[A widening of his eyes, a sharp intake of breath, a quiver on his lips — even now, something within him, dark and small and terrified, stirs and aches to lash out. To wrap its jaws around the past and snap down, to struggle against it until he tears himself free of it completely. For a moment, it is his precognition that he misses the most — a few seconds' warning would have been enough to steel his expression and respond with grace and poise befitting someone like him.
But he falters, and his unease is evident in every twitch of his body, and he desperately misses the disconnect. He was shielded from the world, once, and from weaknesses like this. His mind was enshrined in the safety of Doppio's body, attuned to the rhythm of his pulse, sharing every breath, always able to find comfort in the familiarity of routine. Their fingers would be wrapped tight around some discarded trinket, warm against their skin. He could have laughed it off then, his words soft and teasing. You've grown bold, my Doppio. There wouldn't be a knot in his stomach or a hitch in his voice. There wouldn't need to be.
Only a name — and one he has declared a dozen times or more by now. A simple question, and one he is more than capable of answering. The past they shared is gone; there is no returning to it, no matter how much he tries to keep everything the same. His name was a secret once, but no longer. They were broken, and they were broken long ago, and the answer cannot break them any further. After all, Doppio is playing by his rules. He asks only what he already knows.
Nothing changes.]
Diavolo—
[Ask me another question, he wants to say, now that this trial is neatly conquered. With the next, the testing will truly begin. Can he hold off the urge to answer? For how long can he resist?
He tries to ask. Really, he does. But something in the air, something wailing in the pouring rain, won't allow him to move on just yet.]
—Derosas, by b-birth, but I— I'd gone by... by other—
[And there he cuts himself off with a hiss of pain, biting down hard on his own hand to muffle himself.]
no subject
[A widening of his eyes, a sharp intake of breath, a quiver on his lips — even now, something within him, dark and small and terrified, stirs and aches to lash out. To wrap its jaws around the past and snap down, to struggle against it until he tears himself free of it completely. For a moment, it is his precognition that he misses the most — a few seconds' warning would have been enough to steel his expression and respond with grace and poise befitting someone like him.
But he falters, and his unease is evident in every twitch of his body, and he desperately misses the disconnect. He was shielded from the world, once, and from weaknesses like this. His mind was enshrined in the safety of Doppio's body, attuned to the rhythm of his pulse, sharing every breath, always able to find comfort in the familiarity of routine. Their fingers would be wrapped tight around some discarded trinket, warm against their skin. He could have laughed it off then, his words soft and teasing. You've grown bold, my Doppio. There wouldn't be a knot in his stomach or a hitch in his voice. There wouldn't need to be.
Only a name — and one he has declared a dozen times or more by now. A simple question, and one he is more than capable of answering. The past they shared is gone; there is no returning to it, no matter how much he tries to keep everything the same. His name was a secret once, but no longer. They were broken, and they were broken long ago, and the answer cannot break them any further. After all, Doppio is playing by his rules. He asks only what he already knows.
Nothing changes.]
Diavolo—
[Ask me another question, he wants to say, now that this trial is neatly conquered. With the next, the testing will truly begin. Can he hold off the urge to answer? For how long can he resist?
He tries to ask. Really, he does. But something in the air, something wailing in the pouring rain, won't allow him to move on just yet.]
—Derosas, by b-birth, but I— I'd gone by... by other—
[And there he cuts himself off with a hiss of pain, biting down hard on his own hand to muffle himself.]