+ Fallacy, a 100themes Challenge +
Sarehptar
Theme: 15, Silence
Characters: Kharl, Rath
Pairing: Umm... It can be read as Kharl/Rath, if that's how you want to read it. But I meant it platonically.
Warnings: Emo boys abound.
Need to Know Info: none...
Title Provider: Hate Me (Blue October)
Hate Me Today, Hate Me Tomorrow, Hate Me for All the Things I Didn't Do for You
The boy quakes, rage pooling in every pore of his body. His teeth, fanged canines wickedly bared, clench; his fists ball at his sides. His brow crushes the redness of his eyes that seem darker now with fury. The ominous twinkle of a bell shatters their silence, but Kharl is not afraid. The cold steel of the bell, of the sword, rolls in his gloved hand innocently and uselessly.
Rath, he wants to say, listen to me. But the words don't come, can't come, would only be ignored. The Dragon Prince looks as if any second he will hurl the most powerful flames he can at the man—but they would only be ignored as well. Fire has reduced it all to ash, the Alchemist's heart, and there's nothing left anymore to burn. He takes a step toward the boy, a friendly step, open and harmless. Even that is regarded with fear, with fury, and the only reason Rath does not take a step back is because he cannot: he is already at the wall, cold stone digging into his back.
The Dragon Prince runs through every spell he knows, desperate for any one that might free him. There is nothing; he knows that instinctive terror is clouding everything in his head, he knows that he should not be afraid but cannot help it—because this is not another demon, not another attempt at atonement, this is a man capable of blotting out a hundred lives with his little finger. This is his creator, and that fact alone won't leave him, won't be pushed aside.
The Alchemist crosses the distance between them finally, wondering with each step if Rath will make some rush past him, if Rath will turn and run from him, if they will keep running from each other for forever. But the younger man does not—this time, he only presses further into the wall, makes himself smaller, and he lets the fury and the fright show through on a face that cannot truly be called his.
The Alchemist reaches his free hand and closes it over Rath's clenched fist, meeting only the barest of resistance as he separates the fingers and examines each one. The ring finger's nail is too short, broken behind the quick, and it looks painful but Rath says nothing, because what could this little amount pain be in comparison to so many other wounds, the ones that can be seen and the ones that cannot?
"Is this…" the Alchemist begins and the words catch in his throat. His mind wants to say what his mouth cannot, and suddenly it all seems ridiculous, horribly ridiculous that they should meet here, this way, and that they should be touching for the first time in… "Is this body serving you well?" he asks finally, and it was not what he wanted to say but God, it is something. Rath's eyes are wide, and for a moment he is nothing but a child again, nothing but the boy who walked so trustingly into a stranger's arms one snowy afternoon. His lips part and close, and Kharl is not the only one who cannot find the right words.
He inspects the false form before him: the blood from a scratch someone else has caused, a small red pockmark on the boy's collarbone that looks like a spider bite, an old scar on back of his left hand that looks like it once caused cruel pain. Rath is not patient while he notices these details, but the boy does not move either. He stands, breathing, and for a moment Kharl simply enjoys listening to the beating of that stolen heart, the rise and fall of breath from stolen lungs.
"It hurts," Rath says, and his voice is rage and Ruin and regret and reconciliation. Kharl knows immediately what he means; can imagine the force exerted by Rath's soul on a body that is not meant to bear such a burden. He can imagine the war beating in those veins. "It hurts."
"Come back to me." He does not mean to say it but it is said, and he waits on bated breath for the rejection that is to follow. He waits for the renewed fury that will give Rath just enough strength to push past him and disappear again.
"I won't!" But Rath will not look at him this time, and there is blood on the boy's lip from where his fangs have pierced the flesh. "You're a liar," he says, "you're a liar! You don't love me!" His voice is tremulous and young, and Kharl wonders why he is trying so hard to sound convincing. "You don't love me, you don't love me, you don't…" Kharl holds him because Rath cannot stand it anymore, cannot stand on his own. "You don't love me, you can't," the boy whispers, hisses, cries. You're a liar!
Kharl stays silent, because there aren't words strong enough to be the truth.
Next up, Theme 16: Questioning
"Where is my mother?" he asks, in the steady and unavoidable voice that only children can wield.
Note to Leeayre: Muwahaha, what did happen to Garfakcy? How did Kharl end up in the Dragon Castle? Don't think that I'm not going to tell that story. It'll be here. And it'll make me very, very, very happy to write it. (I have been waiting to tell that story since I started writing DK fanfiction.) But you'll have to wait a long time... v.v