Courtship Stop #1: The Keats Estate
Orpheus eyes scanned the shards of clay, the prints and indents he longed to trace and hated to touch, taunting him like the man who created them. He gripped the broken piece of clay from before, holding it so tightly a jagged piece dug into his palm, causing him to bleed.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t even notice.
[color= #D7BBA8] “Orpheus, your poetic declarations do little to obscure the fact that you’re the one weaving intricate tales here. What exactly do you think I’ve taken from you?” [/color] Ilyas’ words were flat, cold, as if the heat of their interaction was lost on him now.
Orpheus turned to face him, the anger and pain rising to heat his face yet again. If Ilyas would be emotionless, Orpheus would hold enough for the both of them.
Each beat of his heart was a painful reminder of the uncaged anger that threatened to release itself from his chest. It was a visceral torment, more painful than the wound dripping fresh blood from his palm, or the bruises that littered his body now, a pain that threatened to devour all reason.
[color= #BC0057] “Tales…” [/color] Orpheus let out an exasperated laugh, a pained and comical expression eerily etched on his features. [color= #BC0057] “You cannot be serious, not even for a moment! I do not know why I bother with you at all!” [/color] He yelled, turning back to slam the clay piece onto the table, cracking it further in two.
Orpheus flinched slightly at the sight, almost feeling the anger dissipate as he longed to place the pieces back together again.
[color= #BC0057] “You have taken everything…” [/color] Orpheus murmured, noticing the blood on his palm now. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping his hand and wiping his tears.
Orpheus glanced down at the shattered pieces, and for whatever reason, coated in blood, he pressed his own thumb against the cracked surface, marking a fingerprint next to the one that was already imprinted in the clay, Ilyas’.
Orpheus stared at the thumb prints a moment, one hollow, one a fiery, bloody red, and nearly laughed again. How comically fitting for them. Bound by similarity, yet wholly and entirely opposing.
Yet beautiful when placed next to each other. Always beautiful. A work of art of their own. Blue and black swirls. Unsteady brush strokes on a vast, expansive canvas.
Orpheus closed his eyes, trying to steady his heart and breathing again.
He knew this is how they would end up.
It is how they always ended up.
Orpheus fighting back emotions, Ilyas’ pretending not to feel any, both antagonizing each other until they broke. In two. Like the clay.
[color= #D7BBA8] “Ah, Orpheus, hate is a powerful emotion. It consumes, it twists, and yet, it also connects. Our dance, fueled by disdain, has a certain elegance to it, don’t you think?” [/color] Orpheus turned to meet his gaze again, an empty and hollow stare framed by the reddened outline of his tear stained eyes.
He truly was tired, and each interaction with Ilyas pulled him away from himself more and more. Toward a person he was terrified of. Toward that horrid and unfamiliar reflection in the mirror. Toward the person he truly hated.
Yet, as he stood across from the current object of his disdain, words eluded him like fleeting shadows in the darkness. The silence grew more oppressive, and in the absence of verbal expression, the hatred festered, a silent scream echoing through the chambers of Orpheus’ very soul.
The desire to rip his own heart out seemed less an act of self-destruction and more an attempt to purge the poison of animosity that coursed through his veins.
It would never stop.
This dance.
That much was clear now.
Orpheus moved closer to Ilyas, his breathing still shaky, but not as erratic as before. His expression, as empty as the emotionless words Ilyas dripped from his tongue.
He stood mere inches from Ilyas now, scanning his eyes. Searching for a hint of that connection he was promised. Orpheus smiled an empty, pained smile.
[color= #BC0057] “You don’t dance…” [/color] Orpheus whispered, so close to Ilyas he could nearly feel the warmth of his body.
[color= #BC0057] “Best not to start now.” [/color] Orpheus’ smile faded, the pain overtaking his features as he spoke. His eyes moved over Ilyas carefully, as if memorizing his features.
There was a lingering truth there, a hidden meaning. A acknowledgment of Ilyas’ past, of everything between them that continued to push and pull them apart, of a plead to free him of this torment that consumed his every waking moment, of a reluctance to give in, of a challenge. One that dared him to step in time, yet pleaded with him to ignore the rhythm all together.
[color= #BC0057] “So much for change…” [/color] Orpheus spat, the hatred returning to his face, replacing the vulnerable pained expression.
He turned to leave.
For the first time in his life, ignoring the music that begged him, more than anything, to dance.
mentioned:
Ilyas (@Madilfill)