epitaffio | IC Inbox

I don't doubt you for a second. But, short of locking me in a dark room until my consciousness erodes to nothing, there is nothing you can do to help. And you wouldn't do that to me, hm?

[And then Doppio's small hands are tugging at his towel, and it gives Diavolo pause. Blink and parse the intention behind the action — and as soon as he does, he glances aside.

There are so many things he wants to say. Deflect, deny. "Do you think me helpless, Doppio? I can handle this myself." It's one thing to be cared for when they are together, but, apart like this, it's just... strange. Unnatural. Wrong. Accepting this help would mean accepting what they have become. It would only prove how far he has fallen. He can't.

He could act as though the very thought doesn't make his heart race in his chest. Play it off as some gracious indulgence, some tender closeness not for his benefit. Never his; it is nothing he needs. "I'd allow it, my Doppio, if it would make you happy," and leave it at that.

It would be so easy.]

Please.

[He can lie to himself as much as he wants. His voice still betrays his true feelings.

There is no way to recover from such a small, desperate admission with his dignity intact. All he can do is loosen his grip and let the towel in his hands drop, and he lowers himself along with it, down to the floor in a slow kneel. His eyes close, his heart pounds louder, and he turns quiet and still.]

Edited 2023-07-09 18:34 (UTC)

[Maybe it isn't what the Boss would have normally said. Maybe, in different circumstances, Doppio would have heard a noncommittal answer and backed down, embarrassed that he even thought of suggesting something so intimate. But then again, would he even have offered, in different circumstances? He would have wanted to, no doubt. But there is so often a hard line between wanting and doing, and Doppio can only imagine that whatever force is pulling the truth from their lips is eroding that line as well.

~~Or maybe it's just a convenient excuse - a little push that allows him to act.~~

It isn't as if Doppio feels all that bold. When the Boss kneels at his feet-- well, first of all, it feels just plain WRONG, so much so that he has to fight the urge to lower himself in turn. But more importantly, his hands shake. He's holding the towel and his hands are shaking and he hasn't even started yet.

He tries. The towel hovers near the Boss's head. He tries a little harder. He's touching the Boss's head now. Suddenly, his arms can't move.

Which feels extremely fucking silly, considering this was his idea in the first place.]

... I've pretty much done this tons of times, right? Taken care of your... our... hair? And stuff?

[Maybe he can do it if he reminds himself. If he's reminded. If it's the most natural thing in the world, then there's no reason why he shouldn't be able to.

He just... thinks it might be easier if he hears it again.]

Ours, yes. Washing, brushing, braiding — you were always so meticulous with it. I never quite mastered your technique.

[He runs his fingers through his damp hair, pauses to tuck a strand behind his ear, then presses closer to the towel and Doppio's hand behind it. It's a small, wordless encouragement. Permission has been granted. Go on.]

You may not be the most coordinated — but you have always been gentle where it counts. [It isn't an insult; he says it with a distant fondness.] There were times I unraveled the braid you made, and when it was time to put you right, I could not begin to tie it back properly. I'd let you believe it was you who made a mess of our hair.

[A soft sigh.]

And our body, too. Stained in blood from my battles, worn out and run down from lack of sleep, aching, famished — you were always with me to pick up our pieces and put us back together. And I—

[It's embarrassing. It's shameful to reveal how needy he was, how needy he is, after years of suppressing his feelings. But how could it ever be wrong? He was never meant to stand alone.]

...I never had the chance to tell you how deeply I appreciated every moment of it.

[It's okay. The Boss is encouraging him to do it, so it's okay. The Boss is saying things like our hair and our pieces, so it's okay. Shakily, gently, Doppio presses the towel against the Boss's hair, and then he moves his hand, and then he just has to keep doing that. Less shaky. Still gentle.

The continued confession is making his cheeks go red again. Not because it's embarrassing - but then again, he's not sure what he'd call it. It's real and it makes his chest flutter and his limbs feel light, it's genuine and it comes from somewhere vulnerable and he can tell, but embarrassing? No, he doesn't think it's that.

He doesn't KNOW the Boss feels embarrassed, either. If he did, he'd try to reassure him - somehow. The details are irrelevant; he would simply try. What he does know is...]

Well... I had to be at my best for you, Boss.

[Which doesn't sound that great, now that he's said it out loud. Sure, he did it for the Boss, but he didn't do it for the Boss, did he? His brow furrows.]

I-I mean... If I'd known what I was really doing, I... I'd still have done it! But it'd be different, right? The way I did it, it was more... I was doing it for me, so I could do it for you, instead of really doing it for you?

[... He's a little confused now. But the point is -]

So-- So you don't have to thank me for it.

I'll thank you all I want, Doppio. For everything you've done for me in the past — in those days that you knew exactly what we were, when all I had to do was ask for your help, and... and in the time after, when you didn't understand, and couldn't even begin to remember us. Even when I was nameless, faceless, untouchable, you still...

[It bubbles free, and there's no stopping it. He can sigh and bite away this train of thought. Another one takes its place.]

—And I'll thank you for every single day, every moment we shared... and for every time you did your best, for you, for me, for us — one and the same. I couldn't have asked for anyone better to share my life with.

[He tries to swallow the feelings, but it's no use. He gasps as heat rises to his face and a tinge of pink marks his cheeks beneath his freckles.]

And I am so thankful that — that you've stayed with me, despite everything that we have suffered — that I have suffered. I may never be the same. I may be beyond repair, but here you are, faithful as ever, and I...

[He leans in close, buries his face against Doppio's neck, nearly toppling him over with the movement. He presses himself flush against Doppio and murmurs words warm against his skin. Quiet. Desperate.]

...I hate this. I want it to stop. Make it stop, Doppio. Please. Could you do that for me? Turn off the lights, lock me in a room until I can't speak any longer or — or tear open my throat with your teeth and end this. Something. Anything. Not — not like this. I don't want it to be like this.

[The words keep coming, so much so that he barely has the time to process them. The days when he knew, the days after - maybe Doppio should consider himself lucky that the neverending flow of confessions doesn't leave any room for him to wonder if he even wants to know more. He doesn't need to know, not so badly as to pry it from the mouth of someone helpless to stop it. And there's more, and more, making his blood traverse to his face despite how little it travels these days, and when the Boss blushes too the most absurd thought - Do we blush the same? - crosses his mind for the briefest of moments -

And then the Boss presses himself to Doppio. The towel jammed between them is at least more comfortable than the laptop was before. The rest of it is not.]

B... Boss, don't say that! I don't want to lock you up or-- [His voice hitches. When the thought continues regardless of his tongue, another painful cramp assaults his stomach.] Ow, fuck!

[He winces, tries again.]

Don't... ask me to bite you.

[The cramp passes.]

Why not? It would be — so easy...

[Something flares up in Diavolo, bright and furious and ashamed. Desperation gives way to frustration; if Doppio will not act, he must make him act.]

If you refuse my requests, I won't stop until I find something you will do. Bind me and leave me somewhere well lit, if it displeases you to imagine me falling apart, or... muffle me, gag me, whatever it takes so that I don't...

[He heaves a deep breath, then, shaking with rage and fear and something harder to place, presses himself as close as he can to Doppio's neck, and — snaps down. Teeth against cold skin, biting as hard as he can; if something breaks or ruptures beneath, so be it. The force is nothing compared to that of a carnivore's jaws, but it's more than enough to hurt. And all the while he dares silently (and what a relief it is that he can't speak with his mouth occupied like this), his eyes flashing green, his tail whipping behind him — go on. Fight back. Do something.]

[It would be very easy, no matter whether he wants to admit it or not, and that's precisely why the Boss shouldn't be saying it. What is he thinking?]

I... I mean, if you really want it, then-- then I can gag you, Boss, just--

[But before he can elaborate on what he would or would not do on the Boss's command in this particular instance, a blunt, dull ache strikes his neck.]

What--?!

[Doppio's legs shake, not so much from the pain - which is there, yes, but quite likely not as bad as it would be if he were alive - but from the force the Boss is exerting. His knees begin to buckle, and all he can think is-]

What the hell... is this supposed to accomplish?!

[He's not thinking when he presses his hands against the Boss's chest, trying to push him away. He's thinking even less, if that's possible, when his claws pierce skin.]

[Diavolo holds himself steadily determined until the moment Doppio's claws rake rough against flesh that has been lacerated before. His old scars sting beneath the touch; he flinches away from the sudden, piercing pain on reflex alone. His mouth opens to gasp for air, and his shaking hands grasp at Doppio's wrists, shoving away in turn. All instinct, no rationality, body and mind locked in battle.]

The point is... that you silence me. [He chokes out, his tail lashing harder against the ground.] At any cost. I needed to... ensure you understand the severity of this. To incite you into action.

[And then some logic settles back into him. There was a point to this exercise before fear gripped him tight and made him weak, hesitant, unsure. He tightens his hold against Doppio's wrists, and drags his hands and his claws higher — closer — against his throat.]

Edited 2023-07-19 09:45 (UTC)

[His immediate reaction, when the Boss pulls away, is relief. Thank goodness, Doppio makes the mistake of thinking for a second. He hasn’t completely lost it.

Then the Boss puts his hands on his neck. This time, Doppio is the one who pulls away.]

No! Will you fucking stop that?! I’m not going to kill you, one of us needs to remember!

[... Doppio is also the one to say more than he intends to, this time.]

[He doesn't grip tight enough, and that is his flaw. It only takes one rough jerk away for Diavolo's hold to slacken. He can't commit wholeheartedly; he cannot see his will through to the end. Perhaps he doesn't want death, but—

But something flares up in him regardless, something bright and blinding, a rush of heat and a jolt of static that sets his hair on end.

Memory... is that all this is about? Is that why Doppio disobeys his orders?]

Oh, Doppio? So why does it have to be me? [His voice comes in a low, accusatory rumble that pieces the silence.] It is always me. It has always been me. Every fault, every mistake, every burning memory is mine alone to bear, while you press ever forward, unchained by our past in a way I could never be. I envy you more than you could imagine.

[He regretted his words enough when they were fresh out of his mouth. The Boss's response only makes him feel worse. Now it feels like a betrayal, like what he meant to say is that he isn't willing to relieve the Boss of a burden merely because it would inconvenience him.]

That's not...!

[It isn't what he meant. That's no lie.]

D-Do you want me to remember? I-- [He minds. He doesn't know why he minds, but he must, because he can't bring himself to say he doesn't.] I-I'd do it for you. [If he had to. If it was an order.] I just... I...

[But there's another burning truth desperate to come out, and he finds himself unable to form a single word until he gives in to it.]

What's... What's gonna happen if we both forget? What'll that make us?

If we forget... what? Forget everything? Everything we have been through, everything we are...?

I know this to be true: you, my Doppio, would be the same as you have always been, even lacking a past to guide you forward. At your core, you are... unshakable. I know you, and I know your soul, and I know that you have never been anything but your most genuine self. Even with every memory stripped away from you, with time, you would piece yourself back together — precisely as you should be.

It has happened before. It could happen again. But there is nothing—

["To fear", but the words die in his throat, his confident speech fizzling away to a noncommittal murmur. How miserable the past truly is. Memories that should have been theirs to share are now only his, and the thought of pushing through the same loss again fills him with an aching loneliness.

If Doppio alone were to forget himself, then Diavolo could mold himself into someone new to match, share only the pertinent details of their history and leave the rest of the wretched past behind where it belongs. But he would still remember the version of himself that suffered alone, that was a coward, weak and worse in every conceivable way. And he would still remember every victory, every joy, and he would be unable to share any of them with Doppio — not the same, never the same again.

But that wasn't the point, was it? The question was not about Doppio alone. If they both forgot, then—]

You would be fine.

[Maybe that much is true. If it's happened before - and it must have - and he's still here, still with the Boss, then there really must be nothing to fear.

Doppio clenches his jaw to fight back the inexplicable urge to say he's scared anyway. He'd feel grateful for the distraction - for the Boss's final remark - if it weren't so goddamn fucking alarming.]

But what about you?! How... What the hell would I even be able to do in a situation like that? If-- If I remember, then I can remind you, yeah, but... but even now, I forget things all the time!

[If he forgets the Boss, somehow, and the Boss forgets him... how are they supposed to remind each other?]

[Diavolo still kneels. His hair and wings are still damp with rainwater that drips to the floor beneath them both.

It's absurd to have this conversation here and now. But he can't keep his mouth shut.]

And what would you be so driven to remind me of, Doppio? What is so important that the memory of it must never be taken from me?

[The past is a blight. It wraps around him and chokes the life from him. Even the softer, kinder memories are a stain upon him, their existence a constant and painful reminder of everything he has lost.]

My failures, my regrets, my— my suffering? Would you chain me to those? Is that what you want?

No! Boss, I-- I don't want that for you! Of course not!

[It feels like he keeps making things worse - if not at every turn, then every other - but what choice does he have? He can't just stay quiet; not literally and not while the Boss needs him. He needs... He needs...

The words come out in a mumble.]

... what you mean.

[Doppio is hesitant to continue, unsure if the next punishment for his transgression will come from the Boss himself or from the force compelling them to bare their secrets to each other, but nothing happens.

And he's still afraid. Very much so. But he tries again, a little louder, a little more clearly:]

I'd... remind you of what you mean. T-To me.

Tell me.

[It's a demand, and fear and vitriol both burst forth through it. For an instant, Diavolo flares bright, needing to hear the answer and dreading it both. Reality crumbles around them both, fast enough to be dizzying, but the floor stays sturdy beneath their feet. The world outside erupts into motion, and beneath the lights that glimmer and surround them there are no walls, no church, nowhere to run.

And in the void left behind, the raging storm ebbs into shameful silence, and Diavolo tries once more.]

...tell me, Doppio, what I mean to you. Now, while you cannot lie to me.

[There's still an edge to his voice as lurking suspicion nips at his heels, but it comes softer, now. ]

[So here they are again.

Was his slip-up - the truth he tried to omit, albeit poorly - where this conversation started to spin out of control? He's not sure anymore. So much has happened in what feels like moments and hours all at once. And now...

Now he knows he has to say what he means, not only because all his attempts at keeping the truth to himself make his stomach curl into itself with cramps, but because the more he tries to hide, the more the Boss fears the worst.

And sure, Doppio is afraid too. Sure, he still can't believe the Boss would like to know the full, undiluted truth ~~- even Doppio himself struggles to face it~~. But if he has to choose between his fear and the Boss's... That makes the decision a lot easier, doesn't it?]

Y-You mean... the world to me.

[He hesitates, still. It isn't that he fears being punished for a lie, because this isn't one - but some truths carry just as much terror with them, by their very nature.]

You're... everything. Everything I do, it's... it's for you. When we were separated-- No, when I found out what happened to you... I didn't want to exist anymore. There wasn't any point.

[It's true. It's true, and it hurts.]

But now we're both here, so... even if it's never going to be the same as before again... I know it's gonna be fine. Because... Because you're the one I live for.

[He's heard it before.]

[He's heard the same sentiment murmured to him through the cold plastic of a toy phone and felt the warmth rise in their chest proving the words true, and he believed it then. With his whole heart, he believed. But since the day they were ripped apart, he has doubted. Something has changed, something is wrong, and what they had can never be the same. That is what every instinct tells him. He can't trust anymore. He mustn't.

It's different hearing it from the outside. Colder, dimmer. He can't sense the warmth of Doppio's words, nor his presence wrapped around him. He only feels the pulse of his own heart and hears his own hitching breath breaking the silence.

It isn't enough.]

Tell— tell me why. I want to understand. I want to trust you. Why live for someone who has failed you once before? You've lived for me. You've died for me. Why— why do it again?

Why...?

[He hears the question. He understands it, in theory; he understands the dictionary meaning of the word. But what is he supposed to say? It's as if he's been asked to explain why the sky is blue, or... no, that's not right. There's a scientific explanation for the sky being blue, right? "Refraction"? No, it's more like...

More like he's being asked to explain why light exists.]

I just... I just want to. I don't know what else... [He shakes his head, brow furrowed in thought.] I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing.

[It catches up with him then - the one thing the Boss said that he has to flat out correct.]

You didn't fail me. The traitors fucked it all up, that's what happened.

[He believes the Boss would have come back for him. He wants to believe it so badly that he does, and that's why it's true.]

[One by one, the stars blink out, and the blackness melts away, and what is left is light and warmth and home. And Diavolo dips his head and rests it against Doppio, and there is no ferocity left in him at all. Nor is there much energy. Such an impulsive use of his powers, now when his body is already exhausted.]

You... aren't mad at me.

[An echo of Doppio's earlier words, and he weakly laughs as he repeats them. Ridiculous, all of this.]

While I am nothing less than infuriated with myself. I hate every mistake I've made, and every weaker version of myself that made them, that erred, that failed — that still fails, even now.

[The sigh of relief that he breathes is, strictly speaking, unnecessary. It doesn't feel that way, though; instead, it feels like the weight that leaves him in the moment needed to leave him, so he could hold the Boss like this, one hand on the back of his head.]

Of course I'm not, Boss.

[He doesn't mind saying it again. He'll say it as many times as he needs to, until the Boss can feel safe again.]

Um... I know how you feel about the past, [he thinks he does, anyway; ignorance doesn't make a lie] but - all those versions of yourself... the ones I remember, anyway... They've all meant the same to me. So... I dunno. Maybe you shouldn't be so hard on them?

[...]

I wish I were as good with words as you are, Boss. That sounded so stupid.

No— no. It could never be stupid — not from you. My dearest, my only, my, my—

[A soft gasp, pained in the flood of words, and Diavolo buries himself closer. Nestles, nearly, his arms clinging flimsy to Doppio's waist, stilling him and steadying himself in one motion.

He feels a lot of things. Sick, dizzy, and exhausted to start, and the root of the trouble is the turmoil within, not the spell that pries apart his mind and lips. The problem is him. It's so easy, too easy to speak his truth. He's believed it for years. Doppio has always been with him for a reason, and today that reason shines.]

...'s why you're here. [Comes a half-swallowed murmur.] With me, and I with you. Where would I be without you, my Doppio? Lost. Constantly running. Unable to face myself. But I can face you. I can look at you, now, and... I can't hate what I see.

[It's like staring into a mirror a decade or so removed from reality. When it was his face, his gloomy expression carved into softer features, his piercing eyes breaking apart a gentle visage, he could hardly stand the sight of it. The desperation to outrun everything he was, to escape the past, to grow, to do better, to be better... even then it was built into him. Inescapable.]

And if you can look at me — soaked to the bone and miserable as I am — and tell me that I am enough... that I mean as much to you now as I did at my apex...

...then I can try to believe it.

[Try, try, try. Such a weak, whimpered finish, but it's the most he can manage today.]

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hey so. i'm sorry for this

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"yeah just uhhh kill me" "no NOT LIKE THAT"

today in tags that went in a specific direction on a whim

im also taking this on a whim

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made u wait. is this too intense a convo to be backdating? waves hands. its fine

it's fine!!!!!!! also suicidal ideation cw

is it normal to still have brainbees about stuff that happened years ago.like for me ya but DIAVOLO?

heeheehoohoohee

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