Larus hadn't given as much thought to it as he should have, trying to avoid the very thing that caused him all that pain before. He remembers the bitterness, the way it had stung as he'd cried. How he'd wanted to have Carver close but also shove him away, build up those walls again until nothing remained but distance. He can't do that now, gaze settling on Carver's face long before he even considers answering. ]
I don't know if it matters what I think. [ Would it have changed things if they'd talked about this before? Doubtful. ] You made a choice. You can't take that back.
[ And it's clear he wouldn't, which might hurt more than anything else. ]
[ He says it simply. Maybe this is going to be the dividing line between them. Maybe this is one thing the two of them just can’t see the same way. Carver holds very still, fighting the urge to stand at attention. Somehow, he thinks that would make it worse. ]
[ Slowly, Larus turns to face him then and slowly flexes his fingers. ]
Look at me. [ He squeezes his hands tight. ] None of this I chose, and worse– Because someone else decided I needed to fall in line so they could control me, I died. What do you really know about Frost? I mean, really. Maybe he's told you everything you've always wanted to hear. Maybe you even believe him. But people like him? [ Larus shakes his head. ] People like me? They'll use you if given the chance, and it won't matter. You won't matter.
I don't want you to throw your life away for something like that.
[ For promises and what-ifs. Perhaps he is stronger and can better take care of things he feels are important, but at what cost? Larus had already given his life unwillingly, and to watch someone he cares about do it without a second thought? It pains him in a way nothing else ever has. ]
[ Carver holds very still, taking it all in. He doesn’t stand at attention but he can’t shake the instinct to fix his gaze on the horizon line as Larus speaks. You don’t make eye contact. You don’t abide that disrespect when you’re being addressed. ]
No. [ His voice is quiet too, something echoing in the softness of it. ] I don't want to be like that. I want things to be equal between us.
[ And maybe that's not the case considering, but Larus has tried being honest with him. At least, he thinks he has. He's never lied, and he doesn't plan to start now. It might be that very thought that has him ignoring whatever's happening below so he can press into Carver's personal space and touch him—a hand to his shoulder, the side of his neck. ]
[ It would be so easy for Larus to kill him like this, Carver thinks. For anyone. It’s not hard, not like people think. Just a matter of applying pressure, of committing when it matters. And even with Frost’s blood in him, Carver knows that Larus is stronger here. It’s just how things are.
He tips his head back willingly, though. His pulse remains steady.
There’s trust in this. There has been for a while now. ]
You say that like I don’t know. It’s just what people do, Larus.
[ He hesitates. This time, he meets Larus’s eyes. ]
My commander used to drown me. You can feel it when your body starts dying. But it made me stronger, so I took it. You know?
[ Why is it always like this between them? Just when he thinks he understands, pieces continue to filter out into the open, and all Larus does is look at him, a different sort of hurt reflected there in his eyes. That isn't right, he almost says. No one does that. No one should just take it, and not from someone they're supposed to trust. It's an abuse of power, all the things Larus had seen in Sun and had turned his back to.
His other hand lifts, and he cups Carver's face between them both. ]
No. [ It's firm this time. ] I don't know, and I don't think you know either. No one should do those things to you, Brandon. Especially someone like that.
[ Like on the beach, it's beginning to make sense to him. All the things Carver has suffered through, his so-called tests and whatever he says about his god. It's upsetting, and he doesn't know how to help him. ]
[ He knows he should pull away. Put distance between them, make this simple. There ought to be lines between them and there aren't. But Larus's hands are steady and cool, and Carver just presses into it, one hand rising to curl loosely around Larus's wrist. It feels -
Safe, Carver thinks, and nearly laughs at the absurdity of it. It feels safe. ]
It made me strong, [ he repeats, closing his eyes. He doesn't want Larus to pull away, to leave again. ] He knew he could trust me then - they all did. Because the enemy would do worse - did do worse. They had to know they could trust me.
[ If anything, what Carver says only makes him want to stay more. He probably shouldn't, not when it's something like this, but Larus is in too deep now, letting his thumbs trace over the familiar lines of Carver's face. There had been no sense in it in the beginning, and there's no sense in it now. Still, he stands steadfast with him. ]
I trust you, and I would never do those things to you. [ They'd fought, sure, but he'd never wanted to retaliate against him in such a way. He'd taken the pain and weathered through it. ] Pain isn't strength. It just tells you that you're alive. That you're here.
[ Larus steps forward until they're flush together. ] Do you think being with me is just another test?
[ They’re so close like this. Carver takes a shuddering breath and presses his free hand flat against Larus’s stomach. Not to push him alway — never that, not now — but to trace out the feel of unbroken, uninjured skin. It’s always been the same place. Instinct, training, reflex. And every time, Larus survived it. He healed without a mark. Even with his gloves on, even over the fabric of Larus’s shirt, Carver can feel that. The lack of a crippling wound.
There’s something heady in that. ]
Maybe I’m yours.
[ Carver nuzzles against him, wanting the closeness. Maybe he needs it. Maybe they both do right now. ]
It hurts to drown. It feels like being torn apart. But there’s a moment when the body starts to die and it all just—stops. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Everything is so quiet, Larus. Sometimes it even feels good.
[ He smooths his thumb along Larus’s wrist. Gentle. ]
It feels like that when you bite me. That quiet moment.
[ The last time it had felt this sweet had been weeks ago, curled around each other in a tent, and Larus has to force himself to take a breath, staggered by Carver's careful touches and finding that he simply wants to forget everything else for a while. Frost, the other vampires, the sounds of the dead... He doesn't need any of that, only this man in front of him, and he holds him closer, one of his hands sliding down so his fingers curl lightly in dark hair. ]
Nothing about this feels good, [ he confesses, after a moment. ] It hurts. You hurt me. And if you're my test, being here right now means I've failed.
[ Because why would anyone continue coming back to someone or something that only causes them pain? Why would he be doing this to himself? Why isn't he stepping back and leaving him there? Why can't he stop thinking about him?
Larus doesn't have an answer, and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut. ]
It’s supposed to hurt, [ Carver murmurs, with great sincerity. He keeps his eyes closed, tracing his fingers against Larus’s stomach and then shifting to curl around his hip. ] It wouldn’t be much of a test if it was easy.
[ But part of him balks at the thought of hurting Larus more. It was one thing with the knife. That was deliberate. This —
He wasn’t trying to hurt Larus last time. He isn’t trying to now. That makes it worse, maybe. ]
[ Is that really how it goes? He's been close to others before, but it's never been like this. Never this intense push and pull, the emotion that settles raw inside him every time. It's like nothing he's ever had before, and that's terrifying in its own way, trying to ignore the way Carver's fingers against his belly causes him to shiver. ]
I know. [ And that's true, at least. He doesn't think Carver had meant to hurt him. ] But what does it say about me when I keep coming back to you? That I keep letting it happen?
[ Larus leans in, resting their foreheads together. ]
I don’t know, [ Carver admits quietly, unhappily. He’d felt better a moment ago, talking about the tests, about Pope. Falling back into the familiar. It was always a comfort to him — thinking about his family, about everything they survived together. Their strength. But this —
Carver sucks in a breath, grinding their foreheads together.
The ironic part is he’s never hurt Larus more than in the moments he isn’t trying to. ]
[ Larus is sitting right on the edge of emotional burnout, aware of that shift and how Carver pushes against him. He takes it and holds, curling his fingers deeper into Carver's hair as he leans into him. He doesn't know how to do any of this, but he wants to try. He thinks he really wants to try. ]
What do you mean?
[ How, he thinks to ask. But his voice is gentle, desperate to believe that they can come back from everything that's trying to tear them apart. ]
[ Larus holds steady to his hair - not pulling or trying to wrench his head back, just holding — and Carver melts into it. They’re so close now, holding each other. He’s not even thinking about watching their corners, or the enemies in the dark. There’s just —
This. ]
Nothing fits, [ Carver says softly. It’s not what he means, not all of it, but he doesn’t have the words for something that feels so goddamn big. ] Here, this place, without my family, nothing fits. I don’t fit.
[ Larus breathes, and their noses touch, an intimacy he craves and is so desperate to hang onto. ]
I don't think any of us really fit. [ It's just something that's happened to all of them. ] But it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you.
[ Even now, Larus feels displaced himself, unsure what to do and where to go. There are methods to follow and habits he cannot break, a sort of thinking he doesn't know if he'll ever escape. Yet, through all of that, there's been one startlingly present constant, and even if Carver did kill him, Larus doubts he'd stay away. That, in of itself, is far too dangerous to speak aloud. ]
You're not alone. I'm here. [ Whatever that's worth. ]
[ Maybe I’m crazy, Carver thinks unhappily. Maybe I’ve lost the thread completely. Maybe this is Hell. But Larus holds him, presses close, and that —
It feels real. You’re not alone, Larus says, I’m here, and Carver makes a punched out sound. Wounded and lost. And what is there to say, really? What words slot this into alignment?
He can’t think of a single one so he just presses forward and kisses Larus on the mouth. ]
[ The pressure in his chest eases when Carver kisses him, but it's still not enough, his hold on Carver's hair tightening as he presses closer. Even if this kills him, he doesn't want to give it up. His one solid connection in this place, fragile as it is. So, he clings to it, clings to him, and he only draws away when he thinks Carver probably needs to breathe, letting his mouth ghost over his jaw until it rests against his cheek. ]
I need you.
[ It's a quiet confession, so soft that it's as if he's barely spoken it at all. ]
[ It's strange to have this here, so soon after a fight - the adrenaline still singing through him, and he imagines through Larus too. He keeps his eyes closed as they kiss, as he goes dizzy from lack of oxygen.
Somehow, that feels fitting. His family needed him, Carver thinks, but Riley didn't. Not by the end, at least. Riley figured it out, came home. One war was enough for him. It wasn't written down in Riley's marrow the way it was for Carver, and has been ever since.
But it's not like that for Larus, either. Yet, they're still here. Holding each other. He can feel Larus's grip in his hair, that shivery pressure. Holding him steady. He likes it more than he should.
Carver shivers. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Even so, he doesn't pull away. ]
[ Whatever happens now, he thinks, he can't put distance between them. It had only made it worse, had set his thoughts askew, and even if he hadn't been able to handle every emotion flooding him then, it would have been better to stay for all those reasons. So, he doesn't move when Carver asks that of him, only turning his head enough so their noses touch and he can nudge their foreheads together. Gentle. Soft. ]
I'm sorry.
[ The words are genuine, if tight in his throat.
Leaving is always easier, in the end. It keeps him safe, keeps everyone at a distance when he's hurting too much to make sense of it all. But that night on the beach had wounded them both, and Larus doesn't know if they'll ever heal from it. He still can't forgive Frost, still can't forgive the choices Carver had made, but he could try to tolerate it enough to regain that equilibrium between them. It's something, maybe, and his hand flattens so he's cupping the back of Carver's head rather than pulling at his hair. ]
I said I wasn't going to hurt you, and I did anyway.
[ It’s gentle this time, steadying, and the first thought Carver has is that he could ruin all of it by going for a knife. Repeating that old, familiar pattern. And maybe that would be easier. Maybe that would be better. They know how to contend with violence, both of them, they know the score there and what it means to survive it.
He could ruin this. It wouldn’t even be hard. And he wonders what it says that his first impulse is to do just that.
Breathe, Carver thinks, his eyes closed tight, Larus’s hand cupping the back of his neck.
He squeezes Larus’s wrist. He breathes. ]
I did too, [ he says softly. What does it matter that he wasn’t trying to? ] I don’t — I don’t understand this place. All the rules are different. But you, I trust you.
[ He waits for it to even out, for things to turn sharply as they have before in the past, but everything continues forward, counting Carver's breaths even as he leans into those small touches. Whatever's going on around them doesn't seem to matter right now. None of it does. Maybe it never did. ]
I know. [ Larus feels the same way. ] You're all I have here. The only one.
[ Of course there are others, but they don't know the same things about him. They don't understand him in ways that Carver does, a connection forged first from violence and then something else. Something deeper. The pain might have been easier, and really, some part of him still expects Carver to continue stabbing him, to find himself coming back for it over and over until it finally becomes too much.
He just exhales and curls his other arm around him. ]
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Larus hadn't given as much thought to it as he should have, trying to avoid the very thing that caused him all that pain before. He remembers the bitterness, the way it had stung as he'd cried. How he'd wanted to have Carver close but also shove him away, build up those walls again until nothing remained but distance. He can't do that now, gaze settling on Carver's face long before he even considers answering. ]
I don't know if it matters what I think. [ Would it have changed things if they'd talked about this before? Doubtful. ] You made a choice. You can't take that back.
[ And it's clear he wouldn't, which might hurt more than anything else. ]
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Do you understand why I did it?
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I know why you believe you had to. [ Larus presses his lips thin. ] But I don't think you understand why I can't just accept that it's happened.
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[ He says it simply. Maybe this is going to be the dividing line between them. Maybe this is one thing the two of them just can’t see the same way. Carver holds very still, fighting the urge to stand at attention. Somehow, he thinks that would make it worse. ]
I’m trying, but I don’t.
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Look at me. [ He squeezes his hands tight. ] None of this I chose, and worse– Because someone else decided I needed to fall in line so they could control me, I died. What do you really know about Frost? I mean, really. Maybe he's told you everything you've always wanted to hear. Maybe you even believe him. But people like him? [ Larus shakes his head. ] People like me? They'll use you if given the chance, and it won't matter. You won't matter.
I don't want you to throw your life away for something like that.
[ For promises and what-ifs. Perhaps he is stronger and can better take care of things he feels are important, but at what cost? Larus had already given his life unwillingly, and to watch someone he cares about do it without a second thought? It pains him in a way nothing else ever has. ]
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Would you? Use me?
[ It comes out soft, just like before. ]
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[ And maybe that's not the case considering, but Larus has tried being honest with him. At least, he thinks he has. He's never lied, and he doesn't plan to start now. It might be that very thought that has him ignoring whatever's happening below so he can press into Carver's personal space and touch him—a hand to his shoulder, the side of his neck. ]
But that doesn't mean others won't try.
Cw for torture, cult bullshit
He tips his head back willingly, though. His pulse remains steady.
There’s trust in this. There has been for a while now. ]
You say that like I don’t know. It’s just what people do, Larus.
[ He hesitates. This time, he meets Larus’s eyes. ]
My commander used to drown me. You can feel it when your body starts dying. But it made me stronger, so I took it. You know?
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His other hand lifts, and he cups Carver's face between them both. ]
No. [ It's firm this time. ] I don't know, and I don't think you know either. No one should do those things to you, Brandon. Especially someone like that.
[ Like on the beach, it's beginning to make sense to him. All the things Carver has suffered through, his so-called tests and whatever he says about his god. It's upsetting, and he doesn't know how to help him. ]
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Safe, Carver thinks, and nearly laughs at the absurdity of it. It feels safe. ]
It made me strong, [ he repeats, closing his eyes. He doesn't want Larus to pull away, to leave again. ] He knew he could trust me then - they all did. Because the enemy would do worse - did do worse. They had to know they could trust me.
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I trust you, and I would never do those things to you. [ They'd fought, sure, but he'd never wanted to retaliate against him in such a way. He'd taken the pain and weathered through it. ] Pain isn't strength. It just tells you that you're alive. That you're here.
[ Larus steps forward until they're flush together. ] Do you think being with me is just another test?
Cw for torture, cult bullshit
There’s something heady in that. ]
Maybe I’m yours.
[ Carver nuzzles against him, wanting the closeness. Maybe he needs it. Maybe they both do right now. ]
It hurts to drown. It feels like being torn apart. But there’s a moment when the body starts to die and it all just—stops. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Everything is so quiet, Larus. Sometimes it even feels good.
[ He smooths his thumb along Larus’s wrist. Gentle. ]
It feels like that when you bite me. That quiet moment.
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Nothing about this feels good, [ he confesses, after a moment. ] It hurts. You hurt me. And if you're my test, being here right now means I've failed.
[ Because why would anyone continue coming back to someone or something that only causes them pain? Why would he be doing this to himself? Why isn't he stepping back and leaving him there? Why can't he stop thinking about him?
Larus doesn't have an answer, and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut. ]
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[ But part of him balks at the thought of hurting Larus more. It was one thing with the knife. That was deliberate. This —
He wasn’t trying to hurt Larus last time. He isn’t trying to now. That makes it worse, maybe. ]
I don’t —
I’m not trying to hurt you.
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I know. [ And that's true, at least. He doesn't think Carver had meant to hurt him. ] But what does it say about me when I keep coming back to you? That I keep letting it happen?
[ Larus leans in, resting their foreheads together. ]
I don't know what to do anymore.
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Carver sucks in a breath, grinding their foreheads together.
The ironic part is he’s never hurt Larus more than in the moments he isn’t trying to. ]
I think something’s wrong with me, Larus.
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What do you mean?
[ How, he thinks to ask. But his voice is gentle, desperate to believe that they can come back from everything that's trying to tear them apart. ]
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This. ]
Nothing fits, [ Carver says softly. It’s not what he means, not all of it, but he doesn’t have the words for something that feels so goddamn big. ] Here, this place, without my family, nothing fits. I don’t fit.
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I don't think any of us really fit. [ It's just something that's happened to all of them. ] But it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you.
[ Even now, Larus feels displaced himself, unsure what to do and where to go. There are methods to follow and habits he cannot break, a sort of thinking he doesn't know if he'll ever escape. Yet, through all of that, there's been one startlingly present constant, and even if Carver did kill him, Larus doubts he'd stay away. That, in of itself, is far too dangerous to speak aloud. ]
You're not alone. I'm here. [ Whatever that's worth. ]
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It feels real. You’re not alone, Larus says, I’m here, and Carver makes a punched out sound. Wounded and lost. And what is there to say, really? What words slot this into alignment?
He can’t think of a single one so he just presses forward and kisses Larus on the mouth. ]
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I need you.
[ It's a quiet confession, so soft that it's as if he's barely spoken it at all. ]
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Somehow, that feels fitting. His family needed him, Carver thinks, but Riley didn't. Not by the end, at least. Riley figured it out, came home. One war was enough for him. It wasn't written down in Riley's marrow the way it was for Carver, and has been ever since.
But it's not like that for Larus, either. Yet, they're still here. Holding each other. He can feel Larus's grip in his hair, that shivery pressure. Holding him steady. He likes it more than he should.
Carver shivers. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Even so, he doesn't pull away. ]
Don't leave this time. Please.
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I'm sorry.
[ The words are genuine, if tight in his throat.
Leaving is always easier, in the end. It keeps him safe, keeps everyone at a distance when he's hurting too much to make sense of it all. But that night on the beach had wounded them both, and Larus doesn't know if they'll ever heal from it. He still can't forgive Frost, still can't forgive the choices Carver had made, but he could try to tolerate it enough to regain that equilibrium between them. It's something, maybe, and his hand flattens so he's cupping the back of Carver's head rather than pulling at his hair. ]
I said I wasn't going to hurt you, and I did anyway.
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He could ruin this. It wouldn’t even be hard. And he wonders what it says that his first impulse is to do just that.
Breathe, Carver thinks, his eyes closed tight, Larus’s hand cupping the back of his neck.
He squeezes Larus’s wrist. He breathes. ]
I did too, [ he says softly. What does it matter that he wasn’t trying to? ] I don’t — I don’t understand this place. All the rules are different. But you, I trust you.
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I know. [ Larus feels the same way. ] You're all I have here. The only one.
[ Of course there are others, but they don't know the same things about him. They don't understand him in ways that Carver does, a connection forged first from violence and then something else. Something deeper. The pain might have been easier, and really, some part of him still expects Carver to continue stabbing him, to find himself coming back for it over and over until it finally becomes too much.
He just exhales and curls his other arm around him. ]
I don't want anything to happen to you.
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