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[sterngaze]

Liem Talbott

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Liem's mindscape is dark; quiet; contemplative. Any feelings or sensations that Liem doesn't intentionally project himself seem distant, as though echoing from a far-off room. Following any given sense to its source is bafflingly difficult.

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[sterngaze]

[A frown crumples Liem’s brow at the sound of the words Set repeats at him, dredged up from another private conversation months ago. Here, in this context, the words seem uncomfortably unyielding—more like a cage than an arch.

He knows he cannot receive love without wanting to give back in turn; the idea is not believable even in passing. But that is not the point. Whether he wants to give Set anything is not the point, and his embrace turns desperately tight, clutching at Set’s back as he grapples with his utter inability to be good for the man who is even now trying to confess his love for him.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn't matter if Set promises to choose Liem, if he says that he loves him, if he says he is worth it, because he still wants in return: Liem’s devotion, Liem’s loyalty, Liem’s love. And one thing he knows is that he has always disappointed the people who have wanted these things from him, and they have ever decided that they didn’t want them after all.]

I’m not.

[He mumbles it against the god’s hair, even as one hand climbs up to stroke the back of his head, a melancholy, self-comforting touch gentle over glossy red silk. Set is right, though. He’s not worth it. There’s something wrong with him—with the love he has to offer. He’s sure even Set will realize it eventually.

I want you to choose me too, he said.

It inspires a terrible panic in Liem, because choosing someone has always meant, to him, that he would try to be whatever they wanted—and that has always been the beginning of the end. Shame aches so wretchedly behind his ribs, strangles him so tightly, that he can barely breathe. He cannot stop his eyes from stinging again, spilling tears down already-damp cheeks.]

Set. I don’t know how: To love properly. To be worth loving.

You weren’t supposed to ask that of me.

[redsoil]

[ Bending his spine, he leans his upper half away from Liem. Unwilling to break from his hold entirely, but badly needing to see his face as those cool fingers stroke through his hair. What Liem says and what Liem does confuse him, so much. He says he cannot love, yet the simple acceptance he offers and the gentle contact ( the commiseration over their struggles with diet, with food; the horrific similarities between the men who desire to own them; the agonizing lack of self worth ) are more than Set could ask for. Are they not forms of love? Could they not be?

His hands sweep up, to the wetness on Liem's cheeks. Such a stoic man, and here he stands crying — and why? Because someone wants to love him and be loved in return? Liem is crying. The way that Set had wept in his lap, sobbing because he hadn't even had the opportunity to help this man at the time and he had thought him lost. Had prepared, then, to still be his friend even if it meant ending his life to keep his promise to his son. And then Liem had come back, and in part for him. How strange, to be shown such consideration!

So, he dips down a little, to place his face at the line of Liem's eye — and drags the warmth of his tongue, animal-like, across the salt of his tears before meeting his eye.

]

I do not believe that about you. Any of it. Let me learn who you are, and determine that for myself. I do not need you to love me — I want you to. And if... you do not, that is fine. But, I will not accept that you are incapable of it.

[sterngaze]

[Though Liem doesn’t know what to expect in response to his denial, he knows that what he has offered Set is not what the other man deserved to hear, and not what he wanted. A helpless, unhappy anxiety squirms through him even as he says it, uncertain what this, too, will mean for him. For them. If only he could be better… but he doesn’t know how. Ultimately, he can only be what he is.

He is not expecting, when Set draws back to look at him, the red-eyed stare and the hands on his face to be followed by the god’s tongue dragging over the damp of his cheek. Liem’s expression, stern and frowning in an effort not to crumple in abject misery, falters in bewildered surprise. He is suddenly left completely lost, having no ready reply to anything that is happening in this moment.

He opens his mouth, but it is a while before he can make anything come out.]

All right.

[Shockingly, he finds that when Set says he doesn’t need his love, even if he wants it… he actually believes him. Maybe it’s because he is divine, and ultimately doesn’t need anything from mortals aside from their worship. (Maybe it’s because his love isn’t shallow.)

Liem leans his face gently into one of the hands framing it, feeling overwarm and nervous and a little sick. He desperately wants to just go lie down.]

I’m sorry I called you a liar. That was unfair of me.

[redsoil]

It wasn't, really.

[ Right here, he lets himself slip a little.

The deep formality, the glowing audacity of a god used to speaking and being heard slips away and leaves him a little quieter, a little subdued. His tongue slackens, words blurring into something more casual and less — distant. Liem apologizes for calling him a liar, and he suddenly feels very tired. Lying used to be something he did, a lot. Enough, so that his entire history was changed for the worst because he'd put on a mask and lied, pretending he was something monstrous and strong.

Liem wasn't entirely wrong, he thinks. Maybe he is still lying, just to himself. ]

I made you stand in your foyer and have a terrible conversation with me, I'm not surprised you spoke harshly. We all say things... that we do and don't mean, when we are overwhelmed and scared. One day, I'll even do the same to you.

[ He's NOT talking about his confession of love!!!

Set dips, bending at the knees a little so that he can shove his arms around Liem's waist and the back of his thighs and lift him, bodily hauling him up from the ground so that he can hold him. Carry him deeper into the house, face pushing into the cool crook of his neck as he does so. He can follow his nose, familiar with the shape and size of the rooms and halls, the cool, dark spaces that Liem needs because the sunlight hurts him. ]

It's still choosing one another afterwards that matters.