[open post for real]

[onthewillowsthere]

When the burning stopped he found himself alone. His memory of what happened is hazy -- aren't all his memories hazy? -- but he remembers the light and the fire, the way his hands and mouth were blazing, and even if he didn't remember the scorching on his blue tunic would tell a tale.

He remembers enough.

He can't seem to get warm now, despite the perfectly pleasant climate, and he builds a fire in one of the mansion's many sitting rooms with fireplaces, and then he huddles in front of it, his knees clasped to his chest.

Crowley couldn't make him Galahad again, but he doesn't feel like Damien any more. He remembers enough to know what he had wanted to escape -- whatever purpose it was that made him like this, capable of subsuming into flame or holding a brand-new weapon like a familiar part of his body -- but not enough to know why he's like this, and not enough to be the person Claudius is waiting for. He feels like stone, but a stone that has lost all the earth's heat.

If Crowley, who changed him in the first place, can't change him back, then can he be changed back? It seems to him from what Lan Wangji said that this is all there is now. He's incapable of being loved, incapable of knowing himself, incapable of the lit path that Lan Wangji exhorted him towards.

He stares into the fire, his fixed blue stare that might as well be a stranger's, and wishes he had been rendered in his own bonfire.

Comments

[wickedwit]

Surprise and fear and something like rueful acceptance all flicker through Claudius's eyes, then fade. He steps back, hides his hands behind him, and keeps his face carefully blank. "I suppose you know me now, then. Did you not wish to see me?"

Of course he didn't. Don't make him say it. A holy knight who panicked at the offer of a kiss isn't going to be happy he gave his heart away to a fratricidal murderer. But what happened to his hand? He doesn't want your concern, either.

[onthewillowsthere]

"I don't want to hurt you." He backs away. He wants to tell Claudius all of it, to beg him for help. He's still wearing the burnt clothes, and he wishes he had changed into something else, something that wouldn't invite questions.

[wickedwit]

"Me?" Claudius has to ask. He keeps his hands behind his back, keeps his distance, but he has to. "Look at you. What happened? Who did this to you?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"I did. I am--" Perhaps Claudius will understand, though no one else has. He backs away another step. "I am a flame, a weapon--"

[wickedwit]

“You did? You —“ Claudius sighs and almost wants to snap at the other man to stop moving, he isn’t coming any closer. But of course he’s more afraid of himself than of Claudius, more afraid of what he might do than what might be done to him. “I think you must get this way whenever you’re upset. The last time it was I am God’s and none of me is mine. Is this more prophecy? I don’t care what’s been prophesied, I want to know what happened to you —” Why is his hand bandaged, why are his clothes burned? If his clothes are burned, what of the rest of his body? How could he move without aching in every step? “No. I want to know how you are. Whatever you think of me, you’re still someone I wish to protect. My hands can do more than kill, and if you’re hurt, I want to help you.”

[onthewillowsthere]

"Claudius," sharply. "I caught flame."

[wickedwit]

The spoken name brings him short. "Ah," Claudius says. He can't miss the meaning when his mind is already on what magic could explain this, and he stares a while trying to envision what other meaning could work. There are others that account for all the details, but not for that fresh fear of himself, the way he keeps stepping back. "Is that something you do on occasion?"

[onthewillowsthere]

His throat works as he swallows -- half relief, to finally be understood, and half the same hysterical laughter from before. "I don't remember. I still don't remember. I don't know what happened. He tried to help me and I remembered enough-- I can hold any blade, I can win any fight, but I don't know why. What am I? Why make me like this? I was angry and I caught fire and I burned the room down--"

He catches himself, the way his chest feels tight and his hands are wringing, and tries desperately to pull his way back into feeling less (stop, stop, be calm, don't get upset, don't hurt him, fire burns). He grabs his burned hand and squeezes it so pain will sear through him.

[wickedwit]

Claudius crosses the room, covers all those steps swift and purposeful steps of his own, and grabs the young man's hand from him. "You're hurting yourself, Galahad. I said you're someone I wish to protect."

[onthewillowsthere]

He tries to wrench himself away, his expression plainly terrified. "You should protect yourself from me. I would rather hurt myself than you."

[wickedwit]

"I have parasites in my blood that have been torturing me from the inside," he says sardonically. "If you burst into flame and incinerate me, then I'm afraid that's just an extra bit of bad luck. If I exit the room, I could still fall down dead outside the door -- and then what would've been the point of warning me away? No -- thank you -- but I'm fine."

[onthewillowsthere]

Well. That stops him in his tracks, and he lets Claudius keep hold of his hand, staring at him -- still distressed, but bewildered now too. "What?"

[wickedwit]

"Luo Binghe. Try not to let him kiss you or offer you food." It's wry, flippant, unsuiting for the situation, but he's looking at Galahad -- the man he knows as Galahad -- across from him with hand still clasped, his breath short even from that brief struggle to hold on. "So you don't have it all back, and what you have back isn't helpful. It wasn't helpful before, you know. I don't think you were any happier then, knowing who made you and why He made you this way. If you want to know why you told me you were made like this, I can. But I missed you, Galahad. I'd rather spend this time with you than pacing the hallways fearing my imminent death."

[onthewillowsthere]

His mind is racing now, still trying to incorporate this new knowledge. If Claudius is dying, then he's right, it doesn't matter (no, it does matter, he will still hate himself if he somehow immolates them both even an hour before Claudius would otherwise die) -- he should tell Claudius that he isn't the person he misses, he isn't Galahad, he's this other nameless person with too many and too few memories -- he has, in the last eight hours, thought that Luo Binghe was more than right about him and maybe saw this in him, but the idea of kissing him spirals him off in another direction (what? why? why? did Claudius kiss Luo Binghe? why does that make his chest ache? is he jealous?) -- he wants to have been missed, he wants to have been wanted, he wants to sink down on one of the couches and press himself into Claudius' arms and be comforted, soothed from his fear (but he can't) (fire burns) -- and who is He? Claudius knows why this is happening, who he was before, who crafted him? can he just ask to be retold his memories? is He someone who can be begged for mercy? -- and so on, and so on, wild unspooled thoughts he can't grasp hold of to try and wind up again--

What he actually does is take a step towards Claudius finally, instead of away from him. He can't manage words.

[wickedwit]

"Please," that's the word Claudius manages to speak to him. "Please let me stay with you."

[onthewillowsthere]

He throws his arm around Claudius' shoulder and pulls him into an embrace.

[wickedwit]

Claudius holds on to him fiercely, more fiercely than he thought he was capable for something so simple as a hug. He just can't let go right now. He presses Galahad to his chest, hand soft in his hair and at the nape of his neck, and holds on with all he has.

[onthewillowsthere]

It is a very long time before he tries to bring them towards one of the couches after all -- he doesn't want to break away, he doesn't want any space between them, he wants to be as close as he can be forever -- but his legs are starting to get trembly and the last thing he wants is to stumble.

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs. It's sweet -- he can feel Galahad trying not to stumble, so he moves his arm Galahad's shoulder so he can bring them more naturally to the couch. He wants to kiss Galahad desperately, but not enough to push for it, so he sits with Galahad still pressed to his chest and softly kisses his hair instead. "Thank thee."

[onthewillowsthere]

He turns his face up at once -- he doesn't want to be below Claudius, he wants to be with him, and he pushes his legs under himself so they're level -- and then he thinks again of Claudius dying, and how he's the wrong person still, and doesn't know that he'll ever be the right one (and certainly not within the time they have left), and he takes Claudius' cheek in his unburned hand and kisses him.

[wickedwit]

Claudius kisses back, tentative at first, not from inexperience but because he's still unsure whether he's allowed to have this. The longer Galahad lets him stay, the longer he lets himself believe it, and the more assured the kiss becomes, lips sliding open under Galahad's as naturally as breathing.

[onthewillowsthere]

He's acting purely out of instinct and desire, with no real skill or even an idea of where he wants this to go, but it's good. The longer Claudius lets him stay, the longer he lets himself believe it, and he lets his hand come to rest over Claudius' heart, feeling for the beat of it, as he ventures into the heat of Claudius' mouth.

[wickedwit]

His heart is thundering again, but he wants to give Galahad everything he has -- everything he is, with or without a kingdom. His heat, his hunger, his hands splayed over Galahad's back, fingers tracing curved shoulder-blades under his burned shirt. There's a yearning symmetry in their kiss, wanting and wanted, wanted for so long.

[onthewillowsthere]

There's still a part of him that thinks he should stop for Claudius' sake -- he's not the right one, he's not Galahad, Claudius wants someone else and somehow he's tricked him, he doesn't deserve this -- but it's overruled by the part of him that felt that rush of love and hunger the first time Claudius invited him to think about what he felt. He just wants to be selfish. He wants to be wanted. He wants, he wants, he wants, and even if they both catch fire because of it he wants; he's exhausted from holding in his fear and so he just stops, he stops thinking, he stops everything except the kiss.

[wickedwit]

When Claudius pulls away at last, his eyes are dark and intent -- and he doesn't pull far. "What wouldst thou have of me?" he asks. "I am thine."