Cassian paced in an increasingly desperate bid to spin this white hot rage shaking him to the core off into the world around him. It’s why his ire turned to the teacup, or the vicious stab of his cigarette into the ashtray. Anyone, and anything around him. Though Cass didn’t know what would become of them, or how far down into hell they’d go, he knew only this: he could not hurt Vincent. Not any more than he already has. No matter what else happened.
I’m not the one who… Comprehension landed on Cass like a gut-punch, it’s not as though he needed to spell out his meaning. Stomach roiling at the reminder, the blonde finally stilled with his hands whiteknuckled on the desk. Vince’s disparaging words drew out a sneer, because he recognized this move well. The way the Slytherin would, when backed into a corner, hiss his warning before striking on the most vulnerable pulse points. This was a dangerous game, when he knew Cass’ weak spots so intimately.
You’re not listening to what I’m saying, he simmered, feeling the weight of how Vincent characterized their relationship like an anchor around his neck. Is it that you can’t hear me? Or is it that you refuse to? Cassian thought he had made himself clear. That he would bloody fucking try to mend them, to accept Vince, to see him - all of him - for who he truly was. Yet with every passing second in their exchange of barbed words, Vince dispelled another thin layer of Cass’ ignorance of the extent of the suffering he’d dealt. It reminded him, with an acute pain in his chest like a dagger, of the way he pushed and probed and pressed on Vince to reveal himself. And with a twist of the hilt buried in his heart, the cowardice Cass exhibited when he rejected this revelation outright. How utterly naive he was, to not see that Vince hid for a reason.
There’s no comfort in the truth, pain is all you’ll find.
Devastation put a fracture on Cassian’s hard expression, breaking his mouth open with a short, shaking laugh. There was no mirth in his tone, just disbelief. “I wish I could pity you,” he growled, pushed so far to his physical and emotional brink that he could no longer tolerate this verbal beating. “It would make this much easier. I would’ve left you in a charity bin ages ago. Is that why you rather paint yourself the victim? Does it feel easier to be disposed of?” Cassian didn’t know when he’d gone around the desk to take a step closer, but he had.
“Don’t–”Don’t do this. Don’t push me away. “Don’t twist my words. What the rest of the world thinks has nothing to do with this,” with us. “I said I will always listen to you, will always see you–” he grimaced, still haunted by these words he uttered yesterday, and the many that followed. But it is all still true. “And I told you that I will accept it. I will try to— for you,” his voice cracked at the last. “What the hell more can I give, than that?”
And still Vincent’s ire came over him like acid, causing the young man to stagger back at the intimation. A fresh wash of shame stunned him, deadening his sharp blue gaze that bore into Vince. The truth - it jarred him like a thousand rifle shots to the gut. The thing that Vincent brought out in him. A complete monster. The hot flush of embarrassment as he remembered the way they curled into each other, and what he’d asked Vince.
Aren’t you ashamed?
I don’t know, he said.
Cassian made no effort to stop him as he withdrew from the study, residual shock rooting him to that same place as he felt, rather than heard, the doors slam. A part of him knew, of course, that maybe it was better this way. They could only hurt each other with the things they wanted to say.
And still another part of him shattered, threatening to pull him into a deadly tailspin. He could not leave it at this. He would not. It was an eerie and deterministic fate that bound them together across lifetimes, he sensed. Something so deep in his bones that his body might disintegrate if he revolted. Even as the verge of a blackout flitted at his periphery, Cass darted out behind the Slytherin. A maid kneeled in the foyer, picking up the pieces of something that had fallen, wordlessly confirmed where Vince had gone.
Out on the streets, it was a cool late summer night, but his body felt feverish. Cassian’s feet picked up with the race of his heartbeat, ending - finally, only – when the person he sought stood within reach. Afraid to touch him, but afraid of what would happen if he didn’t, Cass gripped just one shoulder to stop him.
“Please, Vince…” he gasped, in a foreign guttural sound. He didn’t know what he was doing here. It’s not as though he’d followed after him with any type of plan. He only knew one thing: he did not want this. As though the poison Vince doled out finally seized him, Cass relinquished his grip to falter and drop down to his knees, hands crumpling in front of him. If his expression contorted in anguish now, he tried to hide it, dropping his head to shield behind blonde hair. Just a hair above a whisper, Cassian finally confessed what brought him here. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave like this.”
I’m not the one who… Comprehension landed on Cass like a gut-punch, it’s not as though he needed to spell out his meaning. Stomach roiling at the reminder, the blonde finally stilled with his hands whiteknuckled on the desk. Vince’s disparaging words drew out a sneer, because he recognized this move well. The way the Slytherin would, when backed into a corner, hiss his warning before striking on the most vulnerable pulse points. This was a dangerous game, when he knew Cass’ weak spots so intimately.
You’re not listening to what I’m saying, he simmered, feeling the weight of how Vincent characterized their relationship like an anchor around his neck. Is it that you can’t hear me? Or is it that you refuse to? Cassian thought he had made himself clear. That he would bloody fucking try to mend them, to accept Vince, to see him - all of him - for who he truly was. Yet with every passing second in their exchange of barbed words, Vince dispelled another thin layer of Cass’ ignorance of the extent of the suffering he’d dealt. It reminded him, with an acute pain in his chest like a dagger, of the way he pushed and probed and pressed on Vince to reveal himself. And with a twist of the hilt buried in his heart, the cowardice Cass exhibited when he rejected this revelation outright. How utterly naive he was, to not see that Vince hid for a reason.
There’s no comfort in the truth, pain is all you’ll find.
Devastation put a fracture on Cassian’s hard expression, breaking his mouth open with a short, shaking laugh. There was no mirth in his tone, just disbelief. “I wish I could pity you,” he growled, pushed so far to his physical and emotional brink that he could no longer tolerate this verbal beating. “It would make this much easier. I would’ve left you in a charity bin ages ago. Is that why you rather paint yourself the victim? Does it feel easier to be disposed of?” Cassian didn’t know when he’d gone around the desk to take a step closer, but he had.
“Don’t–”Don’t do this. Don’t push me away. “Don’t twist my words. What the rest of the world thinks has nothing to do with this,” with us. “I said I will always listen to you, will always see you–” he grimaced, still haunted by these words he uttered yesterday, and the many that followed. But it is all still true. “And I told you that I will accept it. I will try to— for you,” his voice cracked at the last. “What the hell more can I give, than that?”
And still Vincent’s ire came over him like acid, causing the young man to stagger back at the intimation. A fresh wash of shame stunned him, deadening his sharp blue gaze that bore into Vince. The truth - it jarred him like a thousand rifle shots to the gut. The thing that Vincent brought out in him. A complete monster. The hot flush of embarrassment as he remembered the way they curled into each other, and what he’d asked Vince.
Aren’t you ashamed?
I don’t know, he said.
Cassian made no effort to stop him as he withdrew from the study, residual shock rooting him to that same place as he felt, rather than heard, the doors slam. A part of him knew, of course, that maybe it was better this way. They could only hurt each other with the things they wanted to say.
And still another part of him shattered, threatening to pull him into a deadly tailspin. He could not leave it at this. He would not. It was an eerie and deterministic fate that bound them together across lifetimes, he sensed. Something so deep in his bones that his body might disintegrate if he revolted. Even as the verge of a blackout flitted at his periphery, Cass darted out behind the Slytherin. A maid kneeled in the foyer, picking up the pieces of something that had fallen, wordlessly confirmed where Vince had gone.
Out on the streets, it was a cool late summer night, but his body felt feverish. Cassian’s feet picked up with the race of his heartbeat, ending - finally, only – when the person he sought stood within reach. Afraid to touch him, but afraid of what would happen if he didn’t, Cass gripped just one shoulder to stop him.
“Please, Vince…” he gasped, in a foreign guttural sound. He didn’t know what he was doing here. It’s not as though he’d followed after him with any type of plan. He only knew one thing: he did not want this. As though the poison Vince doled out finally seized him, Cass relinquished his grip to falter and drop down to his knees, hands crumpling in front of him. If his expression contorted in anguish now, he tried to hide it, dropping his head to shield behind blonde hair. Just a hair above a whisper, Cassian finally confessed what brought him here. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave like this.”
![[Image: BC4TW0z.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/BC4TW0z.jpeg)
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