[ Cardan only narrowly resists the urge to roll his eyes -- not because Liem is being ridiculous, but because being so roundly rejected is embarrassing, and rouses his inclination for childishness. If he hadn't just finished grandstanding about how trustworthy he could be, he might have given in.
Even so, the look he directs Liem's way is openly disbelieving. ]
What does it matter if you're someone who needs comfort?
[ ...that's a disingenuous question. He knows why it matters. He just didn't expect it to matter to Liem, somehow, even though all the signs had long been there. Even as he'd learned more about the ways in which Liem's father was terrible to him, he had still thought his upbringing as cushier than his own -- after all, at least Liem had the safety of being his father's heir, and none of the drawbacks of being a drunken disappointment.
Evidently, this had not made as big of a difference as he'd assumed. ]
Besides, no one needs comfort; we only want it, and denying yourself is stupid. I would know.
[Liem should have known that he wouldn’t profit from trying to argue with Cardan about this. As he might have expected, the endeavour has only exhausted him, and more than that, his utter failure to even slightly impress his point of view on Cardan has made him feel stupid and childish. It makes him wish he had simply given Cardan what he wanted, instead of setting himself up to be humiliated when he’d only just put the night’s previous embarrassment behind him.
Despite all his most fervent wishes, he is certain that this couldn’t be more obvious to Cardan. He can feel shame twisting in his stomach and burning beneath his skin, and though he knows he should say something else, suddenly he cannot force his wilful tongue to move. Instead he draws his legs up to wrap his arms around them, staring unhappily past his husband from overtop his knees.
He hates how rough his voice sounds when he finally manages to make himself speak.]
That is only the second time tonight that someone has implied that I might be stupid.
[ He didn't think there was a way to say a wronger thing than he already had, but apparently he's slated to exceed his own expectations this night. He watches Liem fold in on himself, silently and miserably, the same way he'd looked leaving Iago's rooms in that hallway, and feels utterly helpless. The space between them, an arm's length at most, has become a bottomless chasm he cannot seem to cross no matter how much he tires.
Considering he was already thinking it, what Liem says after that shouldn't feel like such a slap. And yet it does; and yet he feels the shock of it filter through him.
Liem was right. He shouldn't have come out. Or he should have quit while he was ahead, when his husband was still letting Cardan touch him, when he was smiling at wolf pups, when things seemed so infinitely much less painful than they do now. But he just couldn't leave well enough alone; he had to be stubborn, had to be right, and now he's chased down a man who was already in pain and made a bloodbath out of his place of respite. And, somewhere between his ribs, a wretched little fear squirms into being: this is how it starts. This is how Liem realizes that this is bad for him. This is how their marriage bleeds out and dies.
He has to catch his breath around the thought. It makes him look away, then rub his palms over his hot face -- but their comparative coolness only reminds him of Liem, who doesn't want to be touched, and is therefore not comforting at all.
The decent thing would probably be to offer to leave. He cannot. Even if he has no hope of course correcting now, he hears himself trying again, foolishly. ]
That is... not what I meant. I just-- [ He breaks off with a noise of frustration, muffled against his palms. Even when he pulls them away, he cannot look at Liem, not quite. ]
In the carriage. After I'd had the wraithberry wine. I wanted to be-- [ despite all his big overtures, saying it is immensely uncomfortable; his nails dig half-moons into his palms when he does ] --to be comforted. But I was stubborn, and proud, and foolish, and so I just grit my teeth and pretended I was fine. And if I'd died, I would have died a stubborn, miserable fool. And what for? Whose good opinion was I even courting, Liem?
[ Only now does his gaze cut to his husband, a little desperate. ]
I just don't want to do that anymore. Not with you.
[Liem wants so badly to believe in Cardan when he says he doesn’t want them to pretend with each other anymore. He wants to feel confident that it wouldn’t change anything at all if his husband were to see him cry, no matter how pathetic the reason. At every other time, when he is in Cardan’s arms, he always feels so safe and cared for. He wants to trust in that safety when he wishes most for it, too.
He doesn’t know if he can—but he does know something else. He knows that Cardan’s poisoning still haunts him in his more despairing hours, and he knows that he would have given anything to comfort Cardan properly during that miserable, interminable ride home, though he had failed at it so utterly. In his current state, the memory does nothing to lift his mood, but he does now at least meet his husband’s gaze.]
It’s yours. Your good opinion that I want.
[Obviously he craves Cardan’s good opinion—wants to be reliable and charming and desirable and trustworthy. He wants Cardan to respect him and look at him as an equal, not as someone whose flaws Cardan grudgingly tolerates out of some lingering fondness.
And still, and still…]
And I want to be able to be comforting to you. [The way he says it, it’s clear he has no confidence in succeeding in this area either. Yet somehow, this is still not the most difficult thing for him to say.] And… I want to… to be someone you wish to care for. Not just to prove that you can.
[ He hates the hope that lights up in him the moment Liem looks at him. He shouldn’t do this — shouldn’t allow himself such premature relief. It’s foolish; he only needs to look back on the last few minutes to know how foolish.
Especially when every word makes it more clear how terribly they’ve failed in understanding each other. That Liem thinks he needs still wish for Cardan’s regard, when he had earned it months ago. That he doesn’t think his presence was a balm, even in those wretched minutes when Cardan let his pride win over his reason. And then, worst of all, the last thing—
Well, he had posited it as a matter of equivalence. ]
Liem.
[ His voice sounds grave to his own ears. He moves to untangle his legs, rising up to kneel. And he doesn’t care, all of a sudden, that Liem had rejected his touch just minutes ago — he is unacceptably far away, and Cardan cannot stand it at all. Of all the comforts Liem’s company affords him, his husband’s closeness is the most visceral; now that he’s used to having it, he no longer knows how to do without.
But when he reaches for Liem’s face, he finds himself oddly uncertain, his hands faltering mid-air. He’s fucked up so badly already; he doesn’t know how to touch Liem when he’s like this, huddled in on himself. He doesn’t know that he won’t just make everything worse.
He swallows around his own strange desperation. ]
I don’t care for comparing ledgers. It’s just—
[ His empty palms close, a little helpless, as he sinks back onto his haunches. ]
Liem, happiness is so radiant on you.
Seeing it marred makes me loathe everything and everyone else.
[ Which is a rich thing to say for a man who has marred it so thoroughly this night. But then, Cardan has never suffered from an excess of shame. ]
[For much of this conversation, Liem has been struggling against his own traitorous feelings, bent as they seem to be on tearing down what measure of composure he’s yet managed to cling to. It has been a losing battle; he has scorned his own husband’s touch and curled in on himself as if protecting some mortal wound, though he knows he is serving nothing by doing this. He simply cannot seem to help himself. He cannot make himself endure with some semblance of dignity, when his misery cracks and flares and batters him like thunder, defying all his efforts to ignore it.
The only claim he can still make to victory is that he has, at least, not yet let himself cry. He gazes dry-eyed at Cardan as his husband rises to his knees, defying him to drag this out of him too. He knows it isn’t fair to act like Cardan is doing this on purpose, but he has felt so harried, so backed into a corner in these past minutes that he cannot quite believe it wasn’t at least somewhat intentional.
But damn him, because Liem can’t stop the sting in his eyes at what Cardan says then. He looses his grip round his legs, spine springing upright as though tugged taut with wire attached to the crown of his head, and he stares a moment before ducking his head to wipe at one eye with the heel of his palm.
Damn Cardan for making longing squeeze his heart, even now. Damn him for saying such things, when Liem is so desperate to leap upon any suggestion of love Cardan offers him, no matter how temporary it might prove to be.]
Cardan.
[With his free hand, he finds one of Cardan’s and pulls it closer, holding it against his chest.]
What is one bad night, against the breadth of forever?
Edited (THEY ARE NOCTURNAL) 2024-12-06 19:18 (UTC)
[ He doesn't really understand the thing that happens -- Liem's startled movement, the swipe at his face-- is he crying? For a pained moment, Cardan feels even more hopeless; he had not thought that the thing he'd said could provoke a response so horrible, surely. But how often had he thought that this night, and been proven entirely wrong?
He must look as lost as he feels, even when Liem takes his hand -- though he will squeeze it, even so, desperate as he is for any indication that he hasn't ruined things entirely.
Despite that, the question makes him frown. One bad night, Liem says, as if Iago hasn't loomed over their lives for months, now. Cardan may not have been aware of the hideous lengths his father-in-law was willing to go to keep his son under his thumb, but his tactics themselves are too intimately familiar. He's not hopeful enough to believe that forever won't be comprised of more nights like this one... or worse. After all, if he were in Liem's shoes, he would not let himself be found next time.
But he doesn't want to voice his morose and anxious thoughts. For perhaps the first time in his life, he finds that he no longer cares about winning the argument. He only wants to fix things -- only wants his husband to trust him again, even if it's only to the paltry extent that he had before.
He exhales, steadying, and then leans in, tipping his brow against Liem's once more. Surely, that much is allowed to him. ]
Forever is a long time for me to never cock things up again.
[ Despite his dry tone, he is too eager for Liem's closeness; his fingertips graze over his husband's flank, the line of his waist. It has only been minutes, and already Cardan misses him like they'd been apart for months. ]
On second thought, perhaps we ought to send me to console our worst enemies instead.
[It is the way Cardan says it, as though all Liem’s misery were his doing, as though his company were a curse rather than a desperately-needed boon, that makes Liem realize how loath he is to see Cardan leave. The hand gripping Cardan’s squeezes tighter in answer, and then he brings an arm around his husband, keeping him covetously close as their foreheads rest together.]
No.
[No, he doesn’t want his husband leaving to give his attention to some villain. When Cardan had found him here, Liem hadn’t wanted to expose himself in front of him; he’d felt sure Cardan would regret trying to shoulder his weakness, that it would worsen Cardan’s opinion of him. He hadn’t thought his husband might come to feel his presence was worse than useless. He hadn’t meant to make Cardan think he wanted him gone.]
I want you with me. Even if I’m being difficult about it. Even if I don’t want to speak of anything at all.
[He still doesn’t want to talk about his hurt at his father’s coldness, or how humiliated he is for his efforts to please him to amount to nothing at all—but there is one thing that he absolutely cannot abide, and that is Cardan believing Liem doesn’t want him with him always, no matter what.]
How quickly it blooms in Cardan's throat when Liem pulls him close. How fervently he wishes to believe Liem-- to think that his husband hasn't come to resent him for being so clumsy and so stubborn in his efforts. Not that it matters whether he believes it or not: he's going to stay. Of course he's going to stay. In truth, he might have stayed even if Liem had asked him to leave, instead, so it's good that he doesn't.
He tips his head, nuzzling against Liem's cheek. It's difficult to stop wanting to touch him, as if to ascertain that all the parts of him are still there. Cardan he runs a covetous palm up Liem's rib cage, over his back, settling between his shoulder blades. ]
Luckily, I have a marked preference for difficult people.
...But if you wish for quiet, then we shall have it.
[ He's said more than enough, anyway. Perhaps it is indeed best to let the song of night creatures take over for a while. ]
[In the end, it seems, Liem has got his way after all; as a reward for weathering Cardan’s questions and arguments, despite telling his husband very little of what he wanted, Liem once again can enjoy the contenting warmth of Cardan’s embrace, uncomplicated by any difficult topics of conversation.
It seems a little unearned. He almost feels like he should be more forthcoming after all, given his husband’s obvious concern—but what would he even say? Nothing he can imagine would change anything about their circumstances, and it would only taint their intimacy with awkwardness while he attempts to give voice to the ineffable shadow haunting so much of his life.
No, he’d best leave well alone. When he next speaks, it is only in response to the joyful arrival of Half-moon and his elder offspring, returned from their unsubtle observation of the moth. Deciding that it is time to leave the pack to their own activities, he suggests Cardan show him where he left his steed—and from there, it is a hike back to the house from the thoroughly abandoned clearing with its toppled wine bottles.]
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Even so, the look he directs Liem's way is openly disbelieving. ]
What does it matter if you're someone who needs comfort?
[ ...that's a disingenuous question. He knows why it matters. He just didn't expect it to matter to Liem, somehow, even though all the signs had long been there. Even as he'd learned more about the ways in which Liem's father was terrible to him, he had still thought his upbringing as cushier than his own -- after all, at least Liem had the safety of being his father's heir, and none of the drawbacks of being a drunken disappointment.
Evidently, this had not made as big of a difference as he'd assumed. ]
Besides, no one needs comfort; we only want it, and denying yourself is stupid. I would know.
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Despite all his most fervent wishes, he is certain that this couldn’t be more obvious to Cardan. He can feel shame twisting in his stomach and burning beneath his skin, and though he knows he should say something else, suddenly he cannot force his wilful tongue to move. Instead he draws his legs up to wrap his arms around them, staring unhappily past his husband from overtop his knees.
He hates how rough his voice sounds when he finally manages to make himself speak.]
That is only the second time tonight that someone has implied that I might be stupid.
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Considering he was already thinking it, what Liem says after that shouldn't feel like such a slap. And yet it does; and yet he feels the shock of it filter through him.
Liem was right. He shouldn't have come out. Or he should have quit while he was ahead, when his husband was still letting Cardan touch him, when he was smiling at wolf pups, when things seemed so infinitely much less painful than they do now. But he just couldn't leave well enough alone; he had to be stubborn, had to be right, and now he's chased down a man who was already in pain and made a bloodbath out of his place of respite. And, somewhere between his ribs, a wretched little fear squirms into being: this is how it starts. This is how Liem realizes that this is bad for him. This is how their marriage bleeds out and dies.
He has to catch his breath around the thought. It makes him look away, then rub his palms over his hot face -- but their comparative coolness only reminds him of Liem, who doesn't want to be touched, and is therefore not comforting at all.
The decent thing would probably be to offer to leave. He cannot. Even if he has no hope of course correcting now, he hears himself trying again, foolishly. ]
That is... not what I meant. I just-- [ He breaks off with a noise of frustration, muffled against his palms. Even when he pulls them away, he cannot look at Liem, not quite. ]
In the carriage. After I'd had the wraithberry wine. I wanted to be-- [ despite all his big overtures, saying it is immensely uncomfortable; his nails dig half-moons into his palms when he does ] --to be comforted. But I was stubborn, and proud, and foolish, and so I just grit my teeth and pretended I was fine. And if I'd died, I would have died a stubborn, miserable fool. And what for? Whose good opinion was I even courting, Liem?
[ Only now does his gaze cut to his husband, a little desperate. ]
I just don't want to do that anymore. Not with you.
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He doesn’t know if he can—but he does know something else. He knows that Cardan’s poisoning still haunts him in his more despairing hours, and he knows that he would have given anything to comfort Cardan properly during that miserable, interminable ride home, though he had failed at it so utterly. In his current state, the memory does nothing to lift his mood, but he does now at least meet his husband’s gaze.]
It’s yours. Your good opinion that I want.
[Obviously he craves Cardan’s good opinion—wants to be reliable and charming and desirable and trustworthy. He wants Cardan to respect him and look at him as an equal, not as someone whose flaws Cardan grudgingly tolerates out of some lingering fondness.
And still, and still…]
And I want to be able to be comforting to you. [The way he says it, it’s clear he has no confidence in succeeding in this area either. Yet somehow, this is still not the most difficult thing for him to say.] And… I want to… to be someone you wish to care for. Not just to prove that you can.
no subject
Especially when every word makes it more clear how terribly they’ve failed in understanding each other. That Liem thinks he needs still wish for Cardan’s regard, when he had earned it months ago. That he doesn’t think his presence was a balm, even in those wretched minutes when Cardan let his pride win over his reason. And then, worst of all, the last thing—
Well, he had posited it as a matter of equivalence. ]
Liem.
[ His voice sounds grave to his own ears. He moves to untangle his legs, rising up to kneel. And he doesn’t care, all of a sudden, that Liem had rejected his touch just minutes ago — he is unacceptably far away, and Cardan cannot stand it at all. Of all the comforts Liem’s company affords him, his husband’s closeness is the most visceral; now that he’s used to having it, he no longer knows how to do without.
But when he reaches for Liem’s face, he finds himself oddly uncertain, his hands faltering mid-air. He’s fucked up so badly already; he doesn’t know how to touch Liem when he’s like this, huddled in on himself. He doesn’t know that he won’t just make everything worse.
He swallows around his own strange desperation. ]
I don’t care for comparing ledgers. It’s just—
[ His empty palms close, a little helpless, as he sinks back onto his haunches. ]
Liem, happiness is so radiant on you.
Seeing it marred makes me loathe everything and everyone else.
[ Which is a rich thing to say for a man who has marred it so thoroughly this night. But then, Cardan has never suffered from an excess of shame. ]
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The only claim he can still make to victory is that he has, at least, not yet let himself cry. He gazes dry-eyed at Cardan as his husband rises to his knees, defying him to drag this out of him too. He knows it isn’t fair to act like Cardan is doing this on purpose, but he has felt so harried, so backed into a corner in these past minutes that he cannot quite believe it wasn’t at least somewhat intentional.
But damn him, because Liem can’t stop the sting in his eyes at what Cardan says then. He looses his grip round his legs, spine springing upright as though tugged taut with wire attached to the crown of his head, and he stares a moment before ducking his head to wipe at one eye with the heel of his palm.
Damn Cardan for making longing squeeze his heart, even now. Damn him for saying such things, when Liem is so desperate to leap upon any suggestion of love Cardan offers him, no matter how temporary it might prove to be.]
Cardan.
[With his free hand, he finds one of Cardan’s and pulls it closer, holding it against his chest.]
What is one bad night, against the breadth of forever?
no subject
He must look as lost as he feels, even when Liem takes his hand -- though he will squeeze it, even so, desperate as he is for any indication that he hasn't ruined things entirely.
Despite that, the question makes him frown. One bad night, Liem says, as if Iago hasn't loomed over their lives for months, now. Cardan may not have been aware of the hideous lengths his father-in-law was willing to go to keep his son under his thumb, but his tactics themselves are too intimately familiar. He's not hopeful enough to believe that forever won't be comprised of more nights like this one... or worse. After all, if he were in Liem's shoes, he would not let himself be found next time.
But he doesn't want to voice his morose and anxious thoughts. For perhaps the first time in his life, he finds that he no longer cares about winning the argument. He only wants to fix things -- only wants his husband to trust him again, even if it's only to the paltry extent that he had before.
He exhales, steadying, and then leans in, tipping his brow against Liem's once more. Surely, that much is allowed to him. ]
Forever is a long time for me to never cock things up again.
[ Despite his dry tone, he is too eager for Liem's closeness; his fingertips graze over his husband's flank, the line of his waist. It has only been minutes, and already Cardan misses him like they'd been apart for months. ]
On second thought, perhaps we ought to send me to console our worst enemies instead.
no subject
No.
[No, he doesn’t want his husband leaving to give his attention to some villain. When Cardan had found him here, Liem hadn’t wanted to expose himself in front of him; he’d felt sure Cardan would regret trying to shoulder his weakness, that it would worsen Cardan’s opinion of him. He hadn’t thought his husband might come to feel his presence was worse than useless. He hadn’t meant to make Cardan think he wanted him gone.]
I want you with me. Even if I’m being difficult about it. Even if I don’t want to speak of anything at all.
[He still doesn’t want to talk about his hurt at his father’s coldness, or how humiliated he is for his efforts to please him to amount to nothing at all—but there is one thing that he absolutely cannot abide, and that is Cardan believing Liem doesn’t want him with him always, no matter what.]
no subject
How quickly it blooms in Cardan's throat when Liem pulls him close. How fervently he wishes to believe Liem-- to think that his husband hasn't come to resent him for being so clumsy and so stubborn in his efforts. Not that it matters whether he believes it or not: he's going to stay. Of course he's going to stay. In truth, he might have stayed even if Liem had asked him to leave, instead, so it's good that he doesn't.
He tips his head, nuzzling against Liem's cheek. It's difficult to stop wanting to touch him, as if to ascertain that all the parts of him are still there. Cardan he runs a covetous palm up Liem's rib cage, over his back, settling between his shoulder blades. ]
Luckily, I have a marked preference for difficult people.
...But if you wish for quiet, then we shall have it.
[ He's said more than enough, anyway. Perhaps it is indeed best to let the song of night creatures take over for a while. ]
no subject
It seems a little unearned. He almost feels like he should be more forthcoming after all, given his husband’s obvious concern—but what would he even say? Nothing he can imagine would change anything about their circumstances, and it would only taint their intimacy with awkwardness while he attempts to give voice to the ineffable shadow haunting so much of his life.
No, he’d best leave well alone. When he next speaks, it is only in response to the joyful arrival of Half-moon and his elder offspring, returned from their unsubtle observation of the moth. Deciding that it is time to leave the pack to their own activities, he suggests Cardan show him where he left his steed—and from there, it is a hike back to the house from the thoroughly abandoned clearing with its toppled wine bottles.]