the words and they escaped him in a rush. Spilling the truth was inevitable for Caspian, and it was probably best to get it out there now before Roman had a chance to run. "I can't just ignore it," he shook his head, shifting against the wall as if it were a struggle to stand still, "I can't...lose you." On the surface the words might've seemed romantic, but there was a certain depth in his voice that made it clear; this wasn't about their relationship, it was about life and death.
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Post by starrea on Jul 16, 2020 4:05:58 GMT
It took everything Roman had to not look at Caspian. He couldn't, not when he was so close to falling apart. All it would take is one look at Caspian and Roman would fall to pieces, broken with no hope of repair. The air was tense and full of unspoken words, both afraid of the inevitable unbecoming of Roman.
"Emotions are weakness. Empathy is an illusion. Accept who you are, know your purpose, and do what needs to be done."
The words of his mentor ricocheted around his skull and disappointment weighed down on him so heavily that he wanted to collapse beneath it. He couldn't, though, because giving up wasn't a luxury he had. Even if he wanted to walk away from everything, he couldn't. Being Roman was his only purpose and without that, he was nothing more than a ghost. And the only thing more terrifying than falling apart for Roman was being insignificant.
The words had never felt more accurate; emotions had made him irrefutably weak. Roman had spent years watching the ways emotions clouded the mind and made otherwise intelligent people make irrational choices and had never understood it. And now that Caspian had opened up this whole new side of Roman, he didn't know who he was anymore and how that inevitably would effect his purpose. For the first time in his life, he truly did not know who he was, what his purpose was, and what needed to done.
Before Caspian, Roman's world had been white and black. Without emotion blinding him, everything was so easy. Even his hardest decisions on his hardest days didn't compare to the inner turmoil he agonized over now. Roman had a very specific purpose, and he performed it well. But then Caspian came into the picture and suddenly Roman was blinded by all the color in the world he hadn't seen before. At first, he had gotten lost in the beauty of it all. After not having felt any real emotion for the majority of his life, the way Caspian made him feel was dangerously addictive. But now it was too much, too overwhelming, but that didn't matter because as much as he wanted to stop, he was an addict that was chasing a high he would probably never feel again. And it was all Caspian's fault.
Roman bristled at Caspian's words, turning to face him for the first time to send him a seething glare. "How dare you accuse me of being that weak," Roman spat at him, genuinely insulted that Caspian would dare insinuate that he would kill himself. "You don't get to accuse me of being that weak, not after you're the one who did this to me." Roman spoke slowly, his words dripping with all of the anger that was threatening to explode out of him. The anger swelled up inside of him and was all-consuming, until the only thing he was left feeling was red hot anger towards Caspian. It was so easy to be angry, so uncomplicated, and Roman latched onto it. He wanted to hurt Caspian, make him feel all of the pain he had caused Roman.
"You know what I did?" Roman asked, his voice suddenly soft and void of the anger it had been full of a second before. Without waiting for an answer, he gently took Caspian's free hand and pulled it to him, slipping it under his shirt. "I took a whip to my back. For every mistake I've made since I've met you." Roman whispered, turning so that Caspian hand would feel the hardly-healed cuts that covered most of his back.
If Roman was ruined, then he was going to bring ruination down on Caspian. "This is all your fault, Caspian," Roman whispered, looking over his shoulder to lock gazes with Caspian.
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Post by Val on Jul 17, 2020 2:59:59 GMT
Caspian could sense the anger even before Roman turned on him. It filled the air like a thick cloud, making it difficult to think straight. This is what he'd wanted right? Anger over indifference. Yet, Caspian hadn't anticipated that all of the feelings would be directed at him and only him. It was immediately overwhelming and he felt the need defend himself, even though he'd already accepted blame before he'd even showed up. It felt different coming from Roman. He knew where to cut where it hurt the most, and then twist the knife for good measure.
He stared back, appearing dazed from the accusation, until Roman's touch brought him plummeting back to reality. He tensed up as he was pulled closer, not at all sure what to expect. It wasn't until his hand was guided beneath Roman's shirt that he realized what he was being revealed to him. His hand remained fully compliant until his fingers finally brushed the raised skin, causing Caspian to flinch away as though he'd touched a scalding hot stove. Even though he couldn't see the damage, his mind was able to conjure up a horrible image of what the darkness was concealing. It was all enough to confirm his worries about Roman, and yet it diminished his confidence about rectifying the situation. He was the reason Roman was doing this to himself.
The realization came over him full force and he yanked out of Roman's grip. His knees were practically begging him to drop to the ground and beg for forgiveness. He wanted desperately for Roman to see that he only wanted to help- to be there for him no matter how dark things seemed. The moment was enough to shake him to his core, but nothing compared to the next words out of Roman's mouth. They mirrored words he'd long buried and forgotten about- words that had controlled his life for a very long time. Hearing it from Roman was about unbearable as it could get; worse yet was that his cruelty was intentional.
Something in Caspian snapped and everything seemed to slow down as impulse took over. He stared back at Roman as his fingers curled into fists at his sides, his fear dissipating into anger that matched the intensity of Roman's. Their breaking points were far different, but Caspian had officially reached his. He felt so powerless and wound up in their tumultuous relationship that there only appeared to be one way out- one way to shock Roman into listening to him for once.
Raising his fist, he cocked his arm back before swinging at Roman. His knuckles connected with Roman's cheek bone and he felt the impact of the blow reverberate through his arm. He had never sucker punched someone in his entire life. The action released a tsunami of emotion that had been bottled up inside, crashing over Roman to give him exactly what he wanted- ruination. Violence was never the answer for Caspian, but he'd lost sight of himself in an instant, and there was no going back.
"Then take it out on me!" he yelled at Roman, not backing down even after the first punch had been thrown, "It's my fault, so hurt me!" he challenged, remaining aggressively in Roman's space, "Drop the merciful act. You promise you'll never hit me, and then you turn around and slice me deep with cruel words. You want to take a guess at which hurts worse, Roman?" Something in the far reaches of his mind knew he would regret what was taking place between them. But in the moment, it felt like the only possible way to move forward. "Don't be weak," he provoked, deciding he'd rather end the night beaten to a pulp than cry and beg for Roman to respond to his infinite patience and empathy.
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Post by starrea on Jul 18, 2020 0:15:05 GMT
Roman saw the punch coming. Roman and Caspian came from two different worlds; while Caspian was milking cows and plowing fields, Roman had been studying the art of war. The punch would've been unexpected to the untrained eye, but Roman saw all the signs; the way the hurt flashes across his face, the way his fists clenched and his shoulders tensed, the way he centered his weight. But Roman didn't move. He stood there and let Caspian punch him in the face, relishing in the pain that exploded across the side of his face. The force was strong enough to snap his head to the side and force him to stumble back a step, but his cheek took the brunt of the force and his nose or lips were spared. Caspian may be a good farmer, but he had shitty form.
The pain only lasted a few short seconds and then ebbed away, leaving a sea of relentless guilt behind that he was bound to drown in. It took several long seconds before he looked back up at Caspian, but when he did, there was no more anger. The punch had pushed Roman over the edge and the very thing that Roman had spent his entire life fearing finally happened; he broke down.
Something wet dripped off of Roman's cheek and he looked up but there was no rain. It took another second or so to realize that he was crying and he raised a tentative hand to his cheek, his fingers delicately tracing the tears as they rolled down his cheeks. At first, the tears came slowly but now that he had started crying, he couldn't stop himself. Momentum built up and the dam that was holding back all of Roman's emotions finally burst and his quiet tears turned into heavy, frantic sobs.
The force of crying was so strong and so overwhelming that Roman staggered backwards until his back hit the wall and then he slowly slid down until he was sitting. Roman couldn't remember the last time he had cried, but it must have been when he was young, young child. So he finally cried for all of the things that he hadn't before; he cried for his mother when they took him away from her, he cried for the real Roman - the one he killed, and for Soren, who also died that day. He cried for Silas, who screamed until he couldn't anymore, and he cried for Hercules, his dog that they made him kill, and he cried all of the other things he had truly thought he hadn't cared about all of these years.
The more Roman cried, the more Roman realized that he couldn't fucking breathe. Panic took over and he frantically tried to gasp for air, but his body was beyond his own control and he couldn't stop crying. He didn't remember grabbing fistfuls of his hair but suddenly he was pulling on his hair, pulling hard enough that the pain centered him a little bit. It slowed his tears down just enough that he was able to get a few gasps of air before he loosened his grip again.
Even though his sobs calmed down, the tears didn't stop. This was culmination of years of trauma and sorrow and it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. As soon as he could breathe again, Roman became painfully aware that Caspian had just watched him fall to pieces. Self-loathing wrecked anything that was left of Roman and he couldn't look up at the other man; he couldn't face what he had done to him. The worst part was that he truly cared for Caspian, but he didn't know if they could come back from this. Roman didn't know if he could come back from this.
"I am weak," Roman finally whispered when he finally found his voice. He stared straight ahead into the darkness, wishing it would swallow him up. For the first time, he was craving the pain of self-discipline but not for the purpose of making himself stronger and better. He needed to punish himself, he needed to feel the pain he deserved. The silence stretched between them but Roman didn't have anything left. He didn't know what to do or where to go. Going back to how things were seemed impossible, but going forward seemed just as unlikely.
"Where do we go from here?" Roman finally asked. He finally looked away from the black oblivion that surrounded them to look up at Caspian, tears still rolling down his cheeks.
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Post by Val on Jul 19, 2020 0:36:54 GMT
Caspian braced himself for the retaliation that never came. His veins were pumped full of adrenaline and his muscles screamed for a fight- a feeling he'd never experienced before. The dull pain in his knuckles made him feel alive and he wanted to swing until the pain was unbearable and it was all he could think about. When Roman finally looked up at him, he expected the rage in his eyes to be amplified tenfold, but it was gone. In it's place was the most heartbreaking look imaginable. It was the most vulnerable he'd ever seen Roman, almost as though he'd reverted back to a young boy for an instant.
It wasn't until he noticed the glistening of tears upon Roman's cheeks that Caspian realized he'd drawn his fist back for another punch. He froze in time, his arm shaking as he remained locked in a threatening pose. Finally, a loud sob escaped Roman and all the wrath fizzled out of him at once. It left him feeling confused and disoriented as he watched Roman stumble backwards and collapse to the ground. It all felt surreal, like Caspian was watching the scene as an innocent bystander. He didn't recognize himself.
His knees abruptly hit the ground, jarring him back to the present moment. He landed on his hands and knees, watching his own tears fall and stain the dirt beneath him. No sounds escaped him, rather he listened to Roman's haunting cries, unable to focus on anything else. He felt numb and nonexistent, so much so that he slammed his own fist into the ground in an attempt to feel something. One, two, three more times, spraying dirt into the air until he finally collapsed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky.
He waited for the sound of Roman's breathing to steady, feeling powerless to help. Everything he did only seemed to fuck the situation up more, so he decided to recede into himself- letting Roman deal with his own problems for once. Caspian felt sick to his stomach, but gazing into the abyss of stars above slowly relaxed him until he felt like he was floating.
Roman's voice broke into the reverie and he could feel the man's eyes on him, though he didn't move an inch, "I don't know," he responded flatly, his voice void of the its usual inflection. He didn't feel at all capable of helping Roman anymore. If anything, the culmination of their relationship so far made him realize that he needed help, too. It was a difficult thing for Caspian to accept. He was the helper, the fixer, the unwavering embodiment of balance. Now, he felt as though his identity had been shattered as easily as a glass hitting the floor and separating into a million tiny, unrecognizable pieces.
"I'm sorry, Roman," he uttered finally, after a long bout of silence, "I'm so, so sorry." He repeated the words, emotion and sincerity returning to his voice. He trailed off, his eyes following the shadow of what was unmistakably an owl, back-lit by the moon. Its broad wings eclipsed the glowing orb in the sky and a quiet "hoo hoo" sounded from above.
Though Caspian would never think of himself as a spiritual or religious person, he did lend his faith to nature. He'd received undeniable symbolism in the form of the beautiful creatures that made up the natural world. The caw of a raven had awoken him the day his brother died. A wild stallion had appeared before him the day he decided to leave his family and set out on his own. And now, a noble creature, symbolic of patience, darkness, secrets, and navigating the unknown flew over the two men in the midst of a their climactic moment.
"I haven't given up on you, if that's what you're asking," he continued after a sense of understanding settled over him. This shouldn't be perceived as the end. No, it was only the beginning. "I'm close to giving up on myself...but I haven't done that yet, either." Another pause, as he still lay unmoving beneath the stars, "Have you?" he asked quietly.
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Post by starrea on Jul 19, 2020 2:26:04 GMT
I'm sorry, Roman. Roman flinched; that wasn't his name. But he wasn't Soren anymore, either. Even though Caspian didn't know the truth, the apology felt like another punch to the chest and it knocked the air right out of his lungs. The guilt surrounded him like thick mud that made it hard to think, hard to move, hard to breathe. He stared into the dark abyss in front of him and even though he couldn't see Roman, the real Roman who was forever a thirteen year old boy, he could feel him. Desperation hit him like a bolt of lightning and he suddenly needed Roman to know that he was sorry, more than he needed air.
"I'm sorry Roman," Roman said softly at first but the guilt only magnified, "I'm so fucking sorry!" He yelled, staring into the darkness. Nothing moved, and tears poured down his cheeks. He picked up a rock and blindly threw it into the darkness, "Did you hear that? I fucking said I was sorry!" He screamed, only to be met with absolute silence. Time slowed down and everything was perfectly still. Of course Roman wasn't there with him; Roman had died that day and he would never know how fucking sorry he was. His penance was that he had to live with what he had done; something he thought he was okay with until everything fell to pieces. His guilt was infinite and he would be forced to bare it until the end of time.
It wasn't until half a minute or so later that Roman remembered Caspian was the one that was here, not Roman, but he was still too upset to really care that Caspian had just watched him scream at nothing. The guilt was thick and cold and Roman felt like he was being crushed beneath it. "I'm sorry, Caspian," He whispered, this time to the man that was actually next to him. Caspian was still here; he wasn't dead and Roman hadn't stuck a knife into his neck. Roman was dead, but Caspian wasn't. He couldn't apologize to Roman but he could make things right with Caspian - if things could be made right at this point.
Now that he had verbalized two apologies, a thousand more raced through his head. I'm sorry that I let you take the blame for smoking, Silas. I'm sorry that I was a shitty son, Mom. I'm sorry that I ran away. I'm sorry that I burned down our shed. I'm sorry that I never told you I loved you. I'm sorry I never said goodbye. I'm sorry that I didn't kill Archelaus when I had the chance. I'm sorry for that you got blamed for my thievery, Blake, and I'm sorry they cut off your hand because of it. I'm sorry that because of my mistake, the militia targeted the wrong village and 210 innocent people died. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
The apologies were thicker than smoke and filled his lungs and he couldn't breathe again. He hadn't realized before how much he was truly sorry for; his sins were endless, and while some of them he was stoically unapologetic for, there were many more that he would carry the weight of his guilt for the rest of his life. He coughed, his body fighting against the paralyzing anxiety that had frozen his lungs. Even though he wasn't worthy of the air he was breathing, his lungs didn't listen to him and the treacherously expanded, taking in breath after breath.
"I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this," Roman finally looked away from the darkness that wouldn't mercifully swallow him up and towards Caspian. He needed Caspian now more than ever; without his guidance and support, the only other viable option saw for himself was death. But now that he had finally hit rock bottom, Roman had no other choice than to face himself and his past. He had no other choice than to accept Caspian's help - if Caspian still wanted to help him.
"I don't want to die, but after all the things I've done... I would execute someone like me. I would sentence them to death and drive the sword through their throat, or swing an axe down onto their neck. I should die for my crimes." Roman murmured, his attention shifting away from Caspian again. It was hard for Roman to stay focused on anything other than his all-consuming guilt. The release of death was wickedly tempting, especially since Roman couldn't even imagine that he would ever be okay again.
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Post by Val on Jul 19, 2020 23:52:27 GMT
Caspian tensed as Roman called his own name out into the abyss. It was a heart wrenching apology and he felt as though he was intruding on something that was deeply personal. The sound of a thrown rock tumbling past him finally set him back into motion. He sat up slowly, his head spinning after the whirlwind of emotions had left him spent on the ground. As he turned to face Roman, a daunting realization dawned on him all at once, like someone was dangling the obvious in front of his face. Roman was not his name. Not the name he was gifted at birth, at least. Somewhere along the line, the man had put on a mask and hadn't taken it off since.
He stared at Roman for a long moment, barely registering the apology that was addressed to him this time. Another piece of the puzzle had been revealed to him, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. It seemed they were both in the midst of an identity crisis, though he was still mostly in the dark about what Roman was truly going through. After everything, he felt like it was his responsibility to discover the real and complete truth.
As Roman's heavy breathing started to give way to another panic attack, Caspian forced himself to his feet. His body felt more exhausted than an entire day's work in the fields. His limbs were tingly and heavy in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush as he stumbled his way closer to Roman and collapsed back onto his knees in front of him. He held the man's gaze when he finally looked up at him and, although the emotional turmoil remained in their depths, Caspian's eyes revealed nothing but acceptance.
The mention of death made his eyes harden with resolve. He couldn't let Roman give up. If he did, then Caspian was bound to follow the same path of self destruction. Saving Roman was saving himself; redeeming himself.
"Hey," he interrupted, frowning as Roman turned away from him once more, "Most men live and die without ever taking accountability for their actions," he insisted, "But you...you understand what you've done. I can see that you do. Taking responsibility is what makes someone honorable. Redeemable."
He reached out suddenly, his fingers brushing against Roman's tear stained cheek where a shiner was already appearing under his eye from the punch. He felt horrible for attacking Roman in his state of vulnerability. Nevertheless, the intense moment had given way to a break through between them. Caspian avoided violence in every aspect of his life, but he could see now that there was value in letting your frustration out in such a way. It was better than self harm, at least.
"We have the rest of our lives to make up for our regrets, and to heal from what others have put us through." He paused, letting his own words sink in. Sometimes he spoke straight from the heart without thinking, and often times those words turned out to be the most meaningful of all. It was time to start taking his own advice.
"Will you teach me how to fight?" he asked suddenly. The unexpected question was the easiest way to let Roman know that he didn't intend on running. It was an obvious distraction from the intense conversation at hand, but it felt necessary to lighten the mood in whatever way he could. Besides, Caspian wanted to replicate their emotional release in a more healthy way. Sparring seemed an acceptable form of therapy; one that Roman could relate to and Caspian could learn from.
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Post by starrea on Jul 20, 2020 0:55:08 GMT
The touch of someone brushing Roman's tears away brought his attention back from the depths of his mind, and he closed his eyes as he willed the tears to stop. They did not listen; even with his eyes closed, they continued to roll down his cheeks. Roman could hear Caspian trying to speak to him but the words got lost in the chaos of his mind and it was too hard to try to piece together whatever he was saying. Instead, Roman focused on the sound of his voice and allowed it to slowly soothe him until he could breathe without fighting for air.
Then Roman opened his eyes and he screamed. Instead of Caspian being the one who wiped his tears away and comforted him, it was Roman - the one who had died in the woods all those years ago. Roman couldn't get away fast enough but his panic had increased tenfold and he had a hard time coordinating movement between all of his limbs. He didn't make it very far before his body froze from panic and all he could was stare at the other boy in horror. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Roman knew that this wasn't real but that side of his brain wasn't in control right now, and he couldn't think past the fact that the boy whose life he stole was sitting no more than four feet away from him.
"I'm sorry," Roman choked out, "It was going to be you or me. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to kill you, but I didn't want to die more. I'm sorry. I didn't tell you I was sorry but I am. And I've tried to make something of your name, something you'd be proud to be remembered by."
The thirteen year old ghost didn't move. He didn't say anything, didn't even acknowledge that Roman had spoken. He just looked at him with the same look he had on his face when Roman had pushed the blade of the knife into his neck. Roman grew frantic as the ghost didn't move. Roman wanted to scream that he deserved a response of some kind, something, anything, but they both knew he didn't. But in that moment, it didn't matter what Roman deserved or didn't deserve. He was back in that moment, making another life-or-death decision. Unless his guilt was absolved, he couldn't see himself moving on with life. And just like he did in that forest many years ago, he was willing to do what it took to survive.
Roman felt his fingers curl around something and he looked down to see a knife in his hand. He didn't remember reaching into his back pocket and flipping open his pocket knife, but it was out now, the silver blade reflecting the moonlight. He looked back up the ghost of his namesake, silently pleading for any other resolution. But the ghost just looked at him with dead eyes and Roman knew that he was never going to be forgiven.
"I'm sorry, even if you won't forgive me," Roman said one last time but he didn't wait for a response this time.
Roman lunged forward, arm with knife aimed towards the same spot in the neck Roman had stabbed his childhood friend. But then Roman blinked, and Roman-the-dead-thirteen-year-old-boy wasn't there anymore and it was Caspian whose neck he was trying to stab. Horrified, Roman abruptly stopped himself, his hand dropping the knife as if it burned him. Even after the knife clattered to the ground, his hand remained outstretched, shaking. Roman studied Caspian's face; he had been so sure that dead-Roman had been here and it was disturbing to realize that he could have almost accidentally killed Caspian. Roman scrambled backwards again. Whatever redemption Caspian had talked about was going to be lost of him because it was now clearer than ever that he was beyond help.
"You were.... he was... he was you... I didn't... I was going to kill him again," Roman stuttered, but there was no easy way to explain that Caspian almost got stabbed because Roman was hallucinating. The whole ordeal left Roman stunned to the point that he didn't fall into another panic attack, but it did start to make him question what was real and what wasn't.
"I'm sorry," Roman whispered. He had gone his entire life without truly meaning a single apology he gave, and now he felt them all so fully that he was going to collapse under the weight of them all.
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Post by Val on Jul 21, 2020 1:33:50 GMT
Caspian knew what the fear of imminent death felt like. He'd sensed the poignant emotion from helpless animals over and over again in his lifetime until he'd separated himself from society altogether. He'd committed the awful feeling to memory, and yet he'd never experienced it himself until that very moment.
"You're a killer!" Caspian screamed. He was just a boy again, tiny fists balled at his sides as he trembled with anguish, "You'll always be a killer!" The words were directed at his older brother who was standing beside one of their family's cattle with a large knife in hand. Times were hard and the meat was necessary for them to get by. The teenager's eyes were distant, gazing into the glassy expression of the bull he was about to slaughter. "You'll understand one day, Caspian," his brother responded quietly before ending the cow's life with a precise and practiced motion. Leon was always calm, always...sad. Young Caspian could never understand why his brother remained so detached throughout life, but it made him an easy target for the younger boy's frustrations. And he took it out on him every day.
This moment and a million others flashed before his eyes as the gleam of the impending knife registered in Caspian's brain. He remained absolutely frozen in fear, his eyes wide as he stared back at Roman. He anticipated a quick death, bleeding out in a matter of seconds, but the moment never came. The knife clattered to the ground and the intense moment ended in an instant. He was too fear stricken to move, so he was forced to continue staring back at Roman in shock before his body finally caught up to the rest of him.
Caspian scrambled backwards frantically, heaving a breath of air as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. His eyes landed on the knife and he reached for it, immediately throwing it into the darkness to be rid of its threatening presence. His mind was replaying the moment over and over again- the sheer horror of Roman actually lunging forward to end his life. His stomach flipped from the unavoidable nausea it brought on, and he turned on his side only to cough and dry heave due to an empty stomach.
Caspian's eyes strayed toward the darkness, where he knew his horse was waiting, where he could escape this moment altogether and never look back. Still, he remained. He was aware that his words of encouragement and acceptance had fallen on deaf ears, and it made him feel utterly hopeless. He was a fool to think he could help Roman, but he had heard every word that the man uttered with true clarity. He understood now, but that knowledge wasn't enough to erase the image from his memory.
He turned shakily to face Roman again, feeling weak and stupid for thinking he could talk Roman through such deep rooted trauma. He was speechless for a long time, unable to form the right words- or any words at all, "Who is Roman?" he demanded to know, his voice thick with emotion. He deserved the full truth, and Roman was going to spill it all whether he liked it or not.
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Post by starrea on Jul 21, 2020 3:08:38 GMT
Roman stared at Caspian as he rolled over and retched, saw the remnants of his broken trust and pain written across his face, recognized the raw fear in his eyes and felt... nothing. All of the emotional fires raging inside of Roman, threatening to burn him from the inside out, were abruptly extinguished. Roman slowly blinked as he watched Caspian, but he felt strangely detached - as if he were a spectator watching a play. The absence of his wrathful emotions left a large, empty hole inside of him. Roman had basically made an entire career out of ignoring his emotions, but this felt different than that. He had never felt so disconnected from himself and it occurred to him that this was probably concerning, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
It was probably a blessing that Roman had descended into a state of shock. Watching Caspian's reaction would have surely pushed him further over the edge, deeper into the madness of his breakdown. Instead of focusing on the way Caspian was looking at him, all Roman wanted to do was feel Caspian's skin underneath his fingers. He was uncomfortably cold and Caspian always ran hot but even in his state of shock, he recognized that Caspian probably didn't want to be anywhere near him and he didn't move to close the space between them.
Normally, Roman would resist answering such a personal question at all costs. It was one the secrets he was determined to take to the grave. But after his emotional breakdown, his walls were destroyed and he was too far gone from his right mind to remember why this secret needed to stay a secret.
"I killed him. We were kids, and our... mentor, he wanted to send Roman out on a mission but he was worried that he wouldn't be able to kill for the cause. So he ordered him to kill me, and when he was strangling me, I stuck a knife into the side of his neck. So I became Roman, and I went, and I killed."
Roman whispered the story, completely and blissfully detached from it. Roman recognized that this state numbness was not something permanent, but to be able to tell the story without any emotional repercussions was oddly relieving. Even in his state of shock, Roman felt like a weight had been lifted off of him. The guilt was still there, and always would be, but he had finally told the story to someone else. For better or for worse, there was someone else in the world who knew the truth about him and it was no longer a burden he carried alone.
He reached a hand out, gently, towards Caspian. He didn't invade his space and force his presence on Caspian, but the gesture was rather a question. He needed something physical to ground him, something that would keep from floating up and away from Caspian, but he wanted Caspian. Now that his walls had finally been destroyed, he could finally see how much he needed the acceptance Caspian was willing to offer. If he wanted to heal, Caspian was his cure.
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Post by Val on Jul 22, 2020 22:57:30 GMT
Caspian's fingers subconsciously brushed over the side of his neck where Roman had almost plunged the knife into him. The skin was smooth and unaffected, but he could now imagine the blood spewing from the hypothetical wound, soaking everything in red. As he stared at Roman, it was suddenly easy to envision the hardened man as a young, innocent child. He'd been forced to kill, but he wasn't a killer. One could look at it as a blessing or a curse, but Roman had the strength to do what it took to survive. Caspian knew he didn't possess that kind of strength, but it was reassuring to know how much Roman truly wanted to live. If he could overcome a lifetime of the odds stacked against him, then he could endure whatever came next, too.
Caught up in his own thoughts, Caspian flinched when Roman reached for him unexpectedly. Fear was a damned thing, and his sense of self preservation made him lean away from the offer. The trust between them wasn't broken, but it had definitely shifted. Roman's expression was distant, and he was afraid that he wasn't rooted in reality at the moment. Even worse, his trepidation was laced with a healthy serving of guilt. He didn't want Roman to see him afraid, but it was difficult to quell his instincts. Difficult...but not impossible.
Caspian clenched his jaw with determination and swallowed back the overwhelming uncertainty. He would not become the meek prey, cowering from the shadow that loomed overhead. No, he would confront the beast head on. Shifting forward, he shoved Roman's extended hand out of the way and embraced him in a forceful hug. His arms wrapped around Roman's broad shoulders and tightened with resolve. His body was trembling noticeably, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the man in his arms. It seemed that love could conquer all, and Caspian's love for Roman was unconditional.
With his fingers curled into the fabric of Roman's shirt and his chin tucked firmly into the man's shoulder, he had no intentions of budging until Roman invited him inside. The puzzle pieces were falling into place, but that didn't mean the result was picture perfect. The struggle would go on, but Caspian fully intended on being a part of it. "What do you want me to call you?" he asked quietly, feeling that it was imperative for Roman to be given a choice: maintain his namesake or start over. Caspian didn't care what the answer was, but it was important for Roman to decide how he wanted to proceed.
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