Work Text:
Cassata was not surprised that Whiskey does not have a red string tied on his finger.
For someone so detached from the world like Whiskey, he was half-expecting that the infamous alchemist won’t have anyone destined for him. In fact, he believes that the alcohol food soul deserves it for all his wrongdoings.
But as he is currently lying down on the said soul’s bed in his quaint home hidden in the outskirts of Hilena; his naked back resting in the headboard that he starts to wonder: Will they ever be in this situation if Whiskey had someone appointed for him as his eternal companion?
“This must be the fourth time that I had caught you catching flies with your mouth.”
A rich, euphonious voice shook him up from his reverie and Cassata found himself staring back to a pair of violent ruby eyes. Faking a cough to break off from the stifling staredown, Cassata awkwardly looks back up to the man who, unlike him, is now dressed up and is still watching him as he sips from his cup of tea.
He always feels transparent as glass around him, when all throughout his existence as a food soul he was nothing but a tool, laced with corruption.
Is this why he keeps on coming back?
“Whatever that is keeping your mind occupied, it must have been of utmost importance for you to ignore me like this.” Whiskey drawled as he sets his teacup down, a small smile uncharacteristically glued to his usually indifferent face and Cassata secretly allowed himself to think that they can be a normal pair.
“Vita.”
“Hmm?”
“Aren’t you scared of eternally living all alone?”
The spectacled man stared at him hard, eyes calculative. Upon realizing that Cassata was serious with his question, he sonorously hums in understanding.
“Should I be like you that is shackled then? Is that the better choice?”
Cassata swore he physically felt his heart dropped at the other’s words.
Like the tear that was forming in his lone eye - it stings.
Whiskey watches him, drumming his fingers on the table, waiting for his response.
But Cassata remained motionless.
Guilt.
He clenches his fists as the feeling that haunts him every day surges up again. Cassata feels like throwing up as his blurry vision landed on the crimson thread tied on his pinky, endlessly leading outside and into the finger of his sunshine; his prince who now must be slumbering peacefully so he can welcome him as soon as he comes back the next day.
But here he is, hiding in the arms of the one he was supposed to hate the most.
A knight seeking warmth from someone so hateful, so vindictive.
Twisted, isn’t it.
Voice shaking, Cassata breaks the cold silence.
“T-That’s not what I meant… You knew that there is no choice better than the other.” Peach sunstone eyes meeting ruby, Cassata stares at Whiskey as the other visibly sighs.
“Cassata.” The alcohol food soul started, silken lips forming a tight smile.
“We both know that all it takes is for you to leave me to make everything better.”
And it’s true, Cassata thinks.
As complicated their situation may be, the solution is surprisingly easy.
Or as it should be. Because for some reason, his feet feel heavier whenever he is about to step out from Whiskey’s home and into reality.
His hands, that were always seen patting his soulmate’s head during the day were traveling across the expanse of skin of the very person that caused them agony, with only the moon as their witness.
And Cassata hates himself every single passing day for being weak.
He will never admit to the deceitful man that he can’t make himself leave his home and most especially his side, though. Not now when he had made him dependent on this pretend play that they have between them.
“Don’t talk like I wanted this all by myself, ass.”
That emitted a laugh from the russet-haired man, albeit Cassata had noticed how empty it sounds. If only he had stared hard enough, he could have seen the hurt reflected on Whiskey’s eyes for a second.
Not that the latter will ever let him know, either.
No one has kept track of the time.
As Whiskey ascended from his seat after watching the Italian soul fell into a slumber, he had found himself reaching his ungloved hand towards the scar that he has inflicted to Cassata decades ago.
The deep sigh that followed sounded far too loud in the four corners of the room; with the moon slowly making way for the harsh sun and chickens at the distance starting to wake up.
In a few, the world will take Cassata back again.
“I wonder. Do I want you?”
A sad smile.
“Well, it does make sense, isn’t it? I had never gotten anything that I wanted after all.”