KILL THE SPARE

there  is no man used to pain, pain never became vitya’s friend, lover, mistress, not when his heart belonged. it bleeds, scorching him, until they meet again, only until they meet again and there’s roses in between their chests and alcohol that tastes like regret.  

he takes a sip out of his coffee, for how long has he been like this? he forgets a life with no light eyes and dark hair haunting every dream, not a second gone by without yearning … but its nice to be together. in a bed, with sheets that already smell a little bit like both and a little bit like more and the loving fantasy of more…  its all what he yearned for right? 

“ morning. ” and here comes the sun, cedric who already maddens him even asleep, even when he should be reconsidering all of this. “how did the sleepiest beauty in town rest? and oh, i thought the snoring competition already passed, i didn’t know you’re looking for forward to being next year’s champion this soon.”  // @somespare​

is it bad that he knew that they would end up exactly here? that their pattern has been repeated so many times over that they have become addicted to the habit? he has often wondered if it is really a bad habit if neither are willing to shake it even when they could. when they are apart (which is far more often that he would like) he tries to keep him furthest back in his mind, so that it does not consume him entirely. he knows every time they expose themselves to this it makes recovering harder.

when he wakes he’s surprised to find viktor’s body untangled from his. his warmth is replaced by that of the sun peeping through cheap hotel curtains. he shifts to theatrically mourn the loss of him by burying his face in what was his pillow. he laughs into it as viktor starts speaking. he tries to smell him off the fabric even with the real thing a few steps away. he must savour what he can, in every silly little way he can.

𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙴𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙴 𝙰𝙵𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙾𝙾𝙽. some move so quickly that he barely has the time to register their faces. faces that either way blend into each other with their same half-excited, half-nervous expressions. he politely thanks them all, as he is about to when a soft pair of lips are planted on his cheek. it takes him back a little, his neck flushing pink, but he recovers almost as quickly as she redraws: “as a good luck i suppose, nellie?”