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Matt

When I had arrived home from the Midworld that day so long ago, my hands and shoulders shaking, tears running down my face, as I heard Kuron's voice over and over in my head, accusing me of cheating and whatever other lies he'd heard, I'd never felt so lonely, afraid, broken.

Now, as I look at Lance, his wings drooping, sobbing into Adam's chest, I can't help but feel a stronger bond growing between us. I know it's wrong, but I need someone to talk to about Kuron. Adam and I are closer than close, but he shut down in a different way after Shiro left him. He doesn't talk about it, but I need to.

Lance and I are more alike than he knows in that, while we tend to hide our own emotions behind a wall of some sort of other traits- for him, being flirty, cocky, annoying, for me, using technology and learning as a distraction- we need to let them out before we explode. For Adam, it's a slow simmer that he lets die in his heart, but Lance and I are much too emotion-driven for that.

I miss Kuron more than anything. I knew his mind like the back of my hand. I knew what made him tick, what made him laugh, what hurt and what he could handle. And yet, we were so easily broken. I knew the prophecy, just because I was a part of it, as were the Twins and Adam, and I knew that, if everything went according to plan, then Kuron and I might still have a chance again, but I was scared.

Kuron had broken my heart, my mind, my trust, and with it, any semblance of stability with myself I'd once felt. He was manipulative, cruel, sensitive, smart. He knew exactly where my weak spots were and had pressed each and every one of them until I'd shattered.

Adam may have been able to hold everything in, work through things and find distractions, but Kuron had broken my capacity to trust myself like that.

Guilt weighed down on me like lead, but I couldn't help it- I was selfishly relieved that Lance had broken like this instead of like Adam- I had someone who I could trust that I could talk to, who could reflect my emotions like a mirror. I was still broken, but maybe Lance and I could piece ourselves together with help.

...

Adam

Lance smelled like Shiro. Well, he smelled like what I assumed was Keith, but all devils had this musty, pine and smoke scent and it was setting my nerves alight with memories. So long had it been since I'd let myself think about Shiro. So long since I'd pictured dark grey eyes framed by thick eyelashes. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw and a thin scar across the bridge of his nose.

Too long, maybe.

Lance was finally home and crying against my chest, just as Matt had done all those years ago. Back when Lance was smaller, sweeter, younger. Back when he couldn't conceptualize heartbreak and hardly understood devils.

But now, he knew too much. My heart went out to him as I tried to console him, but I blamed myself. I had known how dangerous the devil could be and yet, Mother and I had sent him off like a lamb to slaughter.

I'm sure it had been fun, beautiful, and wonderful while it lasted. But of course, just like Matt and I, Lance had been tricked, deceived, lied to and made to believe that he was loved and cared for by the devil he slept beside.

I didn't pay attention to the prophecy as Mother and Matt did- I focused on the things that were happening in the present rather than in the past or future, but I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if that ancient script actually held the promises it stated.

Did I even want it to? Did I want to go back to Shiro, have him build me up just to break me again with false accusations and his low, quiet voice as he slammed the door behind him? I didn't know if it would ever be worth it again.

There were so many uncertainties, and that was one thing I didn't like. I wanted to be sure of myself, my actions, knowing that whatever happens, it happens for a reason. That it's set in stone, never to be changed or looked back at. But since I'd returned from the Midworld, it had begun to get harder and harder to stay stable with that lifestyle.

I found myself looking back, exploring 'what if's and 'maybe's' that could never exist. It hurt my heart more than I could bear, so I kept the drawer of memories shut and locked so that I could try to move on. I distracted myself, kept busy and focused, didn't let the drawer open for anything.

But it was the simple things, like a man in the Midworld with a shock of white hair or the musty, pine-and-smoke scent that lingered on Lance that were the keys to open the drawer.

...

Lance

It had been a hard flight back home. Crying and struggling to stay upright in the wind that battered my wings and the tears that clouded my vision, the trip had drained all of my Energy. But, to my relief, Matt, Adam, and Mom had been waiting for me outside the house, their eyes empathetic as I stumbled to meet them.

I didn't know what had happened, why Keith had reacted the way he had, or how I had the strength to fly home, but I was too tired to care, I had enough energy to sob into Adam's chest for a few minutes, briefly summarize what had happened, and then walk up the stairs of the porch of the house to the couch that waited invitingly for me in the living room.

I didn't even have the resolve to bring my wings back in before collapsing into the cushions, the smell of chocolate chip cookies and everything else good and comforting rushing into my senses as I fell into sleep.

...

Lance walked down the empty, stone hallway, carrying a decanter of brandy and a platter of finger foods with him. He looked down and noticed that his ankles were shackled together by thin, gold chains. He knew that he could easily break them, but something told him he shouldn't.

He was slowly approaching a large, ovalesque oak door with a door-knocker that looked like a cherub who held its halo in its mouth. Lance balanced the tray of finger foods in the crook of his arm and used the door-knocker.

As soon as he'd struck the door, the cherub's face turned sour and rearranged until it was a scowling devil, complete with little horns. Lance looked at it, horrified, as it spoke. "You may enter."

Lance quickly opened the door and closed it behind him, eager to get away from the evil door-knocker. But as soon as he turned around, he knew that he'd prefer the devil to the scene in front of him.

Countless angels lay about the room, all wearing identical, short white togas, like the ancient angels in marble sculptures, their wings out and laid haphazardly around them, writhing slowly like snakes.

The angels were gorgeous, each more than the next, but there was something off about them, something that wasn't quite right.

They looked up at Lance as he entered and he realized with a jolt of unease that their eyes were entirely black, no whites or irises to be seen. They smiled at him coyly, reaching up with delicate hands to touch his feet, ankles, knees, thighs.

Lance walked forward, desperate to get away from the hands, and noticed a large, dark throne raised on a dais in the center of the room. The throne was surrounded by a translucent black curtain and Lance could only make out the outline of the person sitting inside it.

One of the angels on the floor tugged on Lance's foot and he looked down. "Are you bringing refreshments for Mister?" she asked dazedly, her eyes wide. Lance nodded without thinking and the angel let him go, rolling over.

Lance stepped over limbs and wings as he made his way to the dais. "Mister?" he asked when he reached the curtain.

"You may enter," came the reply, just like the door-knocker. Lance pushed back the curtain and dropped the platter and decanter upon seeing the figure in the throne.

Keith stared back at Lance, lounging lazily in the throne, a tall, black crown made of barbed wire and black marble perched upon his head, his horns protruding like a bull's, eyes black like the angels.

"Oh, my dear. I'm glad you're here. Shame you dropped the food, though," Keith said airly, a mask of indifference and arrogance on his features. "Come," he said, "sit with me, my king." Lance watched as a white, pristine throne appeared next to Keith.

He stepped forward, but tripped, falling down to the floor in front of Keith's feet. Looking back, Lance realized that he was chained by his ankles to the floor. No longer were the chains gold and delicate. They were now thick, heavy links that bore down on his feet, tethering him to the ground.

Looking back up at Keith, Lance watched in horror as a sickening smirk spread across Keith's face. He started to laugh at Lance, rowdy and dissonant, cruel and discordant. "What is it?" Keith yelled at Lance between fits of laughter. "Can't you stand?"

The awful laughter echoed in Lance's head for the rest of the night.

...

ahhhh sorry i really wanted to add in a dream section haha. i really hope you guys are liking the direction this fic is going- it's a little more abstract than some of the other things i've done and i'm actually quite nervous that some people may not like it

but i'll keep writing nevertheless and i'll listen to whatever you have to say <3

qotd #2: is a burrito considered a sandwich?

ilyilyilyilyily