Words stung and wounds became scars. Scars reopened – tore open – and green eyes, full of tears that threatened to burst at any moment, blinked them away to take a stab and quell his enemy. It was a success, placing a look of depression and loneliness on his face, the air now as silent as that of a graveyard. Blue eyes fluttered to the wooden floor beneath his still feet.
The Englishman laughed, prodding and poking fun even more. He relished in this, having been the victim – if for just a short time. He could still only smile when he was shoved against the wall, a fury burning in those sapphires. Those eyes and that face could not intimidate even a mouse…no matter how furious his partner was. Beauty, in the accompany of anger, was not intimidating. The Frenchman knew this so why did he keep playing this game?
Surely it had to be 'else there would be no laughter, there would be no going back-and-forth between arguments…they would have stopped decades ago. Did love keep him here? Being asked this himself, he could see the Frenchman's despair. He was practically begging for mercy, a sufficient – no, favorable – answer his savior.
As much as the younger man wanted to be cruel and lie, he was even more so by being honest and a part of him wished he hadn't told the truth. They could no longer play their little games, could no longer carry out their affair. What would be the point to their quarrels? Everything was forgiven once they had their time in the bedroom, the former's favorite part of whatever this relationship was – now a 'had been'. An audible sigh was heard over stifled sobs.
We can fix this.
How many times had this been said by both parties? It was only ever a temporary fix. Their relationship could not be mended.