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The pain inside his chest cut him sharper than a knife. Heck, he wished it was an actual cut wound, that would be hurting less.
It pierced him deeply inside, blurring his vision, his ears went silent save for the loud heartbeat echoing throughout his body.
Valentine’s usual pretty face had turned ugly with sorrow and tears. An infinite river of tears flowing down his cheeks, wetting the other man’s shirt too. And his own long hair, now sticking here and there onto his pale skin.
His entire focus was on his inner pain, he didn’t even care for the taste of salt in his mouth nor the hair painfully tangling and crusting on his face.
Valentine’s pain was blinding him.
His stomach was hurting as if had received a punch directly inside his guts, the throat so closed even gulping was a bother triggering his nerves.
He was completely unable to separate reality from the blackhole swallowing him from within. Reality appeared to him as the worst prison of Hell.
The boy brought his hands onto his ears in an attempt to suffocate the noise inside his head, he could take any of that no more.
He wanted, he needed, silence. Yet inside his head the buzzing was endless: words were turning into wicked whispers; ever present thoughts were only suggesting lies. Paranoia and fear erased all light leaving only darkness.
How could he not accept those suggestions? He had nothing on his hands to prove them wrong. They had to be right. He had to listen. Any but him held the rightness of life, much less the one for happiness.
He grabbed his own hair, pulled, and screamed loud. His own tears mixed with saliva, drooled and fell on his chin making him look like plagued with rabies. Time seemed frozen. His eyes red and now shut. The pain was unbearable. Why couldn’t all that cease and leave him be? Why wasn’t he stronger and better? Just a tiny bit more, enough to endure the penance of life.
In all fairness, he would have preferred die there and now more than enduring another second into his own hell.
Valentine was a Specter. He was used to pain, torture and castigations. But what he was feeling inside was worse the all the punishments he himself had inflicted to the souls of the sinners residing in the Underworld for all eternity.
How miserable.
He looked so pathetic, so ugly, so fragile. Others would call him pretty but in that very moment it was impossible denying how ugly and broken he looked like, with his messy hair and pain digging deep onto each of his feature having his face appear as if doomed with dark scars marking his skin.
And so in addition to the pain, even the shame was to be added. Shame for looking so disgusting as if so poor he couldn’t even take care of his body.
He hated himself. How he looked. How he felt. Who he was.
He was half filled with hatred, which came and left. At the difference of his hurting, ever present. He hated himself...
For if he wasn’t him nothing of that would be befalling upon him, his very own fault was existing. And all of that could be taken away if only had stopped to.
He didn’t ask to come to life, he simply happened to born and live and fall in love with another, so profoundly that Hades himself God of the Dead accepted his pledge so to remain forever with his beloved, eternally.
Perhaps his fault was that too: having had granted such a wish surely would come with something much darker in return.
For Gods, much like men, never spared kindness and offered favours out of pureness within their heart.
He felt lost and alone. Not even the closeness of that man he loved so was helping him. The only ones truly with him were his fears and pain. Devouring him from inside out, turning him unable to feel the warmth of that man’s body embracing him.
Rhadamanthys cradled him. Silent and deadpan. Not a single emotion would transpire from that man. His blond hair were covering his features, his bushy brow poking between locks.
His hands squeezed the other tightly.
And as Valentine screamed out his pain to the top of his lungs, the Judge felt useless. And he hated it. He hated himself.
Nothing would make Rhadamanthys angrier than feeling powerless: such a mighty man, who lived merely for putting his life onto the edge, in the frontline of the bloodiest battlefield, serving a greater purpose.
Yet there he was: unable to save the one human he probably still cared for. The one person he would be happy calling a worthy human. The one who didn’t deserve Hell being unleashed upon with such insistence.
He wasn’t able to shield him from that pain.
And Valentine’s screams unnerved the man.
The Judge remained silent, letting out a single snort as he embraced his Valentine more. Allowing him to cry and cry and cry.
He couldn’t even say for how long that went on.
His own shirt was completely wet, he could feel the coldness of the wet fabric sticking now and then onto his warm chest. And behind that, the soft and boiling hot skin of the Cypriot.
If he was a better man, he would kiss his tears away. He would caress him gently. He would tell him all the sweet words of love he so much desperately needed to hear. If he could, Rhadamanthys would. For truly, he felt nothing but love for his dear Harpy. And some admiration: for being himself, for fearing not his own emotions and trusting his feelings no matter what.
If he could, he would be himself too.
But that wasn’t in the plans. They had both pledged their existence onto serving Hades’ cause. Forsaking their humanity and parting forever from all their futile needs and petty selfish wishes.
...Or so this noble, stiff and ever cautious man wanted to believe with every inch of his now raging body.
He was convinced to have managed to turn into a devil. Cold and ruthless and in need for nothing but the death of those who opposed the coming of Hades’ utopia.
Rhadamanthys clenched his teeth. Was there something he could do to stop that agony? He felt anger rising inside him. His blood would boil more and more with every passing minute listening to those screams.
He wouldn’t feel any pity for the damned souls screaming as much in the Underworld, but in that very moment... He wanted crush into pieces and toss straight into the pit to Hell all those responsible for such unbearable pain inflicted for unfair crimes which existed only in their heads.
How could he not agree with his Emperor then? Hades was a just ruler. A kind ruler. He understood mankind needed to start anew, wiping them all away was the only solution to ensure the return of the old times, in which men would live and die following the rules imposed onto them by superior beings to ensure they could spend their peaceful long days worshipping and partying and drinking and eating to their hearts’ content. Those days, before fire was given to humans. And attempts in building towers reaching the sky were made.
Rhadamanthys had died and would die again a thousand times more to make sure that utopia would come true.
For sinner deserved punishment. And with all that had been given and granted, all humans would eventually grow into sinners.
Himself included.
It was like a curse.
But if a sinner he needed to be, then he’d become so at its fullest. He would become the most ruthless and diabolical.
So that pain would stop. And unfairness would cease.
So that men would take their true form. Their primordial ones.
Not the one engulfed in darkness and wickedness that grew deeper with every era coming to end.
He clenched his teeth, so hard his jaw hurt. So strong he could have chopped off an art with his mouth.
The handsome features of the blond English man hardened, his brow arched, his nose bridge wrinkled under his rising rage, a constant wrath dormant within himself. A wrath waiting to be set loose at the beginning of the Holy war.
Valentine clenched his slender fingers onto Rhadamanthys’ shirt, bringing the other’s attention back on his dear beloved.
His gold eyes gleamed as he let out a gasp.
Valentine could feel his Liege stiffening. He knew him well, to understand all without him ever having to say a word.
“M-My lord....” cried Valentine softly.
The other puffed, stretching his lips.
Speak, for Hades’ sake. Tell him something. Tell him you love his smile and your heart breaks when he’s dwelling in his misery! Tell him you only want his happiness and you wish both your lives could come back to the very first you have ever lived, away from all that sorrow and pointless dances.
“Y-you... Hate m-me? I... I am nothing but a burden. I-I pride myself to be your pillar. To w-want...ing support you. Care and pr-protect you...”
His bright voice was broken. Annoyingly screechy.
“You... Might disappoint my expectations at times. Yes.”
”...”
Rhadamanthys paused. Oh goddamn. That wasn’t what he meant to say.
”...I mean.”
“It’s okay... I-I think you are r-right, My Lord...”
“Valentine...”
The other sniffed, tears fell down once again.
Was that how he came to be seen by his Lord...?
A disappointment.
A failure.
Rhadamanthys pressed his lips together and lowered his head. He breathed in and out, slowly. Was he even capable of saying the right thing the other desperately needed to hear...? What was so difficult in putting into words his cares? His feelings were there: hidden deep inside, bottled and locked up. But there.
He was sure of it... Because he could feel them knocking from time to time.
Could he just once put aside his holy duty and focus on.. his little pitiful hurt bird...?
“I meant...” He paused, looking for words. Frowning more.
“I...”
“...Valentine.”
Was his heart truly made of stone? Did he manage to shut his heart that much his mouth wouldn’t let any feeling but loyalty out...?
The other left out a tiny chuckle as he cried to himself. His beloved Lord was trying to be so supportive... He could see it. Feel it. He just knew it.
He was trying hard and that made Valentine happy.
So that forgot for a brief instance his misery.
Valentine pressed his head onto his Lord’s chest. He brushed his hand on his pectorals, enjoying the warmth of that man’s body. Letting his mind shift away from the dark hole he had been sucked in.
He caressed him as if he himself was a cat, rubbing his face onto his chest. The strong smell of Rhadamanthys’ aftershave was so sensual to Valentine’s senses. And for a moment, Valentine forgot all.
Rhadamanthys sighed. The memory of a distant, simpler, happier life came to him. It was so far. So faded. Barely any detail left. But he could still feel how he badly missed that life when he met his Valentine for the first time. He missed feeling that happiness he had decided to forbid himself of ever fully feel again.
Words refused to come out of his mouth, for some reasons he just couldn’t. He would tell him so much if only...
The blond man raised his hand, softly patting the other’s head, stroking him twice before lowering his own head onto his.
Valentine sobbed and swallowed , his face red, his eyes burning. He was tired of crying. His body could take no more of that.
When the younger man felt the other’s touch he shivered and let out a loud cry.
“MY LORD!”
Oh how blessed he felt. His noble gracious Lord was holding him between his strong arms, patting him. What a great display of kindness and mercy towards his little servant!
Hearing Harpy’s loud cry made Rhadamanthys angrier. He shut his jaw, clenching more his teeth as his muscles stiffened under the frustration. What a useless man he was! Unable to even lighten the suffering heart of the one so dear to him.
He embraced Valentine mightily. Wrapping himself around him.
And Rhadamanthys squeezed hard, in love and frustration.
And Valentine cried more. Out of pain. Out of happiness.
But cry he did for many hours more until falling asleep out of tiredness. For he indeed is the Celestial Wailing Star. Lamenting and Crying are things he won’t ever escape from. But if that was the price to pay in order to remain next to his beloved Liege, then so will be. He would suffer all the pain and tortures for nothing would be truly unbearable but losing his place next to Rhadamanthys.
And he had that, and much more.