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He hated how much he yearned for him.
How much he wanted to touch and hold him, to feel warmth again for once in his life.
It felt so foreign now, the concept of human touch. For so long he had been alone in that God forsaken prison made of both the divine and demonic. So cold and alone.
And now all he wanted was comfort and to be with another.
So much has changed.
They used to hate each other. Perhaps that was too strong a word, considering how small their past disagreements felt now.
Minos had thought him too violent. Sisyphus thought him too passive.
And yet they both wanted the same thing, but both were too headstrong to admit it or to work together.
And now Sisyphus was the one arguing for peace.
Ironic.
With so little people left alive in this damned place he supposed it made sense. Especially since that... thing seemed so intent on keeping Gabriel alive. For some reason Sisyphus... respected that war mongering machine despite everything it had done.
Enough to want to keep Gabriel alive for it.
He huffed. His heart still yearned for vengeance. It had nowhere to go but to fester inside his chest, rotting away inside him.
But there was nothing he could do. He could not best the machine in combat.
He tried.
He did not know if it kept him alive out of pity or as a living food source.
And... a part of him didn't want to disappoint Sisyphus.
He imagined how he'd react to him ruining this facsimile of peace, of hurting one he respected more than he respected him.
Hah. Haha.
How ironic. He was jealous of an object. A mere weapon of war.
His hand clenched at his side.
He knew it unhealthy but he could not stop obsessing over the machine or that damned angel or the past or his feelings or anything!
He tried to think of Sisyphus alone but all he could picture was his face. How it was practically a beacon of light and hope.
And it sickened him.
It sickened and yet soothed him at the same time.
How could he still be so hopeful and still have the will to live despite everything they've been through?
He wanted to yell and to scream and pray and worship and cry at his feet all at once.
He wanted to berate and praise him, wanted to ask him for guidance and help despite him being no better nor holy than him.
He was just a man and yet his mind uplifted him as something more.
He felt abandoned by him just as he had by God and yet he knew it was unrealsitic, that Sisyphus had no obligation towards him, that he was just a man.
And yet he could not stop venerating him.
Nor could he stop longing for him.