Work Text:
I’m thinking of ending things, is the sentence that rings true in your mind, Lohen. It spins like a broken record, repeating incessantly of you who thinks of ending things.
You’re thinking of ending things, but why would you when your life is already good? You have plenty of friends and foes that can entertain you and yet, in your head you repeat that sentence like a mantra. It doesn’t make sense, because life itself never makes sense for you.
You open your mouth to speak, to end things, yet find it closing again when you see the questioning smile coming out from his mouth. Varka looks at you as if you have a point to say and not only a persistent one string of a sentence to exclaim. He doesn’t know your thoughts well enough, doesn’t realise it yet, and behind your reluctance is concern for him, because once you say that line to him, you have to explain what it means.
Life isn’t fully a bore; a fraction of it is and it gradually bleeds. The repeated motion of mundanity is what gets you to this stage where settling in sounds impossible for someone who chases for thrill. Ending things before a heartbreak approaches seems to be the most rational thing there is but the way you refuse to speak out the sentence is the proof that you still cling onto this relationship wanting something in return too.
“I’m thinking of ending things.”
The sentence that comes out from your lips spill unbidden and you’re half-surprised that you caved in into the impulsivity. You don’t rectify, not growing any panicked symptoms, whatsoever, staring into the sky-blue eyes that belonged to Varka with a steady gaze denoting seriousness.
And Varka, bless him always for his patience and wisdom, might have understood you more than you are to yourself—replying to you with practiced gait as if you’ve done this several times, as if you’ve given in to your irrational thoughts just to scratch an itch away.
“Are you sure about that?”
His question is not of accusation, nor is it a thing he treats with 100% seriousness; well, it is a serious and genuine inquiry but the way he says it means a lot more to you as an confirmation. The man you love, the man who lies on the shared bed right beside you, is both selfless and selfish in ways that is human.
He isn’t angry at your statement, instead there is a twinkling of amusement in the way he stares at you then, awaiting a reason of why you said it. Mayhaps, he waits for your voice of displeasure, of why you feel the need to say that line; you’re thinking of ending things but you cannot find a definite reason to support that claim, not when it is all just a vague sense of helplessness.
To answer his question, you are unsure but it seems, even without you verbalise it into the world, he already knows. He always knows. That’s why he doesn’t make a fuss and calmly deal with your impulsive statement. A thoughtless, throwaway thing of claiming that you want to end things.
Looking back, the thing that drives you to this point is most likely akin to a guilt. Your selfish action is the crux of the reason why you said it. Maybe, the way you see it, ending things mean better for others than your own sake—because a sinner asking for forgiveness once is not enough and no one wants to punish you hard enough for what you’ve done.
Perhaps that is the reason why you want to end things; to take charge of your self-inflicted punishment, to deny you of happiness you seek. You’re thinking of ending things solely because you find it undeserving to be filled with mirth every day, not when the consequence of your action hangs in the air like a ghost refusing to rest.
At the same time, your cowardice colours the doubt behind that action. You are daring enough to conjure the exclamation of wanting to ending things and yet, the words that slipped out were tainted by shaky conviction, for the sentence itself is a contradiction—you want to end things but you aren‘t convinced enough to deal it swiftly.
You’re thinking of ending things, in a literal and metaphorical sense, because what awaits you for what you have done should not be happiness, but suffering that persists for years. It should be known to you that it is wrong to try and prolong a dead man’s fate but you still do it anyway out of love and fear of loss—a motivation so human that it hurts because then you think of it as a warped desire, a weakness that culminates in your pursuit of power.
You want to be strong enough to decide over your own life and others, to be an influence beyond what fate can over, to not just be a mortal and powerless human. As such, you insist on mutilating yourself to a degree for you and others’ sake, including the person you loved the most who listened to the ups and downs and the impulsivity of your words, you who ended up enduring the suffering and enjoying the pain that comes, even when in the end you regret ever doing it.
You’re thinking of ending things, solely because the stare from the one you love the most should be nothing but filled with bitterness and yet, he gives you none, only kindness that seems never ending; some people thinks of this as a trait of weakness, of too much trust, of naïvety that brings ruins, and to you, it is the point of contention that brings you to this stage. You will be his downfall—you and all of your actions and ambitions.
“Do you really want to end things, Lohen?”
He loves you too much, selfless reflected in his eyes that you love the hue the most. Too gentle, too tender, too encompassing, too loveable that it hurts. You’re thinking of ending things and what he gives you is a profound question that grounds, a gaze that conveys unwavering affection, ears that will listen to everything that is dark and ugly in your mind and heart. He does not judge, does not doubt, and if you say yes, he will listen and respect your decision. He will be disappointed but he understands and will respect your autonomy.
You will be able to end things if your mouth says yes now, so you open your lips to speak, to convey, to end things:
“No.”
And the answer you gave does not shock anyone, not even you. His touches remind you that there is nothing that awaits at the end of the road other than pain if you decide to do it. You will rejoice at the decision to impose your own punishment, your sinking heart will then finally comply with what your mind has been saying, that you are unworthy to be loved by someone this forgiving and trusting.
And yet, your selfishness has won again and again, like always.
You’re thinking of ending things, but for today, and perhaps tomorrow and overmorrow, it will stay as a fleeting thought rather than a fact woven by your guilt of loving him.