Then perhaps this particular bird is simply defective, because no matter how long it's been, he cannot accomplish anything he was born to achieve. Unable to protect, plucked bare and broken and laying in the rotten fruits of his failure.
Tell me, Mr. Gallagher. Where would you go from here?
This little bird might be too hard on himself. I've watched him accomplish many things, even if they weren't perfect— but there's beauty in perfection. I think this little bird just needs to see that.
If I were him, I'd keep moving forward as long as I can. He shouldn't take that for granted, you know?
Is there meaning in accomplishments, if the ultimate goal is still out of reach? Beauty only gets one so far when predators still lurk, hoping to sink their claws in meat and bone. It is an inevitability.
This bird can barely sit up to move, as it were. Come. Take the broken bird you so dearly wish to see fly once more.
Even if it is an evitability, one doesn't need to deal with predators on their own.
I'm coming to get you. Stay put, birdie.
[ There are many things he could say at this point, but he can no longer bear to keep rereading Sunday's message because of how much it makes his heart ache. He also knows that he's breaking the rules. Someone like him should have heeded the curtain call even before ever receiving this man's plea for help, but he'll steal the time since he has to. Wants to.
He makes his way over to the specified coordinates without much fanfare. Dreamflux Reef is relatively empty after what happened at the Grand Theatre, no doubt most people choosing to wake up from this dream to deal with the aftermath in reality. The fact that Sunday hasn't...
Well, let's just say it makes him hurry up, looking all over the place until he finds the broken bird he wanted to see the most. ]
... Hey, angel. [ He crouches next to him, wanting to reach out but hesitating just in case Sunday doesn't want to be touched. ] You mind if I carry you back to my place?
[he tucks away his phone after reading the last message. he's certainly putting a lot of trust in a man who definitely stabbed him, but... gallagher's all he has right now, with robin having woken up before impact. how he wishes to remain in her kind embrace, remind himself that she's safe from all harm, but she's currently in another plane of existence, somewhere where he is not.
he looks up when he hears footsteps, gives a weary little smile at the giant man who appears even larger when on the ground like this.] I don't have much of a choice either way.
[he closes his eyes. no, that's not right. he called for gallagher for a reason, him being the only one to call for not being that reason at all. he opens his eyes, his smile turning wry.]
[ It's an apt choice of words, considering he'll disappear once he makes sure Sunday is safe and taken care of. Not that he knows how much time he has left, but he'll manage. First things first: assessing the damage on the other man, which looks pretty bad at first glance.
He murmurs an apology before he picks him up with his arms as gingerly as he can, holding him close so Sunday can rest his head against his shoulder if he wants. The man feels so light, as if he practically weighs nothing, and that's concerning on its own even if they're still within the dreamscape.
Once he's sure the man is secure in his grasp, he makes his way over to his apartment. It's a humble place, small and cramped just like the rest of Dreamflux Reef, but he never needed much space considering how much time he actually spent here. It's an interesting time when he attempts to open the door with Sunday in his arms, but he manages, waltzing over to the couch where he can slowly put the man down. ]
Hang tight. I'll see if I have anything to help fix you up.
[ He can't help but pet the man's feathery hair gently, a comforting gesture. And then he rises to a stand, intending to look around his stuff for anything resembling a first aid kit. ]
[on the way there, sunday allows himself the little bit of vulnerability to rest his head on gallagher's shoulder. there's hardly anyone else around, after all. people are waking up and leaving this dream world. somehow, despite sunday's entire plan revolving around people being safe and happy in this realm... there's some peace in the quiet and solitude.
he winces when he's set down and his wound jostles a bit. he looks around sunday's place, a little curious about the home of this man he's come to know. gallagher looks almost comically too large for his small apartment, but he also fills the space up nicely so sunday doesn't feel so--
--alone?]
Stabbing me one moment then tending to my injuries the next. Are you certain you're not the one who is a lunatic? [said somewhat -- casually? as casual as sunday can be. like he's not bleeding out on gallagher's couch.]
[ Sunday's words succeed in making Gallagher feel even more tired, but he huffs softly in amusement regardless. ]
Then we can be both lunatics together.
[ The way he sees it, everything is over now. The Order's dream has been smothered, and Penacony is safe from its clutches, so he doesn't think there's any point in keeping up with hostilities. After all, he's the one who wanted to work together with Sunday to begin with. If it weren't for the Paths they both walked towards, then maybe things would be much different.
He shakes his head, grabbing a few cans of his favoured drink before taking a small box full of bandages and other things. One can is shoved at Sunday, and then he's gesturing for him to drink it. ]
Drink. It'll help.
[ He reaches for a roll of clean bandages before looking up at the other man. ]
I'm gonna have to see how bad your injuries are. May I?
[ Will Sunday be okay with showing off that much skin? ]
[sunday takes the drink somewhat quizzically, turning the can in his hands and wondering if it's just supposed to take the edge off. he's not really one to consume alcohol or anything... the thought of losing control of himself is Too Much of a terrifying thought. but gallagher presumably knows that about him, and the can doesn't say anything about alcohol... so...
he pops the tab open and drinks it. and remarkably, he does feel a whole lot better. as in- he feels his wound stitching up some, actually. interesting.
lunatics together, huh? he's not- he's not sure how that will work, considering gallagher's circumstance. will he just live in this dream world forever? after taking a few sips, he turns his gaze to the man in question. who then approaches him with a question.]
Ah- yes, of course.
[listen, they're not only both men, but gallagher is gallagher. sunday doesn't have to be pristine and perfect around him. he's already seen him at his worst, after all.
he tries to sit up, winces when he pulls at his clothes still stuck in his wound. but he braves through it and peels it off, folding it politely despite it being pretty much ruined. manners are important! even when you're half dying.]
This is the main injury. Apologies again for the trouble...
[ Gallagher expected a few questions regarding the drink, but when Sunday drinks it obediently, he looks surprised for a split-second and then it melts into amused relief. If only Sunday listened to him before, then maybe a lot of this could've been avoided, and maybe he wouldn't be here tending to his wounds right now. Maybe someone like Robin could've looked after him instead, and that'll be the better ending for everyone involved.
Alas, this is the hand they've been dealt with, so they'll have to make do.
He watches wordlessly as the other man peels off his clothes with a few winces here and there, huffing once those clothes are folded neatly and set aside. But at least this makes it easier for him to look at how bad Sunday's injuries are, grimacing at the one he'd tried to hide earlier on.
The drink helps with the bleeding, so he gets to work cleaning up the wound, dabbing a soft cloth with lukewarm water before gently wiping away the dried blood. Once that's done, he wraps it with fresh gauze, calloused fingers working as carefully as he can to minimize discomfort.
He leans back when he's done. ]
Have another one of these drinks later. You should be as good as new after that.
[he stays still and silent while gallagher dresses his wounds, no matter how much it hurts, especially when he's cleaning out the grime and blood. by the time gallagher is done, sunday is breathing heavily despite having not moved, the pain robbing him of his breath.
he immediately takes another drink, pops it open, and downs it. the most inelegant that gallagher has ever seen him, honestly, but he thinks he can be afforded a moment of impropriety considering his situation. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand afterward, begging the drink to work its magic a little faster. he looks fucking haggard, to say the least. but, well-
-this is the price of ambition.]
...You were not lying when you said you wanted to cooperate after all. [he sinks back onto the couch, just marinating in his misery and letting the drink work to mend his flesh.] It would be a useless endeavor to do all this just to kill me, after all. You'd gain little from it - other than satisfaction, if your detestation runs deeper than your actions would suggest.
[ It doesn't bother Gallagher that Sunday downs the drink in a manner that isn't so typical of him. If anything, it just shows that the man is the same as the rest of humanity— imperfect in many ways. The Hound even grows more fond of him, but he resists the urge to ruffle silvery blue hair because he knows Sunday might not appreciate that.
He stands up to put the cloth and small box away, still keeping up with the conversation since his space is not that large anyway. His voice carries through regardless. ]
Why would I lie about that? Your sister already chose to side with me, so I figured you would too.
[ In hindsight, that was his mistake for not considering the likelihood that Sunday might swerve a different way, but still he thought... ]
Besides, killing you is the last thing l want. I'd rather you wake up from this dream instead.
[ By the time he says this, he's standing right in front of Sunday again, a small smile on his lips. ]
You should get yourself looked at in reality if you're hurt this badly here.
[he's a bird, not a dog like you, gallagher! treat him with some delicacy!!! ...outside the bedroom, of course. but they're not quite to that point yet. sunday doesn't even realize that that point exists between them, that it's a possibility, so caught up with his ambition and goals as he was. he'd had stray thoughts, sure, but he was quick to reign them in, to recenter himself to the ultimate goal.
and well, now that goal is shattered.
robin is far too trusting. sunday knows it's not really fair to think of his beloved sister that way, but he's had to for her protection. even then, she nearly got killed- and she could again-
he shakes his head. breathe. she's fine- or she better be.]
Allow me to stay just a little longer. [his eyes stray downward, then hurriedly back up. get that out of his face gallagher, god!!!] I- don't want to face reality just yet. And I don't mean the consequences of my actions. [but the reality of his ambitions laying to ruin. that he can't keep everyone safe and happy in their little cages after all.]
I imagine you'll want company anyway, yes? What happens to you, after all this?
[ To spare Sunday from the torture of looking at his cock (up close and personal), Gallagher kneels before him, reaching out with one hand to grasp him by the wrist. Mostly to remind him that whatever bad thoughts he may be having right now, this Hound is here to protect him from the worst of it. To remind him that he isn't alone, and will never be for as long as Gallagher still exists. ]
You'll have to face it eventually, but you're welcome to stay here until then. For as long as you need.
[ Now it's his turn to look down, sunset eyes unable to meet Sunday's golden ones while he thinks about his own future. ]
... You already know that I'm a minion of Enigmata, that I'm made up of several parts from others who exist. I'm not real, technically, so I'll be out of your hair soon enough.
[thank the great one that he's finally free of gallagher's oppressive package. he can breathe a silent sigh of relief. but he is then - touched, his wrist taken into gallagher's hold, a light shiver originating at the point of touch. it's grounding, which he sorely needs, especially upon hearing gallagher's explanation.]
What do you- you're going to disappear?
[he frowns at that. gallagher may have stabbed him (sunday isn't bitter about that, he swears), but he's still... he's here by his side, warm. and that means something. he isn't sure where to direct his own gaze either, so he just lets it drop to his held wrist. held in gallagher's warm, solid hand. how could someone who exists here and now - just cease to be?
he supposes it makes sense. gallagher wasn't supposed to be here. isn't supposed to exist. goes against the natural order of things.
but then why do his wings fold at the very thought?
why does everything eventually get taken away- he looks up, now.]
Many more fantastical things have occurred in this great universe than the inorganic becoming organic. If you're merely going to disappear, then why do you form thoughts as any other? If you are just pieces scraped together, then how is it that you are unable to meet my gaze?
For a man doing so much for my own sake, why do you give up so easily on yourself?
[ The answer comes easily to him, even if he remains unable to meet Sunday's eyes. What Sunday asks of him is something that has been on his mind for the past little while, most likely because of how his curtain call is closely approaching. His own existence has always been something he's aware of, resigned to his fate as a fictional creation that's only meant to fulfill a role.
Now that the role is done, it's time for him to exit stage left. Never to be seen again.
But why does he linger still? Why is he holding onto Sunday without any intention of letting him go? Why does it hurt to think about leaving him behind? ]
If I can change the cards I've been dealt with, I would— but it's impossible for something fictional like me.
You clearly wish to have a future. So fight for it.
[have just like - even a sliver of sunday's ambition, gallagher! prior to his downfall, of course, because he feels beaten and broken and hopeless right now. why is he giving up so easily? has he even tried to figure out a way to become real? there has to be a way. like he said, stranger things have surely occurred.
gallagher is a pathstrider. so he has a will of his own. he must-
-ah, why is sunday feeling so desperate all of a sudden. perhaps... it is the lack of expectation from gallagher. since all his plans have come to ruin, he can just exist here. let down his guard. what's the worst that can happen when the worst that could happen has already occurred? his wings droop.]
Are you dispensing all these pleasantries because you know you're going to disappear, soon?
[ Sunday makes it sounds so easy. If it was a matter of simply fighting to have a future, then he would've found a way to do so alongside keeping Penacony safe. Alas, his case is a bit different, he thinks, because you can't exactly fight against a fate like his. Then again, it's not like it has ever been tried before, so who knows—
But he won't say much more on that subject. There's no point in leaning into false hopes.
He trails his fingers upward, all the way until he reaches the base of Sunday's wing. There he starts petting the man, a gesture meant to soothe his desperation. ]
Nah. If you remember, I wanted to work with you, but you chose the Order over me. If it weren't for our Paths, I know we would've gotten along very well.
[ Their topics of conversation aside, things have been pretty pleasant... right? ]
I did. [there is no denying his choice. and seeing where he ended up... would he do it again? his faith is shaken. his foundation crumbling beneath his feat. he knows nothing right now. he just knows he wants gallagher to stay. to fight for his life, like he fought for sunday.
the touch on his wing is a little startling. sadly, he is but a man, and proven to not be the great one's strongest soldier. he leans into the scritches, a weary follower wanting a bit of comfort. he is so tired of sacrifice. how much more will he have to lose? he would rather die than lose robin, at least. so he supposes if nothing else, he will have her. or he will be dead.
but what a sad reality that would be.]
You can't leave me. [said to himself rather than to gallagher, though it's certainly loud enough for gallagher to hear.] I won't allow it.
[he gets a little lost in his thoughts, and if he didn't have an iron grip on the frequencies of his halo, gallagher would surely feel the frustration and anxiety welling up within him. the look in his eyes sharpens as he finds his resolve, hardening, narrowing. he reaches out to grasp gallagher's tie, to tug him firmly closer, until their faces are but inches apart.]
You will not scatter to the winds to be forgotten until I permit you to do so. If your story is to end here, I will pen your future myself if I have to. Your soul will belong to me and me alone. If you've been abandoned, I shall be your new master and give you purpose. [his golden eyes blaze bright with that familiar light of ambition. something new to fight for.]
[ You can't leave me, Sunday says, even if it isn't addressed to him. I won't allow it.
Gallagher can feel how quickly his breath gets stuck in his throat after hearing those words. Whispered as they are, they're still loud enough to cut through the noise that's been a constant inside his own head ever since his part in this story has come to an end. They reach beyond the discordant notes, reminding him that just because one door closes doesn't mean that's the end of it.
Another one will create a new path, especially when there's someone on the other side extending their hand.
Sunday pulls him close, and Gallager allows it. Sunset eyes meet the blazing determination simmering under that golden gaze, and if he were in a better state of mind, he would have kissed Sunday right there and then. He presses their foreheads together instead, his expression faltering. ]
Even if you're the only one who remembers me, it's all I need. [ Maybe that's not what Sunday wants to hear, but it's the truth. Gallagher can't ask for anything more than that. ] But why would you go this far for an old Hound who has outlived his purpose?
I've been asking you that very question this entire time. Why indeed. [he looks up at gallagher, wondering why this man seems so intent on aiding this broken little bird. is it similar to the way he felt when he and robin came across the charmony dove? just an earnestness to help another in need? especially a frail little thing, small and vulnerable to the world.
gallagher said they might have gotten along. perhaps it's to chase that imaginary connection of another lifetime.
he searches gallagher's expression. he's never been quite this close to gallagher before. were his eyes always this fiery? so warm with-- want. sunday may not have much experience in matters of romance, but combined with the look, words, and actions, it's not difficult to parse together the reason why gallagher might have extended his hand. and he's halovian, he isn't ignorant of the many admirers he's had over the years. he knows the look of interest.
it's a little surprising. he doesn't know how to take it. but what he does know is that this makes convincing gallagher to keep on living all the easier. he reaches up, sliding smooth palms against stubbled jaw.]
Ah - I may have found my answer after all. [thumb traces along gallagher's lips. careful. precise.] Though I will admit, I didn't expect you of all people, real or not, to desire the very man who found himself at the end of your blade.
[ If Gallagher were being honest, which he usually isn't, then he wouldn't know how to answer that question either. Why, indeed. Why does he feel compelled to extend his hand to this broken bird in hopes that it will find solace in his grasp? It's strange for something like him to even have desires, to want something so selfishly when he's been made for one purpose alone, and yet here he is, leaning into Sunday's touch.
How warm those fingers felt on his flesh, despite how stitched together they were by stolen traits. He becomes still when Sunday traces over his lips, his breath catching in his throat once more. It's difficult to tell what his heart — can he even call it his? — is doing, but it beats wildly. Perhaps loud enough for the other man to hear.
He huffs quietly, hoping it would quell this surge of emotions. ]
... I only wanted to show you the truth. It's not my fault Dormancy likes to ferry souls over with a blade.
[ Or it might be? But he won't elaborate on that. ]
But I still lost. Your faith is unwavering. It's almost admirable.
Almost admirable? And yet, you still look at me with sin.
[he keeps his hold on the tie, keeping gallagher close. he touches against gallagher's face, his chapped lips, the stubble along his cheek, the wrinkles along his laugh lines. gallagher's gaze is so heated against him, much like his body. which is very large, covering his own body completely.]
Are you holding yourself back for my sake? If you're supposedly going to disappear, shouldn't you want to indulge in every desire before that happens?
[he slips his thumb into gallagher's mouth, pressing down on his tongue with idle interest. as if he's forbidding gallagher to talk just yet.] I am but a fallen angel at this point. Your consideration is kind but ultimately unnecessary. THEY of the Triple-Faced Soul no longer looks upon me with favor.
[grief and hopelessness engulfs him once more, making his wings droop. and in a moment of rare impulsivity, something that was denied from him for so long, he removes his thumb from gallagher's mouth, tugs him even closer to press his lips against gallagher's. he can have this want, too, since he's been abandoned by his faith.]
[ That's exactly it— Gallagher is holding back because he will disappear. He'll be gone before Sunday even realizes it. He would tell him so if he weren't forbidden from opening his mouth, that exploring finger trapping the words in his throat, left to be forgotten. Just like he will be once the curtain call finally comes for him.
Isn't that a worst fate? To selfishly reach out for something, only to let it slip through your fingertips like sand?
But Sunday doesn't give him that choice. His eyes widen when soft lips press against his, caught off-guard by the boldness of the move, especially because of who initiated it. This is the last thing he ever expected Sunday to do, and yet— he melts into it, one hand reaching up to frame the other man's face, holding him close as he kisses him back.
It's soft, sweet; gentle in all the right ways. As if he's still afraid of what might happen if he completely loses himself in it. But he follows after Sunday's lead, lingering.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hoards all of you
A bird belongs in the sky, so it will always want to fly even if it has no wings right now. But feathers can grow back, right? Just needs time.
no subject
Tell me, Mr. Gallagher. Where would you go from here?
no subject
If I were him, I'd keep moving forward as long as I can. He shouldn't take that for granted, you know?
no subject
This bird can barely sit up to move, as it were. Come. Take the broken bird you so dearly wish to see fly once more.
[coordinates]
no subject
I'm coming to get you. Stay put, birdie.
[ There are many things he could say at this point, but he can no longer bear to keep rereading Sunday's message because of how much it makes his heart ache. He also knows that he's breaking the rules. Someone like him should have heeded the curtain call even before ever receiving this man's plea for help, but he'll steal the time since he has to. Wants to.
He makes his way over to the specified coordinates without much fanfare. Dreamflux Reef is relatively empty after what happened at the Grand Theatre, no doubt most people choosing to wake up from this dream to deal with the aftermath in reality. The fact that Sunday hasn't...
Well, let's just say it makes him hurry up, looking all over the place until he finds the broken bird he wanted to see the most. ]
... Hey, angel. [ He crouches next to him, wanting to reach out but hesitating just in case Sunday doesn't want to be touched. ] You mind if I carry you back to my place?
no subject
he looks up when he hears footsteps, gives a weary little smile at the giant man who appears even larger when on the ground like this.] I don't have much of a choice either way.
[he closes his eyes. no, that's not right. he called for gallagher for a reason, him being the only one to call for not being that reason at all. he opens his eyes, his smile turning wry.]
Might I burden you one last time, then?
no subject
[ It's an apt choice of words, considering he'll disappear once he makes sure Sunday is safe and taken care of. Not that he knows how much time he has left, but he'll manage. First things first: assessing the damage on the other man, which looks pretty bad at first glance.
He murmurs an apology before he picks him up with his arms as gingerly as he can, holding him close so Sunday can rest his head against his shoulder if he wants. The man feels so light, as if he practically weighs nothing, and that's concerning on its own even if they're still within the dreamscape.
Once he's sure the man is secure in his grasp, he makes his way over to his apartment. It's a humble place, small and cramped just like the rest of Dreamflux Reef, but he never needed much space considering how much time he actually spent here. It's an interesting time when he attempts to open the door with Sunday in his arms, but he manages, waltzing over to the couch where he can slowly put the man down. ]
Hang tight. I'll see if I have anything to help fix you up.
[ He can't help but pet the man's feathery hair gently, a comforting gesture. And then he rises to a stand, intending to look around his stuff for anything resembling a first aid kit. ]
no subject
he winces when he's set down and his wound jostles a bit. he looks around sunday's place, a little curious about the home of this man he's come to know. gallagher looks almost comically too large for his small apartment, but he also fills the space up nicely so sunday doesn't feel so--
--alone?]
Stabbing me one moment then tending to my injuries the next. Are you certain you're not the one who is a lunatic? [said somewhat -- casually? as casual as sunday can be. like he's not bleeding out on gallagher's couch.]
no subject
Then we can be both lunatics together.
[ The way he sees it, everything is over now. The Order's dream has been smothered, and Penacony is safe from its clutches, so he doesn't think there's any point in keeping up with hostilities. After all, he's the one who wanted to work together with Sunday to begin with. If it weren't for the Paths they both walked towards, then maybe things would be much different.
He shakes his head, grabbing a few cans of his favoured drink before taking a small box full of bandages and other things. One can is shoved at Sunday, and then he's gesturing for him to drink it. ]
Drink. It'll help.
[ He reaches for a roll of clean bandages before looking up at the other man. ]
I'm gonna have to see how bad your injuries are. May I?
[ Will Sunday be okay with showing off that much skin? ]
no subject
he pops the tab open and drinks it. and remarkably, he does feel a whole lot better. as in- he feels his wound stitching up some, actually. interesting.
lunatics together, huh? he's not- he's not sure how that will work, considering gallagher's circumstance. will he just live in this dream world forever? after taking a few sips, he turns his gaze to the man in question. who then approaches him with a question.]
Ah- yes, of course.
[listen, they're not only both men, but gallagher is gallagher. sunday doesn't have to be pristine and perfect around him. he's already seen him at his worst, after all.
he tries to sit up, winces when he pulls at his clothes still stuck in his wound. but he braves through it and peels it off, folding it politely despite it being pretty much ruined. manners are important! even when you're half dying.]
This is the main injury. Apologies again for the trouble...
no subject
[ Gallagher expected a few questions regarding the drink, but when Sunday drinks it obediently, he looks surprised for a split-second and then it melts into amused relief. If only Sunday listened to him before, then maybe a lot of this could've been avoided, and maybe he wouldn't be here tending to his wounds right now. Maybe someone like Robin could've looked after him instead, and that'll be the better ending for everyone involved.
Alas, this is the hand they've been dealt with, so they'll have to make do.
He watches wordlessly as the other man peels off his clothes with a few winces here and there, huffing once those clothes are folded neatly and set aside. But at least this makes it easier for him to look at how bad Sunday's injuries are, grimacing at the one he'd tried to hide earlier on.
The drink helps with the bleeding, so he gets to work cleaning up the wound, dabbing a soft cloth with lukewarm water before gently wiping away the dried blood. Once that's done, he wraps it with fresh gauze, calloused fingers working as carefully as he can to minimize discomfort.
He leans back when he's done. ]
Have another one of these drinks later. You should be as good as new after that.
no subject
he immediately takes another drink, pops it open, and downs it. the most inelegant that gallagher has ever seen him, honestly, but he thinks he can be afforded a moment of impropriety considering his situation. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand afterward, begging the drink to work its magic a little faster. he looks fucking haggard, to say the least. but, well-
-this is the price of ambition.]
...You were not lying when you said you wanted to cooperate after all. [he sinks back onto the couch, just marinating in his misery and letting the drink work to mend his flesh.] It would be a useless endeavor to do all this just to kill me, after all. You'd gain little from it - other than satisfaction, if your detestation runs deeper than your actions would suggest.
no subject
He stands up to put the cloth and small box away, still keeping up with the conversation since his space is not that large anyway. His voice carries through regardless. ]
Why would I lie about that? Your sister already chose to side with me, so I figured you would too.
[ In hindsight, that was his mistake for not considering the likelihood that Sunday might swerve a different way, but still he thought... ]
Besides, killing you is the last thing l want. I'd rather you wake up from this dream instead.
[ By the time he says this, he's standing right in front of Sunday again, a small smile on his lips. ]
You should get yourself looked at in reality if you're hurt this badly here.
no subject
and well, now that goal is shattered.
robin is far too trusting. sunday knows it's not really fair to think of his beloved sister that way, but he's had to for her protection. even then, she nearly got killed- and she could again-
he shakes his head. breathe. she's fine- or she better be.]
Allow me to stay just a little longer. [his eyes stray downward, then hurriedly back up. get that out of his face gallagher, god!!!] I- don't want to face reality just yet. And I don't mean the consequences of my actions. [but the reality of his ambitions laying to ruin. that he can't keep everyone safe and happy in their little cages after all.]
I imagine you'll want company anyway, yes? What happens to you, after all this?
no subject
You'll have to face it eventually, but you're welcome to stay here until then. For as long as you need.
[ Now it's his turn to look down, sunset eyes unable to meet Sunday's golden ones while he thinks about his own future. ]
... You already know that I'm a minion of Enigmata, that I'm made up of several parts from others who exist. I'm not real, technically, so I'll be out of your hair soon enough.
no subject
What do you- you're going to disappear?
[he frowns at that. gallagher may have stabbed him (sunday isn't bitter about that, he swears), but he's still... he's here by his side, warm. and that means something. he isn't sure where to direct his own gaze either, so he just lets it drop to his held wrist. held in gallagher's warm, solid hand. how could someone who exists here and now - just cease to be?
he supposes it makes sense. gallagher wasn't supposed to be here. isn't supposed to exist. goes against the natural order of things.
but then why do his wings fold at the very thought?
why does everything eventually get taken away-he looks up, now.]Many more fantastical things have occurred in this great universe than the inorganic becoming organic. If you're merely going to disappear, then why do you form thoughts as any other? If you are just pieces scraped together, then how is it that you are unable to meet my gaze?
For a man doing so much for my own sake, why do you give up so easily on yourself?
no subject
[ The answer comes easily to him, even if he remains unable to meet Sunday's eyes. What Sunday asks of him is something that has been on his mind for the past little while, most likely because of how his curtain call is closely approaching. His own existence has always been something he's aware of, resigned to his fate as a fictional creation that's only meant to fulfill a role.
Now that the role is done, it's time for him to exit stage left. Never to be seen again.
But why does he linger still? Why is he holding onto Sunday without any intention of letting him go? Why does it hurt to think about leaving him behind? ]
If I can change the cards I've been dealt with, I would— but it's impossible for something fictional like me.
no subject
[have just like - even a sliver of sunday's ambition, gallagher! prior to his downfall, of course, because he feels beaten and broken and hopeless right now. why is he giving up so easily? has he even tried to figure out a way to become real? there has to be a way. like he said, stranger things have surely occurred.
gallagher is a pathstrider. so he has a will of his own. he must-
-ah, why is sunday feeling so desperate all of a sudden. perhaps... it is the lack of expectation from gallagher. since all his plans have come to ruin, he can just exist here. let down his guard. what's the worst that can happen when the worst that could happen has already occurred? his wings droop.]
Are you dispensing all these pleasantries because you know you're going to disappear, soon?
no subject
But he won't say much more on that subject. There's no point in leaning into false hopes.
He trails his fingers upward, all the way until he reaches the base of Sunday's wing. There he starts petting the man, a gesture meant to soothe his desperation. ]
Nah. If you remember, I wanted to work with you, but you chose the Order over me. If it weren't for our Paths, I know we would've gotten along very well.
[ Their topics of conversation aside, things have been pretty pleasant... right? ]
no subject
the touch on his wing is a little startling. sadly, he is but a man, and proven to not be the great one's strongest soldier. he leans into the scritches, a weary follower wanting a bit of comfort. he is so tired of sacrifice. how much more will he have to lose? he would rather die than lose robin, at least. so he supposes if nothing else, he will have her. or he will be dead.
but what a sad reality that would be.]
You can't leave me. [said to himself rather than to gallagher, though it's certainly loud enough for gallagher to hear.] I won't allow it.
[he gets a little lost in his thoughts, and if he didn't have an iron grip on the frequencies of his halo, gallagher would surely feel the frustration and anxiety welling up within him. the look in his eyes sharpens as he finds his resolve, hardening, narrowing. he reaches out to grasp gallagher's tie, to tug him firmly closer, until their faces are but inches apart.]
You will not scatter to the winds to be forgotten until I permit you to do so. If your story is to end here, I will pen your future myself if I have to. Your soul will belong to me and me alone. If you've been abandoned, I shall be your new master and give you purpose. [his golden eyes blaze bright with that familiar light of ambition. something new to fight for.]
Do you understand, Hound?
no subject
Gallagher can feel how quickly his breath gets stuck in his throat after hearing those words. Whispered as they are, they're still loud enough to cut through the noise that's been a constant inside his own head ever since his part in this story has come to an end. They reach beyond the discordant notes, reminding him that just because one door closes doesn't mean that's the end of it.
Another one will create a new path, especially when there's someone on the other side extending their hand.
Sunday pulls him close, and Gallager allows it. Sunset eyes meet the blazing determination simmering under that golden gaze, and if he were in a better state of mind, he would have kissed Sunday right there and then. He presses their foreheads together instead, his expression faltering. ]
Even if you're the only one who remembers me, it's all I need. [ Maybe that's not what Sunday wants to hear, but it's the truth. Gallagher can't ask for anything more than that. ] But why would you go this far for an old Hound who has outlived his purpose?
no subject
gallagher said they might have gotten along. perhaps it's to chase that imaginary connection of another lifetime.
he searches gallagher's expression. he's never been quite this close to gallagher before. were his eyes always this fiery? so warm with-- want. sunday may not have much experience in matters of romance, but combined with the look, words, and actions, it's not difficult to parse together the reason why gallagher might have extended his hand. and he's halovian, he isn't ignorant of the many admirers he's had over the years. he knows the look of interest.
it's a little surprising. he doesn't know how to take it. but what he does know is that this makes convincing gallagher to keep on living all the easier. he reaches up, sliding smooth palms against stubbled jaw.]
Ah - I may have found my answer after all. [thumb traces along gallagher's lips. careful. precise.] Though I will admit, I didn't expect you of all people, real or not, to desire the very man who found himself at the end of your blade.
no subject
How warm those fingers felt on his flesh, despite how stitched together they were by stolen traits. He becomes still when Sunday traces over his lips, his breath catching in his throat once more. It's difficult to tell what his heart — can he even call it his? — is doing, but it beats wildly. Perhaps loud enough for the other man to hear.
He huffs quietly, hoping it would quell this surge of emotions. ]
... I only wanted to show you the truth. It's not my fault Dormancy likes to ferry souls over with a blade.
[ Or it might be? But he won't elaborate on that. ]
But I still lost. Your faith is unwavering. It's almost admirable.
[ If it wasn't so frustrating, too. ]
no subject
[he keeps his hold on the tie, keeping gallagher close. he touches against gallagher's face, his chapped lips, the stubble along his cheek, the wrinkles along his laugh lines. gallagher's gaze is so heated against him, much like his body. which is very large, covering his own body completely.]
Are you holding yourself back for my sake? If you're supposedly going to disappear, shouldn't you want to indulge in every desire before that happens?
[he slips his thumb into gallagher's mouth, pressing down on his tongue with idle interest. as if he's forbidding gallagher to talk just yet.] I am but a fallen angel at this point. Your consideration is kind but ultimately unnecessary. THEY of the Triple-Faced Soul no longer looks upon me with favor.
[grief and hopelessness engulfs him once more, making his wings droop. and in a moment of rare impulsivity, something that was denied from him for so long, he removes his thumb from gallagher's mouth, tugs him even closer to press his lips against gallagher's. he can have this want, too, since he's been abandoned by his faith.]
no subject
Isn't that a worst fate? To selfishly reach out for something, only to let it slip through your fingertips like sand?
But Sunday doesn't give him that choice. His eyes widen when soft lips press against his, caught off-guard by the boldness of the move, especially because of who initiated it. This is the last thing he ever expected Sunday to do, and yet— he melts into it, one hand reaching up to frame the other man's face, holding him close as he kisses him back.
It's soft, sweet; gentle in all the right ways. As if he's still afraid of what might happen if he completely loses himself in it. But he follows after Sunday's lead, lingering.
(He wants to stay. Please let him stay—) ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)