No. Don't. [Diavolo pleads, a knee-jerk impulse rushing free as thoughts of being alone again swarm his mind, and, as soon as he realizes what miserable part of him the demand comes from, he lapses into flustered silence. It takes a moment for him to compose himself, and once he does, he pulls himself away just enough to look at Doppio. His hand still lingers, warm against cold.]
Or if you do, at least allow me to come with you. The thought of you going somewhere on your own is... unnatural. [Alarming. He's sent Doppio out alone before, and, only weeks ago, Diavolo dashed off himself to prove some worthless point. It's an exercise in futility. Once separated, something always goes wrong.] Yes. If the need to travel arises, we will go together — as we should.
[If only saying that could make it true. He could promise a thousand times not to repeat the mistakes of the past and never to leave again, but how can he stay true to his word when the very world fights against him? It isn't always overconfidence that tears them apart. When things turn perilous, so often the first thing to go is Diavolo's mind, and fighting against instinct in that state is nigh impossible. The past has wormed himself into him, vicious and unrelenting, poisoning him and pushing him to the brink of madness.
(He's alone, he thinks, when he slips into the past. Doppio is not— cannot be real, with his gentle eyes and his caring words, so far removed from where he ought to be. He could only ever be an illusion, like everything else, meant to break him down, and he can't allow it to taint his memory. No wonder his first impulse is always to run.)
If he could cling any tighter, he would — carve himself close and stay there until all is right again, but he can't. So he leans in as close as he can — eternally too far apart — and sighs against Doppio's neck, and another terrible little thought slips free.]
I fear I may never get used to this. I don't understand how others live. Their entire lives spent alone... how did you ever manage without me?
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Or if you do, at least allow me to come with you. The thought of you going somewhere on your own is... unnatural. [Alarming. He's sent Doppio out alone before, and, only weeks ago, Diavolo dashed off himself to prove some worthless point. It's an exercise in futility. Once separated, something always goes wrong.] Yes. If the need to travel arises, we will go together — as we should.
[If only saying that could make it true. He could promise a thousand times not to repeat the mistakes of the past and never to leave again, but how can he stay true to his word when the very world fights against him? It isn't always overconfidence that tears them apart. When things turn perilous, so often the first thing to go is Diavolo's mind, and fighting against instinct in that state is nigh impossible. The past has wormed himself into him, vicious and unrelenting, poisoning him and pushing him to the brink of madness.
(He's alone, he thinks, when he slips into the past. Doppio is not— cannot be real, with his gentle eyes and his caring words, so far removed from where he ought to be. He could only ever be an illusion, like everything else, meant to break him down, and he can't allow it to taint his memory. No wonder his first impulse is always to run.)
If he could cling any tighter, he would — carve himself close and stay there until all is right again, but he can't. So he leans in as close as he can — eternally too far apart — and sighs against Doppio's neck, and another terrible little thought slips free.]
I fear I may never get used to this. I don't understand how others live. Their entire lives spent alone... how did you ever manage without me?