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Post by starrea on Sept 7, 2020 3:33:02 GMT
Roman imagined the path to hell was probably similar to the walk back to the cabin with Caspian, who had just broken Roman's heart and had a knife embedded in his shoulder. The walk had been uncomfortably silent. Even though Roman had taken care to make sure that he took on as much of Caspian's weight as possible and adjusted their pace to something he could manage, there was palpable pain that radiated off of Roman. He only looked at Caspian occasionally to check on the wound, but his eyes never traveled up far enough to meet his gaze. Even though Caspian's shirt was stained red by now, the knife was blocking most of the blood. As soon as they got back to the cabin and Roman had supplies to control the bleeding, he would pull it out and once Caspian was taken care of, he would leave - for good, this time.
It shock of opening himself up so vulnerably to Caspian, only to have him cut to pieces was enough to stun him into a state of numbness. The situation was so unreal that it was laughable, and he heard the scornful warnings of his mentor criticize him in his head.
Love is a disease. It makes perfectly sane men do insane things. It's the deadliest of all sicknesses; it alters your perceptions, it disables your ability to rationalize. It impairs you from making sound judgments. It kills you when you have it, and it kills you when you don't. That is why you need to avoid it. You need to take precautions. Your mission is too important, your work is too important. I will not have my time wasted by someone who chooses something as trivial as love over their cause. Make no mistake; if you choose love, you will die because of it.
Roman tried to push his voice out, but even years after his death, he couldn't. He would always be with him. Always reminding him that he made the wrong decision.
Who can be healthy who wants? Desire is the enemy to contentment. The simple of wanting suggests a lack in the brain, a flaw. Flaws will get you killed.
The thought of suicide had never appealed to Roman, but it stealthily stalked it's way into his thoughts. The pain was surreal, so potent that it choked Roman. He resented his mentor even more for being right, because he was always right, and the lessons he taught Roman had always hurt.
Was it worth it?
The question echoed - and Roman knew the answer: logically and rationally, no. If time reversed, would he make the same choices, do the same exact thing? Undoubtedly. At the end of it all, Roman had no idea if these feelings growing inside of him were the horrible thing he had ever endured or the best, but he didn't care. The truly terrifying thing was that he glad that Caspian had showed him how much more life could be. The experience had been addicting and despite the fact that he knew that once he left Caspian, he would be completely destroying, he knew he would do it all over again because the way Caspian had made him feel was worth the his inevitable end. Even knowing that it would kill him in the end, he would rather have the smallest moment of love than live one hundred years without it - but it was not a mistake he would make again.
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Post by Val on Sept 8, 2020 3:28:53 GMT
Caspian knew only one thing for sure; he'd rather be stabbed one hundred more times than have to witness the look of absolute dejection on Roman's face for even a moment longer. But life was cruel, and the journey to his farm was unbearable as he was forced to dwell over what he had done. He'd never felt such palpable self hatred before as he was faced with the very real possibility that he had ruined everything. His silence might as well have been a death sentence for their relationship. Roman had bared his soul, and he'd turned his back.
Why? It was the glaring question in his mind as they traveled through quiet pastures at a painfully slow pace. Why hadn't he said it back? There were so many reasons, and yet none of them seemed justifiable after feeling just how devastatingly crushed Roman was. The real and honest truth was that he was hopelessly in love with Roman, and that terrified him. His morals were in an all out war with his devotion toward Roman, and he was terrified that he wouldn't be able to maintain the balance. He knew in his heart that he'd do anything for Roman. He'd take a knife for him. He'd die for him. He'd kill for him.
His silence had been a temporary bandage to avoid facing his fears. But now he wanted to rip it off. He wanted to pour his heart out and beg for Roman to forgive him, but he couldn't. The war was still raging inside of him.
The farmhouse was a direct reflection of their solemnity. Rather than the usual vibrant greeting from the animals, they mirrored Caspian's emotions with a distinct sense of melancholy. Worried eyes peered out at them, but none were bold enough to interfere with the inner turmoil that their companion was going through. Still pressed close to Roman's side, Caspian accepted help up the front steps and pushed the front door open before finally separating himself. He shuffled into the kitchen and used his free hand to guide himself along the counters until he reached the sought after drawer. Yanking it open, he fumbled through the contents, gathering a simple first aid kit and some clean towels before making his way unsteadily toward the dining table. He collapsed into a chair and deposited the supplies onto the table, finally sparing a painful glance in Roman's direction.
"Please take it out," he implored quietly, finally feeling the physical pain start to catch up to him. It had been easy to ignore the knife whilst he was dwelling over the far more potent emotional suffering, but now the stabbing pain in his shoulder was becoming intolerable. As much as he felt like he deserved the pain, he couldn't afford to lose an arm. He hung his head forward shamefully, staring at his blood stained hands as he waited for Roman to tend to him, and for the universe to present him with a way to fix everything.
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Post by starrea on Sept 8, 2020 15:30:33 GMT
The request was unnecessary; Roman hadn't planned on just depositing Caspian in his farmhouse and leaving, but the request did spur him into action. Roman had slipped into a numbness, his mind working to rebuild every wall that Caspian methodically broken through until his mind was a fortress again, one that would be strong enough to withstand Caspian. He finally moved from the spot Caspian left him in by the door across the room, wordlessly rifling through the supplies and then leaning over to examine the wound. Starting where the knife had already cut through Caspian's shirt, Roman worked on ripping it down. Once the bottom of the shirt had been successfully ripped it half, he did the same thing at the top of the hole, ripping the collar of the shirt open until the front of the shirt was completely ripped in half. Roman carefully helped Caspian out of the ruined shirt, having to peel it off of his skin in the areas where the blood was starting to dry to his skin. He moved slowly, delicately, as he eased the remains of the shirt off of his injured arm, taking great care to jostle the injury as little as possible. Once the shirt was off, Roman took ahold of the handle of the knife and the only warning he gave Caspian was the briefest of glances before he wordlessly yanked it out.
With nothing blocking the wound, the blood flowed out freely. Roman grabbed the towels and pressed them to the wound, pushing down hard. It didn't take long for blood to soak through the first towel and he tossed it on top of the ruined shirt, replacing it with a clean one. There was nothing to do except wait for the blood to slow enough for Roman to suture it. The silence was thick and uncomfortable and Roman made a point to look everywhere except at Caspian - a feat that proved difficult, especially when his hands were holding pressure to a wound on Caspian's very bare and very bloody chest. Mercifully, it didn't take for the bleeding to slow. The knife had been in the wound long enough that clotting had already started and combined with the pressure, the bleeding slowed to a trickle.
Once the bleeding had slowed considerably, Roman tossed the towel on the floor on top of the other bloody towel and shirt, and turned around, walking away - straight to the cabinet where Caspian kept the moonshine. He pulled a bottle out, walking back over to Caspian and unscrewing the top. Without a word of warning, he tipped the bottle over and poured it over the wound. He righted the bottle, letting Caspian catch his breath for a second before Roman pried the wound apart and held the lip of the bottle to the wound, pouring more of the moonshine into it. When he was done, he didn't screw the cap of the bottle back on - he placed it on the table, near Caspian's good arm.
Roman opened the first aid kit, readying the suture needle and pulling out ample gauze. He picked up the last clean towel, using it wipe most of the blood away from the wound before using the gauze to more thoroughly clean out the wound. He picked the needle up, the movements of stitching a wound closed well-practiced. It wasn't more than five or so minutes before Roman had the wound pulled closed, and he tied the last stitch before throwing the remaining gauze and needle back onto the table. He pushed himself away from the table, glancing down at himself to find that he was covered in traces of Caspian's blood. His clothes were ruined, splattered with large, red splotches, and his hands and arms were dark red and sticky. He brought his fingers to his face, feeling warm, sticky smudges that he hadn't remembered making. He hadn't planned on staying for one second longer than necessary, but he couldn't walk home looking like this.
"Keep the wound covered. The stitches will need to come out in about two weeks, I trust you can handle that on your own." Roman finally spoke, his voice detached and void of emotion. He scooped up the least bloody of the towels, trying to wipe his hands clean of blood but the process was less than ideal. "When I get back, I will be shutting down Raevaryn's borders; only essential merchants will be allowed through." Roman added, letting the silence say what he really meant: don't follow me.
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Post by Val on Sept 9, 2020 19:55:46 GMT
Even though Roman stayed to help, Caspian felt as though there were miles of distance between them. The urge to speak was becoming hard to suppress as Roman leaned over him, but he bit his tongue and let the man work in silence. He remained relatively idle during the entire process, moving only when it was necessary. He winced intermittently as the shirt was ripped away and couldn’t help but twist his neck around in order to get a better look at the knife that was protruding out of him. The blade wasn’t large, but it was embedded all the way to the hilt. Now that he was looking close enough, he could see a small ‘X’ etched into the handle. Roman’s hand suddenly appeared and gripped the end of the weapon, and Caspian abruptly looked away before it was yanked free.
Though he attempted to stifle his pain, a strangled grunt escaped him. Fresh blood flowed out of the wound and dizzy spots danced across his vision as his body protested the loss of vital fluid. He zoned out as they both waited for the bleeding to slow, conserving his energy for the conversation he planned on having once this was dealt with. Only when Roman left his side did he finally snap back to attention, and he watched in dismay as he headed for the liquor cabinet. He knew what was coming, and he grit his teeth as the river of moonshine assaulted the fresh wound. His head swam from the vicious bite of the liquid, and he did not hesitate when the moonshine was place within reach. Tipping the bottle against his lips, he managed two gulps in quick succession, feeling the heat flood through his limbs and numb the stinging pain.
Finally, Roman had reached the final step in the process and Caspian relaxed into his seat as he waited for the wound to be stitched up. Roman worked with the skill and grace of someone who had tended to many wounds in their lifetime, and he watched with a quiet sense of admiration regardless of his unease over how such wounds came to be acquired. Despite the coldness that he felt emanating from Roman, he was grateful for the patience and care that he put into the whole process. It was nothing compared to the way Roman had gushed and fawned over him the second he’d been stabbed- before Caspian had ruined everything- but he was gentle nonetheless.
“Thank you,” he murmured when Roman pulled away. Caspian gazed up at him nervously, sensing the very obvious fact that the man was preparing to flee. He couldn’t let that happen- he wouldn’t. He watched the way Roman attempted to wipe the stray blood from his skin, barely registering the instructions he was given. He suddenly wished they could both strip down and wash away the events of the day, but he’d made things far too complicated for the solution to be that simple.
I love you. The words were there, on the tip of his tongue, but now he feared that Roman would think he was being disingenuous. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was to allow his desperation to suck the meaning out of those three little words. Redemption seemed impossible when faced with the detached look in Roman’s eyes. And then he confirmed Caspian’s worst fears and he felt the panic set in as Roman prepared to shut him out for good. Roman might as well have plunged the knife right back into his heart.
“No,” he blurted, reaching for Roman’s hand and smearing it with blood all over again. He gripped his fingers, squeezing, before he had the chance to step away, “Please, Roman, you don’t understand. We need to talk. We have to,” he paused, struggling to find the right words that would make him stay, “I will follow you,” he vowed, defying Roman’s silent demand, “I will follow you, because I can’t stay away. I won’t.”
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Post by starrea on Sept 11, 2020 2:18:47 GMT
Roman scowled as Caspian grabbed him, smearing a viscous layer of blood over his freshly-cleaned hands. He went to pull away but Caspian anticipated this, locking onto his hand like it was a lifeline and Roman didn't have the heart to break it. "Damn it Caspian, I can't walk home covered in your blood. Let go," Roman hissed, uncomfortably aware of the way the blood created a sticky lubricant between their skin. As the seconds ticked by, Roman's resolve against asking to bathe and borrow a change of clothes from Caspian slowly crumbled beneath the weight of his obsessive desire to be clean. Even the magnetic touch of Caspian's hand started to dull in comparison to the intense focus on the splotches of red, sticky blood that decorated his body and clothes.
"There is nothing left to say, and I don't want to talk," Roman snapped, finally wrenching his hand away from Caspian but didn't move towards the door. A part of him wanted to turn around and draw himself a bath, but Roman kept his feet rooted to the ground. Caspian had made his feelings perfectly clear and now, there was all this space between them that hadn't been there before. It was no longer his place to make himself feel at home in Caspian's farmhouse.
Even though Roman had successfully squashed any emotions, he was still raw enough that he didn't want to talk about why Caspian didn't say it back. He didn't care, he didn't want to know, and he certainly didn't want to hear Caspian apologize. Anything Caspian had to say would only twist the knife in Roman's heart. He was just done - he was done with the effort, done with caring, done with trying, done with trying to be something he wasn't. Roman never had a chance with Caspian, something that was glaringly obvious now, but he still wasn't strong enough to hear that come out of Caspian's lips.
Roman swiped the bottle of moonshine off of the table, lifting it to his lips and taking a long drink. He savored the way it burned down his throat and he closed his eyes, waiting for the heat to disperse into numbness that would hopefully dull his awareness of the blood he was covered in. He was too impatient to wait long and when he didn't feel any different ten or so seconds later, he raised the bottle to his lips and took another long drink. With reluctance, he set the bottle back down the table, remembering how quickly things got out of hand when he drunk with Caspian. The temptation was hard to resist, but he couldn't risk lowering his resolve against Caspian. He wouldn't let himself lose his direction again, not for Caspian, not for anyone.
"I need to wash. And a change of clothes," It wasn't a question, and Roman wasn't asking. He had pulled the knife out of Caspian's shoulder and stitched him up, and a bath and a change of clothes was more than reasonable compensation. He finally looked at Caspian, his eyes blank as he stared at the other man.
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Post by Val on Sept 14, 2020 1:27:45 GMT
There was so much left to say, and yet Caspian felt the fight drain out of him as Roman pulled out of his grasp, leaving his hand to fall limply back into his lap. The desire to please Roman remained strong, and he no longer felt like he reserved the right to push the other man into doing anything he didn’t want to do. If only for a little while, he would keep his mouth shut and play by Roman’s rules. It was the least he could do after his foolish bout of silence, and he was grateful enough that Roman hadn’t already fled the scene.
He eyed the bottle of moonshine as Roman brought it to his lips, resisting the urge to follow suite. They both became rather toxic when the alcohol took control, and he couldn’t risk fucking this up more than he already had. He needed to tread carefully and find a way to explain himself- if that was even possible.
After absorbing Roman’s request, he looked up and their gazes locked. While Roman had perfected a look that was void of emotion, Caspian’s eyes were round pools of regret just threatening to spill over at any moment. He could almost see the fortress rebuilding itself around Roman with reinforced walls and it was apparent that it didn’t matter if Roman was here or back in Raevaryn; he was shutting Caspian out.
The severity of the situation set Caspian into motion. Nodding his agreement, he pushed himself out of the chair perhaps too quickly and gripped the edge of the table to steady himself, feeling his head spin as the blood loss caught up to him. Right now, it seemed like an insignificant ailment when faced with the possibility of losing Roman. He tucked his injured arm against his side and used the other to guide Roman down the hall and into the bathroom.
Much of the farmhouse had been built by Caspian’s own blood, sweat and tears, and the bathroom was no different. It was warm and rustic, and the afternoon sunlight flooded the space in a warm glow, but it wasn’t enough to soothe Caspian’s nerves. Pressure was mounting, and Caspian was notoriously bad under pressure. His first instinct was to start talking and fill the distance between them with word vomit, but he figured that would only end up digging him a deeper grave. Instead, he left Roman in the middle of the room and set about running a bath and gathering the soap and towels necessary to clean the man up.
Once a warm bath was prepared, he returned to Roman’s side and instinctively reached out to start undressing him. Caspian’s fingers had pulled Roman’s shirt about halfway up his abdomen before it dawned on him that the intimacy would likely upset him- not to mention how difficult such maneuvering would be with one hand. Awkwardly, his hand dropped away, and the hem of the shirt fell back into place.
Caspian’s eyes practically burned holes into Roman’s chest as he avoided eye contact, “I’ll be right back,” he uttered quietly, turning to disappear from the bathroom in search of a change of clothes. He vowed to move quickly, out of fear that Roman would disappear before he had the chance to make amends.
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Post by starrea on Sept 16, 2020 16:17:11 GMT
The regret that rolled off of Caspian was so strong it was nearly tangible, hanging uncomfortably in the air between them. It was enough to distract Roman from the insufferable way the blood dried onto his skin, and it shook Roman's resolve to effectively and efficiently shut Caspian out of his head. The damage between them was painfully obvious, a miles-wide chasm where there hadn't been one before, but Roman let out a sigh of relief when Caspian seemed to relent to his wishes. When Caspian stood and swayed, Roman didn't reach out to steady him. The instinct to reach out and help Caspian was still strong enough that he had to stop himself from acting upon it, reminding himself that it wasn't place to steady Caspian. Instead, he tried to appear indifferent and casual as he waited for Caspian to lead him to the bathroom - even though he already knew where it was. Mercifully, Caspian seemed willing to ignore the festering, raw wound on their damaged relationship, doing an equally shit job as Roman at acting casual. They both knew there was nothing casual about their situation, but Roman was willing to pretend if Caspian was.
Roman couldn't stop himself from pondering over Caspian's obvious regret. He couldn't help but feel vindicated at Caspian's pain, spitefully pleased that Caspian was feeling a fraction of the misery he had inflicted on Roman. But he couldn't ignore the implications of regret - the very definition implied that given the opportunity, Caspian might choose differently. Of course, this was hardly a guarantee - Caspian could simply regret the fact that he didn't reciprocate Roman's feelings. That didn't feel right, though. They had slept with each other, shared some of their darkest secrets and sought comfort and acceptance in each other - it hadn't been one-sided. Roman couldn't have vastly misjudged Caspian so erroneously that he missed the fact that Caspian was playing him, but that didn't make sense either. Caspian had no motive to play Roman, no political benefit since he wasn't a member of the Kingdom. Even if there was some other obscure benefit that Roman couldn't imagine, Caspian certainly hadn't obtained it yet. Surely, if he was after something other than Roman's affections, he would have lied and continued his ploy until he got what he wanted. Anyways, he couldn't have possibly faked everything that happened between them. Everything that had happened between them had been compellingly real. So that left two possible scenarios. The first was that Caspian simply didn't love him. The second was that Caspian did love him, and hadn't said it back for whatever reason, most likely because despite his feelings, he didn't want to be with Roman.
It didn't matter which scenario it was. The damage was done, and Roman wasn't one to make the same mistakes. A gentle touch drew Roman out of his psycho-analysis and was genuinely shocked to realize that Caspian was pulling his shirt up. Before he could even take a step back, Caspian seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled away. The simplest touch had sparked Roman's heartbeat faster than he was willing to admit, and he felt at war with himself. Emotionally-cutting himself off from Caspian evidently didn't change the way his body craved the touch of the other man. Caspian's touch was dangerous; he wouldn't need to break down Roman's walls again if Roman simply let him inside the fortress in his mind, something that was likely to happen if he lost himself in Caspian's magnetic touch. The fear of being vulnerable strengthened his desire to leave as quickly as possible, before Caspian could unravel him all over again.
As soon as Caspian left, Roman hastily stripped his clothes off. He only paused when his boxers were halfway down his legs, finally realizing that Caspian had said he was coming back, and that meant seeing Roman naked. Roman had always been prudish, especially when it came to others seeing him nude, but he now he struggled with the notion of Caspian seeing him without clothes. Roman was comfortable, too comfortable, with Caspian seeing him naked, but that was before their relationship had essentially ended. It felt wrong to be physically vulnerable after being rejected so harshly, but the desire to cleanse and flee burned hot enough that it challenged the instinct to re-dress. In the end, Roman shed the rest of his clothes and climbed into the warm bath, submerging himself. The water was clear enough that it hardly hid anything, but Roman reminded himself that Caspian would only pop in for a second to drop his clothes off.
Roman wasted no time in cleaning himself, immediately splashing water on the blood splotches and rubbing them until the only redness on him was from scratching himself. The ritual was almost neurotic, and it wasn't until most of the blood had been washed off and the water was tinged pink that he even noticed the soaps beside the tub.
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Post by Val on Sept 17, 2020 2:47:15 GMT
Caspian thought that leaving the room might help to clear his head, but putting physical distance between Roman and himself only served to amplify his anxiety. All he could think about was Roman leaving. Caspian could envision himself staring between the man’s broad shoulders as he walked out the front door, never to return to the farmhouse again. He could imagine himself begging for entry into Raevaryn castle until the guards had no choice but to physically remove him from the premises. The cold detachedness of Roman’s eyes had effectively traumatized him. Caspian would do anything to regain his affections- a thought that continued to terrify him each time he realized just how head over heels he was for Roman. And yet he had remained silent.
Returning to the kitchen first, he leaned over the sink and began to scrub the blood from his hands. The more he washed, the more he realized just how covered he was in the sticky, red mess that the wound had caused. Frustrated tears burned his eyes and he quickly splashed his face with water, trying desperately to pull himself together. Caspian was a sensitive soul, but he was not a crier.
Giving up on cleaning anywhere past his forearms, Caspian left the kitchen and headed for his bedroom, avoiding even glancing at the bathroom door as he passed. He made it about two steps into the room before a dark object came hurtling at him from above. He nearly jumped out of his skin, only to recognize that it was his plump raccoon who had leapt from a shelf and landed nimbly on his good shoulder, “Careful, Pip,” he winced, feeling an unpleasant sting from the stitches as a result of the jump scare.
Sighing, Caspian pulled Pip down from his shoulder and cradled him in his good arm, giving him a scratch behind the ears, “I’m sorry, Pip. I know I’ve been gone,” he whispered, feeling another load of guilt land heavily on his shoulders. He’d been so caught up in his whirlwind of a romance that he’d begun to neglect his farm and his animals. He expected some sort of vitriol from his naturally disagreeable little friend, but Pip only peered up at him worriedly, nose twitching as he registered the potent smell of blood. In fact, none of the animals appeared to harbor any ill feelings toward him for his absence. For the first time since returning, he noticed the distinct atmosphere of concern that had blanketed the farm. They still loved him because their love was unconditional.
Caspian suddenly wanted to slap himself. How could he be so blind? Had he learned nothing from the creatures he’d filled his life with? Love wasn’t complicated. It was the layers of doubt and fear and expectations that made it complicated. Love itself was simple- it was obvious, and he felt it so deeply for Roman. The obstacles between them were fabricated by fear of the unknown. They didn’t know or understand everything about each other. They lived completely different lives and abided by completely different moral codes. But it wasn’t his job to ‘fix’ Roman, or change him, or insert himself where he didn’t belong. He didn’t love Roman because he was perfect, he loved him in spite of the fact that he wasn’t. Unconditionally.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Caspian placed his tiny companion on top of the dresser and gave him a pat on the head, “Good boy, Pip. I owe you a snack,” he promised. He dug into his bottom drawer, gathering a pair of pants and a dark flannel shirt that were a bit big on him, figuring they would fit Roman nicely. The raccoon chattered at him impatiently, “Yes, something sugary,” he agreed. He needed to get a move on before he lost the sense of clarity that the epiphany had given him.
With the change of clothes tucked in his arm, he left the bedroom and pushed his way directly into the bathroom across the hall. His eyes landed directly on Roman upon entry, taking in the sight of the man who was scrubbed clean in the tub and clearly preparing to flee once and for all. Almost instantly, Caspian’s confidence plummeted like a boulder into the pit of his stomach and he clamped his mouth shut. Now it was his turn to dread the chance of rejection. Dropping his gaze dutifully to the floor, he placed the change of clothes next to the sink, “These should fit,” he offered.
Caspian turned away and headed back for the door, his instincts in overdrive as they begged him to simply slip away and avoid the conflict and the pain that was sure to follow. His hand rested upon the doorknob and he froze. Several seconds of silence passed before he forced the words out, “You were right,” he managed. It was now or never, and once he started, there was no stopping him, “Maybe I had no business getting involved in your work. I’ve never been a part of something like that,” he paused long enough to turn around and face Roman, “But seeing you like that…It terrifies me. It makes me worry that you’ll do something you’ll regret, and I don’t want you to feel any more pain. I want to bear all of your pain. All of it. That’s why I took the knife for you. That’s why I would take a thousand more knives for you.” His voice was laced with conviction, but he was far from done. He stepped forward, slowly crossing the room until he could look Roman clearly in the eyes, “My silence wasn’t what you think it was. Believe me when I tell you that I wanted to say it back; I should have said it back. But I didn’t say anything because I was afraid of the things that I would do for you, and the things that I would overlook. But I can see now that those things don’t matter because I know your heart, Roman. And I love you.”
The delicate stitches that held his heart together had been ripped open, exposing himself in the same way Roman had with those three little words. It was freeing, but he felt like he was free falling toward the earth and only Roman’s acceptance could save him from the impending doom.
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Post by starrea on Sept 18, 2020 22:40:12 GMT
Time was running out. Any second, Caspian would come back through the bathroom door and steal all of the air out of Roman's lungs and all of the sense out of his head, but he didn't reach out to grab the soap. Instead, he sank back into the water, settling into apathy. The kingdom was on the brink of anarchy, destruction via it's own people or from the inevitably retaliation whenever Nethilor discovered their beloved missing Queen had been imprisoned closer to home than they imagined. Unregistered, undocumented and unregulated people with supernatural abilities walked the streets with absolutely no protocols in place to control the havoc they left in their wake. The bureaucracy was broken beyond repair, but that was hardly an issue when their own king couldn't be bothered to care. As crime and poverty among the citizens rose, so did tensions between the people and their rulers. Despite Roman's dedication to his job, it was a problem that proved too large and too complex for one person to solve alone. He could practically feel his mentor's contempt for his failure from beyond the grave. When the kingdom fell, and it would fall, there would be no place for Roman to go - if he wasn't executed, he would be exiled, forced to live out the rest of his life in solidarity. He would be without someone to protect, without power to wield and manipulate - completely and utterly purposeless. Roman felt like he was trapped in the bottom half of an hourglass, sand pouring down over him, and could do nothing but wait for his time to finally run out.
Caspian opened the door and it abruptly shook Roman out of his thoughts. He sank lower in the water, averting his gaze from the one man who could both simultaneously complete and destroy him. Roman had let Caspian distract him from the turmoil in his life for far too long. Whatever happened between them hadn't been sustainable, it wouldn't have prevented the massive clusterfuck that was surely coming, it wouldn't have saved Roman. All it did was distract Roman from proactively and analytically tackling these complex problems head-on, like he had been taught. Still, as much as he told himself that he didn't need Caspian, it didn't stop him from feeling small and vulnerable under his gaze.
For a few blissful seconds, Roman actually thought that Caspian was going to truly respect his wishes and ignore everything between them. Roman didn't move as Caspian spoke, didn't even breathe. Even after Caspian finally stopped speaking, he didn't move. It wasn't until another minute or so later before Roman finally swiveled his head to look up at Caspian, his face a mask of apathy. Wordlessly, he rose from the tub and slowly stepped out so that he was facing Caspian, uncaring of the water he was spilling onto the floor. He was no longer concerned about Caspian seeing him naked, not now that Caspian had drawn attention to the intimacy between them.
"What do you want me to say? That it's okay? That I love you too? That we'll make it work?" Roman seethed, eyes narrowing as they locked onto Caspian, "Because it's not. This isn't some fairy tale or love story. This is fucking real, Caspian. There are things that I've told you, that I've done with you, that I've never done with anyone else... that I'll never do with anyone else. I did everything you wanted, I tried so fucking hard to be the person you wanted me to be. Guess what - it still wasn't enough. I'm still not enough. The truth is, Caspian, that I'll never be the person you want me to be. I'll never be the good guy or the hero who saves the day." Rage burned through him, the quiet kind of anger that simmered beneath the surface until it blew up in a fantastic explosion, but even Roman didn't know when that would be. The mystery of his own meltdown only added to his erratic behavior.
"It doesn't fucking matter if you love me. It doesn't matter if I love you. Everything is about to go to shit and love won't stop it," Roman mocked. The attack on Caspian wasn't nearly as satisfying as he had thought it would have been. In fact, it was leaving him feeling worse than he had before. "I have no fucking idea what you're looking for Caspian, but it sure as hell isn't me and I can't keep wasting my time out here with you." Roman snapped. He took a step towards Caspian, closing the distance between them, but the approach wasn't romantic - it was a method of intimidation. He was barely holding it together, barely able to resist the urge to accept the other man's love but the pain of rejection was too fresh for him to make that mistake.
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Post by Val on Sept 23, 2020 4:09:50 GMT
The silence following his speech felt violent. Now Caspian knew how Roman felt when he failed to return the sentiment. The only difference was that his silence had persisted, whereas Roman’s was clearly building up to a callous response. He had no choice but to stand there and wait as he plummeted back to Earth without a parachute, falling but never seeming to hit the ground. He was stuck in an unfortunate limbo, forced to endure whatever choice words Roman had for him.
Caspian tensed when Roman finally turned to look at him. No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to mirror Roman’s apathetic look. Instead, his face read like an open book full of unchecked emotion. He watched Roman rise from the tub, his eyes following the rivulets of water that trailed down the man’s body until they hit the floor and remained there shamefully. Roman might’ve been the naked one, but Caspian felt far more vulnerable. He listened to what Roman had to say through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to interject and refute the unfair way in which Roman was gaslighting him. It wasn’t until Roman stepped toward him in a show of power that Caspian’s eyes shot upwards, locking Roman in place with an intense glare, warning him not to come any closer.
“You have no right to be cruel to me.” Caspian finally summoned the courage to defend himself, refusing to be manipulated into believing that he had ruined everything. Deep down, Caspian understood that lashing out was a defense mechanism for Roman, but it was hard to accept such a simple explanation when it felt so incredibly personal. Despite his instinctual desire to succumb to Roman’s influence, he refused to accept the heartless way that Roman seemed intent on ending their relationship.
“I’m not looking for anything, Roman, I never was. We found each other, and despite what you might think, everything that has happened between us was just as new and real to me as it was to you. I never asked you to be someone you’re not, I just want you to be happy. Don’t you see that?” Caspian let the question hang in the air for a moment, studying Roman’s face for any signs that the man even believed what he was saying.
Now that the fire had been ignited, it spurred Caspian to continue and he prepared to step into the forbidden territory that was Roman’s profession, “I know you have a lot going on that I may never understand, but fuck you for blaming it all on me.” In the moment, it felt good to throw the accusation back into Roman’s face, “I don’t care what you think; love does matter. It matters more than anything. If you stopped loving me the moment I dared to hesitate- fine. I’ll stop wasting your time. You can bury yourself in your work until it quite literally crushes you. But if you still love me Roman…” he shook his head, struggling to overcome the rejection he couldn’t help but anticipate, “Don’t face it alone.”
Caspian breathed heavily, every heave of his chest causing the stitches to tug uncomfortably against his skin. Slowly, the fight faded from his eyes and he suddenly felt drained. The lightheadedness returned and he swayed slightly on his feet, trying to keep his eyes focused on Roman as motivation to stand tall. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep fighting for, but he intended on rooting himself there until Roman made a final decision- a decision that would change the course of their lives, no doubt.
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Post by starrea on Sept 25, 2020 4:01:56 GMT
It only took four simple words from Caspian to irrevocably crush Roman's aggression. Roman's ruination was embarrassingly effortless; Caspian had breached the reinforced walls in Roman's mind, knocking them down as if they had been constructed with cards. The roaring fire that fueled him was extinguished as easily as Caspian leaning over and blowing a candle out. Roman winced as Caspian thrust his vindictive, spiteful words into the spotlight; even though the goal of his flagrant words had been to hurt Caspian, being directly faced with the damage he had done was nauseating. He couldn't help but observe a pattern forming between them; no matter what Roman did, no matter how much he loved him, he ended up hurting Caspian - and Roman had no idea how to stop the cycle. The circumstances of Caspian were dangerously outside of Roman’s realm; how much could he be at fault for reacting to something deeply and instinctually threatening? He was submerged in the violent, turbulent waters of Caspian, desperate for air with no idea which way was up. He had always known that Caspian was going to be his ruination, but this was the moment, the beginning of the end of Roman, and clarity finally freed him of any hopeful misconceptions. Caspian wasn’t supposed to save him. No, Roman was beyond redemption – not even God could save his soul now. Caspian needed to destroy him. Fighting his feelings for Caspian and resisting the change that came with him was as useless as wishing the rain away in the middle of a storm. When he wasn’t storming over Roman, Caspian was every bit else of summer; hotter than the heat in July and a warm reminder that it wasn’t too late, there was still time to change. But then Roman wouldn’t change, and Caspian would roll in like a hurricane, destroying everything about Roman down to his very foundation until he was left in pieces. The change was irreversible; there was simply no going back to who Roman was before Caspian hit him. The only choice Roman had moving forward was the same those had in the wake of a storm; to rebuild. Caspian had a way of making everything seem absurdly simple, as if everything were just as simple as a snap of the fingers. It left Roman at a loss, feeling absolutely devastated by the storm that was Caspian, and envious that Caspian was apparently unburdened. Didn’t Caspian see that Roman wanted those things too – he wanted to be happy and in love with Caspian, wanted an uncomplicated life, wanted peace. The difference was that Roman wasn’t afforded those luxuries, not with job, not with his lifestyle, and not with his past. Roman couldn’t help but think of when they first met, remembering how naïve he had been – it was hard to imagine a man with lips red like the sun and eyes like rain could be such a force of nature. There was no way he could have prepared himself for the storm that was Caspian, but he found himself wishing that there had been a sign, nonetheless. After everything, after all the damage Roman had done, all his attempts to block Caspian out, Caspian still wanted to stand by him – and Roman wasn’t strong enough to reject him. He had kept the desire to share his life with someone so deeply repressed and now that it was out, it was outweighing the logical response to reject Caspian. It was exasperating; it was completely illogical to voluntarily show vulnerability, but he was finding that he cared less and less about logic. So when it came down to the moment of rejection, Roman found himself unable to permanently burn the bridge between them. For a long moment, Roman tried to find something adequate to say – but no words came. He had never been eloquent with words, and he found himself lacking a way to say that he never wanted to be alone again. He wanted to say that he finally saw it, finally realized that couldn’t keep fighting the changes he was undergoing, and that he was ready to face it head on. He wanted to thank Caspian for refusing to give up on him, even when he had repeatedly pushed Caspian away. He had never loved anyone before, never spoke those words, but now that they had said it, Roman wanted to tell Caspian that he loved him again, and again, and again. He wanted to say all those things, but he couldn’t find the words. Instead, Roman spoke a language he was more comfortable with – action. He ignored Caspian’s silent warning to not come closer; this time, when he closed the space between them, it was with fervent need. He lifted his hands up to cup Caspian’s face, gently pressing his lips against the other’s mans and melting into the kiss. Caspian’s lips were sinfully soft, and Roman moved his lips against Caspian’s, trying to convey how much love and gratitude he held for the other man. His nakedness was still forgotten, even as the water puddled on the floor and goosebumps decorated his skin from the chilly air, but his exhaustion was not. Roman felt like he was teetering on the edge of sanity, scared that he was going to fall and lose himself but for the first time, ready to face whatever that meant.
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Post by Val on Sept 28, 2020 21:55:00 GMT
The weight of the ultimatum felt just as heavy as the force of gravity that seemed intent on dragging Caspian to the floor in his state of exhaustion. They had finally reached the peak of the mountain after a long and arduous climb and it was Roman’s decision whether they arrived safely at the top or went crashing down the sides in a fall that was sure to break them both. Caspian had weathered every one of Roman’s challenges head on, unwilling to give up on the light that he knew lay at the end of the tunnel. He had made it clear in the beginning that he didn’t expect things to be easy, and they hadn’t been. Giving up would have been easy. Allowing Roman to push him away the first, second, third, and every time thereafter would have been easy. Returning to his simple, uncomplicated life would have been so easy. But he didn’t want easy; he wanted Roman.
Roman was the most complicated person he had ever encountered. Understanding the pain and trauma that shaped the man was only scratching the surface. He was much, much more than just a product of his surroundings. Roman wasn’t born into power and nobility; he was made for it. He was the kind of man placed on Earth for a larger purpose, meant to shape society and be looked up to as a God among men. But his ability to see things in black and white had ultimately blinded him. Roman couldn’t divert from the path that he had set out for himself. He couldn’t see what was within his grasp, if only he stepped a foot out of line. All of the power he held meant nothing when his free will had been stripped long ago. Caspian wanted to be the guiding light, to show him that there was another way to live. His actions would undoubtedly change the course of history, but the Earth would keep on spinning.
Caspian finally understood the enigmatic man standing before him. And with that understanding came the realization that he already knew what Roman was going to choose. He could see it in his eyes, feel the shift in the air as he realized the futility of each of the attempts to push Caspian away. Caspian had stood outside the walls of the fortress that surrounded Roman, both literally and figuratively, waiting on a miracle for them to come crashing down. Finally, in the simple span of a few labored breaths and forgiving looks, the walls crumbled into heaps of useless rubble.
The kiss was the perfect culmination of their relationship, boiled down into a pure gesture of acceptance. For once, words weren’t necessary for Caspian. He accepted the embrace with open arms, seeking Roman’s lips with the same impassioned need. The tenderness of the kiss combined with the raw emotion between them was nearly enough to force tears from Caspian’s eyes. Instead, he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around Roman’s bare torso, squeezing until there was no longer any distance between them. Finally, their lips parted and he clung to Roman for dear life, his lightheadedness compounded by the exhilaration that followed the kiss.
“I love you,” he repeated the words breathlessly, prepared to make up for his previous silence tenfold. He rested his head against Roman’s chest and simply hugged him, reveling in the simple yet poignant gesture in the aftermath of their battle. Though he would have been content to remain in the position forever, he noticed that the leftover blood on his chest was mixing with the water droplets that covered Roman’s skin, and he knew it was time they both finished cleaning up so that the whole ordeal could be put behind them. “Don’t look now, but you’re bloody again,” he whispered, a hint of amusement lilting his voice due to the pure elation caused by Roman’s decision to stay.
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Post by starrea on Sept 30, 2020 16:23:04 GMT
Roman was powerless against the force of nature that was Caspian. The kiss overpowered him and all he could do was follow Caspian's lead, and suddenly there was no more space between them. He could feel the blood smear across his skin, cohering him to Caspian and Roman felt his identity slip away as he became one with Caspian. When Caspian finally pulled away, Roman was breathless but not from the lack of air. Roman had officially cracked to pieces and if it hadn't been for Caspian's arm around him, he would have crumbled to the floor.
I love you. Somewhere, somehow, Caspian's words found Roman in the ruins of Roman's mind. He was completely, irreparable destroyed - and the worst part was that he had known that Caspian would be his inevitable undoing. His very foundation was ashes in the wind, ultimately meaningless. Roman had built himself up on a very sacred set of principles, rules that he strictly followed and used to justify his lifetime worth of sins. Without his foundation, without his justification, his actions had just been chaotically senseless. All of the moments that haunted him, all of the decisions he had made in the name of progress and necessity, were for nothing. He had spent his entire life believing that the end justified the means - but it didn't, because the end didn't matter. Killing Roman had been instinctual, a product of the fight-or-flight response, but taking his identity had not. He had chosen that, adhering to the belief that it was for the greater good. Now, he felt like an imposter, dressed up in the bloody skin of his dead friend and the striking morbid image made his stomach roll.
All of the ghosts that haunted Roman's dreams were freed and they came for him with a vengeance. Their accusing faces flashed across his mind, screaming that their deaths had been mindlessly unnecessary.
A girl knelt on the ground in front of Roman, hands tied behind her back. Her long black hair was a hopeless tangle of knots and slick with grease. The dress she had worn had once been white but now was patterned with varying shades of brown. In front of them, a man sat tied to a chair. "Tell me where he is," Roman asked evenly, unbothered by the tears that stained the girl's cheeks. The man's eyes wouldn't - couldn't - leave her face. After the initial shock of seeing his wife forced to her knees at the wrong end of Roman's knife, his expression broke, consumed by guilt that he couldn't stop Roman. The resistance drained out of him. "He's hiding out north of Orta. He's planning on traveling north until he crosses in Grovahka. Now, please let her go." Roman's gaze flickered up to the man standing in the shadows behind the prisoner in the chair, searching his gaze for mercy. There was none to be found. Still, Roman hesitated. The man's gaze hardened, a silent warning. Roman normally took pleasure in the tense silence, the way both of them waited helplessly for Roman's mercy, but something didn't sit right with Roman this time. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore that this woman was innocent. The thought didn't stop him. He struck, drawing the blade across the woman's throat in one quick, well-practiced motion and gracing her with a necklace of red that dripped down her chest. She collapsed at his feet, hands flying her to her throat as she gasped. The man screamed. "Thank you for being truthful, but now I know that you'll talk if the right pressure is applied, and I can't have you sharing our little chat with anyone. I hope you understand." The man didn't have time to mourn his wife's death before Roman descended upon him. When the prisoners finally stilled, Roman looked at the man in the back. "She was innocent," Roman said, gesturing to the dead woman. "Everyone is guilty of something," Archelaus reminded him, carefully stepping around the blood and sweeping out of the room.
The memory assaulted him and long after the scene ended, the dead, faraway look in the wife's eyes stayed with him. Her death, in the moment, had seemed necessary. She was an acceptable causality in a shadow war greater than all of them. But was it? Was my death necessary? Was orphaning my children an acceptable tragedy? Her voice accused him. You don't even know my name.
The snow was splattered with red. One of the shacks was still smoking, but the fire had been put out. Everything was still, even the countless bodies that decorated the ground amidst the red. The body of a child, no more than six or seven years old, looked up at Roman with a glassed-over, faraway look, drained of life.
The entire village - men, women, and children - had been mass executed. It was shortly after they had crossed in Grovakha, and their team had been spotted by one of the children. They couldn't risk losing the element of surprise, so one hundred and thirty eight people died that day - none by Roman's hand, but all by his order. Were their deaths necessary? Was that child's death unavoidable? At the time, it hadn't seemed so. Or maybe Roman hadn't looked for another option.
A sound, a footstep, echoed through the hall. All eight men froze, tense with the fear of being caught. Two of the men carried a sack, one that Roman knew contained the unconscious body of the Nethilor Queen. "Go," Roman hissed through clenched teeth and the two men, accompanied by two more, rushed forward and into the darkness. "You three, with me." Roman ordered, turning and stalking back down the hallway. A form burst from the shadows, panicked by the idea of being caught, and ran down the hallway. Roman surged forward, overtaking her within a matter of steps and winding his hair through her hair to yank her to a stop. Before she could scream, one of his men slapped a hand over her mouth and Roman shoved her into the arms of another. He didn't even look at her, turning to walk back down the hallway, back towards Raevaryn. "Kill her," He ordered over his shoulder, unconcerned with the nameless girl whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The crack of her neck breaking echoed down the hall, staying with Roman for much longer than he cared to admit.
Roman felt himself buckling under the weight of the guilt as the ghosts of his past crushed him beneath their injustice. The only thing that had kept them at bay was the philosophy that everything Roman had done, all of the sins he had committed in the name of his people and his cause, were tragically necessary. But now, his justification had been blown to pieces and he was left at the mercy of all the crimes he had committed.
Only the mention of blood was enough to draw Roman away from the violent images of his past that plagued him and he briefly looked down to see the red that smeared him. The panic was immediate; it didn't matter that Roman knew that the blood was Caspian's, from a knife wound that he hadn't created. The blood was a sobering reminder of all of the lives that had ended because of him, a horrifying bloody mix of all those he had killed. His stomach rolled again and he felt a surge of nausea, and he had to avert his gaze back up to Caspian's face to keep himself from vomiting right then and there. Roman's heart bled at the sight of Caspian and he was left reeling from another painful hit of guilt. He tried to hide his panic, trying to appear at least passably nonchalant - for the Caspian's sake.
"Bathe with me?" Roman asked quietly, praying that the touch of Caspian's hands would be enough to keep him from losing himself in the endless, inescapable onslaught of his past.
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Post by Val on Oct 2, 2020 17:54:06 GMT
Despite how easy it was for Caspian to revel in the rekindling of their relationship, it didn’t take long for him to realize that Roman was unable to share his sense of euphoria. The panic, fear, and guilt rolled off the man in waves that crashed over Caspian and washed away his celebratory attitude. As beautiful as the moment seemed, it was cloaked in a suffocating layer of pain. Caspian knew that he may never be able to understand the depths of Roman’s anguish, but he didn’t need to. His job was to be there for Roman, and he fully intended on doing just that.
“Okay,” he agreed softly. He started to peel himself away, but the loss of contact felt too abrupt, like Roman might slip beneath the surface as soon as he let go. Reaching up, his hand touched the side of Roman’s face, urging him to focus on the present rather than whatever demons were plaguing his thoughts. “Hey,” he uttered, hoping to slice through the invisible wall that was threatening to separate them, “I’m here,” he promised, eyes softening into crystal clear pools of compassion as he saw right through Roman’s façade. The man was suffering, and Caspian would do anything to alleviate the agony.
Caspian finally released Roman from his embrace, only to nudge him toward the bath, coaxing him back into the water. Once Roman was settled, Caspian stood at the edge of the tub and began to strip the remainder of his clothes off, his eyes never leaving Roman for more than a second as he kicked his shoes off and stepped out of his pants. His worry was evident, but with that worry came determination and a reinforced need to keep Roman’s attention focused anywhere but inward. Free of his clothes, Caspian stepped into the tub and sunk into the water across from Roman, their legs becoming intertwined beneath the surface. He released a slow exhale as the cool water soothed his skin, though he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when the water lapped at his freshly sewn wound. He’d almost forgotten about the injury, far too consumed with Roman’s wellbeing to care.
Reaching for the soap he’d placed beside the tub, Caspian began the arduous process of scrubbing the dried blood from his skin. As he followed the trail of red down his chest, he felt a memory push to the surface and he began to speak, prepared to fill the silence for as long as Roman needed him to, “I got bit by a dog once. Badly. She tore my arm open, and I thought the blood would never stop. My mother had warned me to stop feeding the strays, but there was something about that mangy mutt…” he smiled fondly and splashed some water onto his face, rubbing away the mixture of blood and sweat that had accumulated, “Every day, I would save my lunch and sneak out to feed her in this back alley. She would snarl at me, no matter how good the scraps, no matter how much the other animals trusted me. When she finally snapped and bit me, I cried for days, but I knew there was a reason.” He pushed his wet hands through his hair, causing the nearly blonde color to darken as he slicked it back, “Anyway, I went back a few days later. That’s when I saw them- her puppies. She had them hidden away the whole time, she was just protecting them from me.” He ran his fingers absentmindedly along the faded scar that marred his forearm, eventually looking up at Roman.
Caspian had no expectations for a response to his simple story, and he was content to keep speaking until Roman grew tired of him. Reaching beneath the water, he gripped Roman’s ankle and lifted the man’s foot into his lap. His gaze drifted out the window as he began to massage Roman’s foot with adept fingers, “Everyone thought I was insane for moving out here by myself. But starting over isn’t meant to be easy, and sometimes people doubting you can make you all the more determined. So…I spent every last cent I owned on this place. It was just a shack at the time- rotting wood, windows busted out, field unworkable. I nearly starved the first winter. Of course, being vegetarian wasn’t helping my case,” he paused to glance at Roman, a glimmer of amusement reaching his eyes as he gaged how Roman would react to the tidbit of information, “But it was all worth it.”
Caspian dropped Roman’s foot only to reach for the other one, following the same meticulous process, “Are you ready for bed?” he asked eventually, his eyes searching Roman’s face for more answers than one. He needed reassurance that Roman understood that things would get better; he just needed to have faith.
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Post by starrea on Oct 5, 2020 2:13:40 GMT
The memories plagued him, playing one after another, condemning him - either in the form of guilt or judgment for lack of remorse. Even in the moment, even when standing over the still, bloody body of a young kid, his guilt hadn't been more than a passing thought. He had always been praised for his stoic, detached approach to complex problems, and his emotionless yet shockingly precise executions. Every once in awhile, thoughts of morality passed through his mind and he wondered why he didn't seem to react the way most people did. They were never thoughts he entertained for long, especially since his apathy was his greatest asset, an ability that let him rise through the ranks due to how effectively he dealt with problems that no one else wanted to deal with. He hadn't felt guilty then, not for more than a second or two, so why did he feel guilty now? It was pointless to feel guilty now - some of the murders were over twenty years ago, the names of the victims long forgotten, their bones scattered and buried. Even now, there were some murders that he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for, and that didn't sit right. The holes in guilt were all too obvious and it made Roman feel even more insecure about the raging sea of emotions he was trying to navigate.
The first noticeable change was that as the memories assaulted Roman, he no longer felt like he was in them. Instead, he felt like an audience member watching a play from a distance. Soon after, the noise in the memories died down to an inaudible whisper. The emotion drained out of him, as if someone had pulled the plug in a bathtub and his raging emotions trickled out until there was nothing left. Now, as the emotions played out, they almost didn't feel real. Roman knew that he had committed these acts, he knew that he had plunged the knife into their backs, slide it across their throats, ordered their genocide, but he felt nothing. Even with the knowledge that the acts weren't inherently necessary, the guilt didn't resurface. It was what it was; Roman couldn't go back in time and change what he had done, and he couldn't let himself drown in a sea of guilt. He would judge himself every single day for the crimes he had committed, but he couldn't let it stop him from surviving.
By the time Roman pulled himself from the depths of his thoughts, he was already seated in the tub, his legs tangled with Caspian's. He felt numb and he had force himself to focus on the physical sensations of the lukewarm water and Caspian's touch before he felt himself settle back into reality. He listened to Caspian's story mindlessly, clearing his thoughts from his head. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on what he had done, but now he had to figure out what to do - and lately, he had been making all of the wrong decisions.
Roman wondered if they knew about Caspian. Communication between him and the compound was scarce, but he knew they kept a close eye on all operatives. The thought of just staying out here and ignoring all of his responsibilities with Caspian was sinfully tempting, but not realistic. If they knew about him, then there would most likely be repercussions if he tried to leave. Putting himself in danger was one thing, but he wouldn't put Caspian in the path of danger every again. Even though he had completely separated from his emotions, the love Roman felt for Caspian was still strong, uninhibited by Roman's own selfish desires. The only option Roman could see was that he had to continue on as he was - something that seemed not only unpleasant, but impossible. But for now, there was no other choice.
Another question probed Roman out of his pensive state and his eyes met Caspian's, nodding. He slowly pulled his foot back, standing slowly and stepping out of the tub carefully. He turned back towards Caspian, feeling the loss of his touch and needing it now more than ever. He reached out for Caspian's hand, interlacing their fingers together and pulling him up. Roman tugged him, anxious to get into bed, anxious to feel how much Caspian loved him. When he was with Caspian, he felt like he was worth redemption and he desperately needed to feel that right now.
"What... what if I can't do better? What if this is who I am? What if I can't leave everything I've done behind?" Roman hadn't meant to ask the questions but they slipped out of his mouth and he turned to look at Caspian, standing naked, wet and vulnerable before him.
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