Danse Macabre

It started with a cut and a rueful smile that just barely twinged with a forecast of storms. "Shall I...?" from Addam, and Minoth slowly acknowledged with a nod. The cut was closer to the hairline, nearly hidden - as always - by untied hair, but Addam pressed a kiss to the center of Minoth's forehead for good measure.

They stood apart in the same radius of personal space for a moment. Then Addam lightly touched Minoth's hand, found it shaking, and hugged him close, kissing his cheek. Just for a moment, again. Nothing that carried very much consequence. Momentary security as much as was needed, and no more. "Thank you," murmured Minoth, though with effort.

Without prompt, he continued, "I'm sick of being this way." Addam didn't ask which way that was, knowing his privileged position that obviated baseline questions. Was Minoth weak? Absolutely not. Did he act with more than his share of bravado? Not hardly, he deserved it. But the pretense was exhausting. Addam stayed close, kissing a tensed temple.

Addam had never seen Minoth cry before. He doubted he would again, beyond this brief gulf of undoing, and so it was a difficult decision - respect Minoth as he was, looking away, or share in the vulnerability by staring back (possibly forcing Minoth to swallow the tears out of bitter determination)? Perhaps neither; two kisses: both eyes.

The pattern had only to continue. Minoth's sentences were mumbled, furiously suffocated for their role in exacerbating the issue. Taking the knives from Minoth's hands and holstering them, Addam held on even though Minoth didn't hold back. Weakness was no virtue, but it was nothing to torture yourself over. To the nose...Minoth couldn't smile or laugh.

"You'd all just be better off-" was as far as Addam let Minoth get. If that was indeed the game...he'd just have to suffer the breaks. Palms on either side of Minoth's head, Addam kissed his lips just firmly enough to silence the self-recrimination. He understood it. He did. But those thoughts didn't even deserve voice.

A beat of breaths only, then Minoth tried again: "I don't understand how you can drag around such a deadweight." He lashed out not at the others, but himself, and Addam knew. "Hey," he said, trying not to let it sound like an admonition. He moved down to the jaw, kissing softly just to let Minoth breathe.

When Minoth had run out of protestations, and could only sob silently, totally escaped by any and all analysis of what he was feeling, Addam wrapped his arms around Minoth in the safest embrace, cradling his head and kissing the crown. Understanding? Complete resignation? It was best just to let it go. Slowly, slowly...still, still, still.