#relationship study?

all right imma ramble for a second

one of my favourite things about the st. tweedle dynamic is that they both like to think they're a lot more different than they are. they tell themselves that they're opposites, when in fact they have so much in common.

two sides of the same coin, same story, different boys.

or is it same boys, different story?

and, really, that's where the lying starts. because that's what they're doing: lying to themselves.

saint lies by convincing himself that he's not falling. he's not falling for this brown-haired god with eyes as steady as his fists. he's not falling for the way luke sets a fire in him that's equal parts fury and affection.

he's not falling, and he definitely hasn't already already fallen.

he doesn't want to be vulnerable. he doesn't want to get attached. he doesn't want to get hurt, so he's resigned himself to doing the hurting instead.

he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't.

luke, on the other hand, does.

he wants all those things. he wants them until it hurts, and he's tried time and time again to find them, until he reaches a point where he can't look anymore. he takes a step back from what's right in front of him, because he's afraid it's already farther away than he thinks it is.

he distances himself, because that's the only safe bet. because that way the pain in constant and dull, instead of sharp stabs to every place he lets his armour fall free. because if he gets used to pain, he doesn't have to tell himself he was wrong.

for both of them, love is seen as a weakness; a flaw.

for luke, it's because love, in his experience, has never ended in anything but anguish. for saint, it's because he's spent so long being alone that he doesn't know how to stop.

but they're both falling, even if they won't admit it. they're falling, and when you're falling, you think about the person that pushed you.

luke blames saint for being who he is; for being the person who finally throws the final attack against luke's walls. it's saint's fault, he reasons, because if saint wasn't saint, luke would still be on land, where it's safe and sturdy and every step hurts.

saint blames himself. he blames himself for being stupid enough to fall, but he pretends to blame luke for being cruel enough to play along. whether he believes it, no one knows, least of all him. but when it comes down to it, he puts all the heavy, aching weight of blame on his own shoulders.

and, really, that's where it all starts to go wrong. luke blames saint. saint blames saint. luke loves saint; saint loves luke. and the only way they know how to make any sense of the whole thing is through black eyes and bloody noses and the little pink pills that the island gives them.

is it really love? maybe. maybe not. but it's the closest either of them have ever gotten to love, so at least that's something.

but idk man. I just live here.