"And I could probably amputate my own foot if I had to, like a fox in a
trap, but I'm not so much of an animal yet that I'm ready to start cutting
off parts of myself."
He sighs and shakes his head, knowing that Pom can't really understand. For
the other man, magic is still something strange and dangerous that he's
barely getting used to through exposure. Pom sees it as something Gale
does; Gale sees it as who he is. "It's not just a vocation that I'm skilled
at. The first time I did magic, I was little more than a babe, barely
walking. I don't remember my life before magic. I lost my powers once
before, because of this." He lightly touches that bruised looking circle.
"And it was the lowest point in my life. I had to relearn everything, claw
my way back to my former powers, and I can do that again. I don't know how
to give up, though."
It takes everything in Pom to not remark about how Gale literally has cut parts of himself off — or had Eli do it, rather — but he lets the wizard continue uninterrupted, deciding it's not worth explaining how he found out that tidbit of information by going behind Gale's back and cornering Eli outside the theater. He moves to the edge of the basin; there's a tray there lined with various soaps and oils, clearly meant to float on the water. He starts gathering it up, along with some rags and sponges, all fancier than anything he's ever used in his life.
"I get it," he says, his back still turned to Gale. "I get being born feeling like... you're made for one thing, and one thing only. It ain't all you are, but... that's what you make it sound like. What you come to believe."
He swallows the knot in his throat as he dances around the subject of his own past, keeps it as vague as it always is. He's more specific as he angles toward the topic of Gale himself.
"Difference between us is it's what you want to do. Who you want to be. Whereas I couldn't get far enough away from it."
"Then it isn't the same," he says simply, still more direct than he had
been before Patho-gen took him. "There's being a natural at something,
that's part of it, but that's where the similarities end. There's also
loving it so much you wouldn't choose anything else."
He sinks deeper into the water so that his head rests back against the edge
of the basin. "You never chose your former life. That's why you dance
around it when you talk about it, right? Your choices say as much about you
as your talents." He tilts his head. "What exactly did you do that you
still carry so much guilt over?"
Pom's hand trembles as he sets the bottles onto the tray as delicately as his Shifted fingers, so large and clawed and made for nothing but destruction, will allow. He was right before: Gale is smart. Gale can also see right through him when he chooses to do so.
"I don't—"
He starts to lie so smoothly, so easily; he's done this dance a hundred times, and even those who know about his past in Karteria only know because he chose to tell them, forced himself to. He wanted Northly to realize he wasn't a good person; he wanted Mel to see that he understood her. What does he want from Gale?
That's not an easy question to answer, as every outcome is full of contradictions. His more intimate feelings aside, Pom wants Gale to realize that no, their pasts aren't entirely the same, but it's close enough that they can commiserate. Pom wants Gale to see himself the way he sees him, even if he knows the importance of being seen the way one desires to be seen entirely too well. He wants them to be honest with one another, but the thought of revealing who he is under that dandy persona makes his stomach turn, even after all this time of living together. It only gets worse the longer it goes on, the more monstrous they become.
He looks to the tiny bottles on the tray, wetting his lips as he tries again. It's better Gale knows now, when it's easier to walk away.
"I was a poacher. A thief, a killer. Whatever I needed to be. I didn't choose that life, but I reveled in it all the same."
Gale lets him work through his thoughts in silence. He cares for Pom, so
much so that he thinks he could drown in it, but he doesn't know how to be
soft anymore. He still knows how to love, but like Pom, his clawed hands
aren't made for handling things gently.
"I wonder which of us has killed more people," he muses after a moment of
silence, "I never kept count. Did you?"
That Gale, too, has killed people somehow doesn't surprise Pom. His mind comes up with a dozen justifications, all of which are good enough for Gale, but not for himself.
He shakes his head. "No. Count don't matter so much as how I felt about it."
"Somehow, everything is different when it's you. You hold yourself to
different rules, harsher standards," Gale says. His gaze is strange now,
unwavering, almost unblinking. "You enjoyed it. So did I. The thrill of
battle, of victory. The adrenaline rush! The sound and smells of people
burning alive, not so much, but—" He winces with the intense feeling of
deja vu that hits him.
Pom turns to face him, tray still in hand, his temper hot as the water. Gale makes it sound like it's no big deal - that his past is nothing that should stay with him, weigh on him, dictate who he is and what he does now. He's been hiding for the entirety of his new life; he modeled himself into someone and something else, all for sins that Gale makes sound mundane, commonplace, acceptable.
The steam fogs his glasses, but he can't bear to remove them, not when he can't hide the rest of himself. Gale's gaze cuts him straight through, and he goes on the defensive before he can stop himself.
"There's no thrill when they don't fight. When you gut people just because it makes you feel good. When you take all they've got and don't even leave them with their lives, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did you do that? How many of those did you do?"
Gale leans in a little, unwilling to back down. "So you liked hurting
people who couldn't fight back? Taking from those who couldn't defend
themselves? What's stopping you from doing it now, then? You're bigger,
stronger. I doubt there are many people who could stop you. So what's
stopping you?"
He splashes a little water in his face, almost painful, all challenge. "I
think you didn't know any other way. I think when someone showed you a
different path, you took it. I think you changed."
He can concede that much. "I did change... but I wouldn't have done it on my own." He can concede that much, too.
Pom closes the gap between them, setting the tray on the water before grabbing one of the rags and dunking it beneath the surface. He wrings it tightly before reaching for Gale's arm, not even asking for permission to help. It's a routine he knows, one that also reminds him of home - of her. Despite their proximity, he avoids meeting Gale's eyes.
"I was good at what I did. Liked it, for the most part. It's Purl who changed me, and without her... I'd still be there. Still be a monster because I wouldn't choose otherwise." He handles Gale's limb cautiously, wary of his wounds, and with all the attentiveness of someone who has had to dress many across the years. "When we left that life, I had to be a different person. Relearn everything. Claw my way toward being something. It might not've been ideal, but I had a reason to."
"I don't think anyone does. The people we love always leave a mark, for better or worse."
Pom reaches for his arm, and Gale goes rigid at the unexpected contact. As a wizard, he was always nervous about having his hands restrained, because it left him unable to cast spells, but since his Patho-Gen capture and subsequent torture, he's especially skitish. He's not afraid of Pom, he's just afraid. It says a lot about how much he trusts Pom that he does not pull away, though a tremble does run down his arm and his pulse gallops.
"You had a reason to, but you didn't have to. I'm not saying you ought to forget every bad thing you ever did, but you deserve credit for the strides you've made too." He reaches for Pom's steam fogged glasses with his free hand. "I know something about feeling like if people ever saw all of you, the real you, then they would leave. But I like you and I'm not going anywhere."
Pom freezes when Gale does, realizing all too late that he should have asked, should have considered what happened to him, should have done this, should have done that. Gale is right that Pom holds himself to harsher standards, but that's because he feels he has to. His leash has been far too loose without Purl, and in her absence, he's fallen back into old habits, old patterns.
And old ways of thinking. She'd scold him if she knew he thought he needed to be caged again.
Despite everything that happened to him, Gale doesn't pull away, and Pom is silently grateful, all the more gentle as he continues to help him wash around the tender scar tissue around his shoulders. That puts him well in range for Gale to reach for his glasses, and though Pom flinches reflexively when they're touched, he allows him to take them, reddening at the tops of his long ears and along his cheekbones.
"You say you know that feeling, but then talk like your magic is all you are," he remarks quietly, hoping the steam covers for the feelings he's struggling to rein in. His eyes are as vibrant as ever, though their glow is a little less fiery orange and more warm amber these days, a ring of brown — much like Northly's eyes — now framing the edges. "But that's not the Gale I see... or the one I like. The one I'd have done anything to get back."
Gale wasn't without scars before he arrived in Karteria, but a mage's place
in combat is always at the rear, and he didn't have any major blemishes
other than the orb. That's certainly not true anymore. Pom's kicks to his
legs during their fight at the Valentia, Astarion's bites, his own
mutations and amputations, Patho-Gen's torture — it has all left its mark.
He watches Pom clean all that gnarled flesh so gently, gentler than he
looks like he'd be able to, and his heart aches fiercely. The owlbear makes
demands that Gale can't fulfill.
"I know you would have. I remember what you said while I was trapped," he
says softly. It's easier to stop pretending he doesn't remember the circus
dream when they're not making eye contact, Pom still focused on his skin.
Pom dips the rag back into the water before picking up one of the bottles, trying to determine if it's a fancy soap, shampoo, or oil from viscosity alone. He's barely got it worked into a lather before Gale brings up the dream; his hands pause, his eyes flicking to Gale's face. For a second, he's pretty sure his heart stops.
Gale sees that hesitancy, but completely misinterprets it's cause, assuming
that Pom is as uncomfortable as he is because they kissed, because Pom is
already spoken for. "Yes, it has all been slowly coming back to me in bits
and pieces," Gale admits, gaze flicking away. "And I am so sorry. It wasn't
fair of me to do that to you, I know. Not when you were there for me, as
you always are, offering me comfort and strength when I had none. I fear I
repaid your kindness poorly, and I'm sorry."
When he was being tortured and maimed by people with absolute control over them, all while locked away where no one could find them. Pom has largely been avoiding talking about the dream for fear of bringing those memories back - it's not right to make Gale relive them, all so he can figure out his own feelings.
Though he resumes carefully scrubbing Gale, his ears dip as he struggles to focus on it.
"I was just... I was happy to see you. Relieved. Angry and frustrated and helpless to do a damn thing about it, but also... like I could breathe again, just knowing you were still there. That you weren't gone. You've got nothing to be sorry about."
"I know and that's..." Pom gently scrubs around the scars left by
Astarion's reptilian bite, and he can feel the tension in Gale's shoulders.
"I thought I wasn't coming back, so I could be excused for my indiscretion.
That's no excuse, though." He turns, making sure he can catch Pom's eyes
when he continues. "It was taking advantage of your friendship, not to
mention Northly. So yes, I am sorry to have done that to you."
Gale seems so guilty, and Pom has yet to parse why; the wizard meets his eyes, and Pom can't help but smile in return as he thinks of Northly, of what she tried to insist to him time and time again, embarrassment coloring him. Though the urge to keep talking about the dream — about what happened in it — is there, he keeps scrubbing, making his way up Gale's other arm as carefully as the first.
"I'd admit I was surprised, but... Northly was convinced you were interested months ago. That we'd already been involved at the Valentia when she heard me Shifting in my room."
This is a lot of disparate information to deal with all at once. "She... Was? And she doesn't care?" Gale says, looking completely agog. "But the two of you are basically married!" Then again, he has spoken to Northly enough about her views on sexuality that when he considers it, it doesn't seem particularly surprising that she would be alright with polyamory.
It's Pom's turn to look utterly lost, his brow knitting as he looks up to meet Gale's eyes again, a nervous smile tugging at him as though to help mask it.
"It's just... I thought she might be jealous, since the two of you are together?" He gesticulates more when he's nervous and embarrassed, and he ends up accidentally splashing Pom. "I mean, there are certainly those where I'm from who have multiple romantic partners at once, and I don't judge them, I'm just not one of them."
He's not usually the sort, but Pom can't help the laugh that escapes him, a single chuckle of utter relief. For months, Northly has been reassuring him that Gale was interested in him; Pom argued Gale wasn't, that his own inability to express himself with any degree of sincerity had pushed the wizard away. It was better they were just friends - Gale needed someone who could be honest with him, who knew what he wanted and how to vocalize it.
As it turns out, Gale might have had a completely unrelated hang up, and they've been talking around one another the entire time. He lifts Gale's hand to his face, pressing his cheek into it. He's not good with words and vulnerability, far more comfortable expressing himself through gestures.
"It's not like that between us. Never has been. We're close, but... not the way I wanted to be with you."
Gale stands frozen, eyes wide, just struggling to work through what he's just been told. "The two of you aren't...?" Pom presses Gale's hand to his face and his fingers brush his jaw. "And you wanted to be with me... Want to be with me?" He takes a step closer. The beast inside him is howling for him to kiss Pom again (and more), but the thinky human half needs to hear it.
Pom has always considered himself a selfish thing. While he sought to provide for Purl in their new lives, he'd convinced himself it was because he needed her - she made him feel useful, whole, like a person. She deserved better than he'd given her, and he would spend the rest of his life making it right. He hadn't needed to consider what he wanted because his wants were hers.
That had been well and good until Karteria, where he's had to learn to survive on his own, to find his own desires and wants while navigating the horror of losing himself. Eventually, it wasn't about just survival anymore, but how he could feel whole again in this strange place as his humanity slipped away bit by bit, pieces of him devoured by his Natural Soul. It became about the connections he'd made with his Imprints, what he could do for them, how they made him feel in turn. He needed to get back to his world — get home — but for the time being... he'd make it. His Imprints would help him survive without her.
But one of them was different. Eventually, he figured out why it was his stomach turned when Gale was near, but no one else. Why Gale could hold his attention for hours doing nothing but reading aloud. Why he started to think of that little house he shared with Gale as home, and looked forward to returning to it each night. Something new took hold in him - not the loss of his other half, or the frustration at his fading sense of identity, but something hot enough to keep his bones warm: ardor.
And there it was, something he'd seen on the outside, had faked a handful of times, but hadn't experienced for himself. A habitual liar like himself wanted a genuine relationship, but had not a singular clue how to get it - how to be authentic enough to deserve it. Could he even be sincere enough to deserve it? Most other relationships in his life have been performative, a transactional play rather than something bound by emotions and heartstrings. It was better that they could only see the mask, that he wasn't himself.
And Gale deserved better. He wanted better. Pom had convinced himself of that, too.
And then came the dream. In his worst moments, thinking the end was near, Gale had chosen to set aside his pain and despair to express how he felt. It was the kind of vulnerability Pom isn't sure he's capable of... but he's desperate to learn, even if the prospect is terrifying. However, with no bars between them, their bodies soothed by the heat of the water and the comfortable thrum of their Imprint, he finds it much easier to try. They're both laid bare, literally and figuratively.
And Gale is still here. Despite knowing what Pom was once upon a time, despite seeing his monstrous shape again and again, despite knowing he will live... he is still here.
"If you don't mind that I'm a mess—"
Pom doesn't finish that sentence, cut off as he leans into Gale, his free hand wrapping around his neck, and steals a kiss for himself.
This time, there are no bars, no wounds, no woe separating them. Ordinarily, Gale would be shy about being naked, hesitant about having this conversation in a hot spring, worried about doing everything the right way, but he has looked his own demise in the eye too many times to be hesitant to go for what he wants now. He surges forward into that kiss with so much force that if Pom's tail wasn't so good for balance, he probably would have knocked them both into the water. He wraps his arms around his middle, almost a hug, desperate to keep him close.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"And I could probably amputate my own foot if I had to, like a fox in a trap, but I'm not so much of an animal yet that I'm ready to start cutting off parts of myself."
He sighs and shakes his head, knowing that Pom can't really understand. For the other man, magic is still something strange and dangerous that he's barely getting used to through exposure. Pom sees it as something Gale does; Gale sees it as who he is. "It's not just a vocation that I'm skilled at. The first time I did magic, I was little more than a babe, barely walking. I don't remember my life before magic. I lost my powers once before, because of this." He lightly touches that bruised looking circle. "And it was the lowest point in my life. I had to relearn everything, claw my way back to my former powers, and I can do that again. I don't know how to give up, though."
no subject
"I get it," he says, his back still turned to Gale. "I get being born feeling like... you're made for one thing, and one thing only. It ain't all you are, but... that's what you make it sound like. What you come to believe."
He swallows the knot in his throat as he dances around the subject of his own past, keeps it as vague as it always is. He's more specific as he angles toward the topic of Gale himself.
"Difference between us is it's what you want to do. Who you want to be. Whereas I couldn't get far enough away from it."
no subject
"Then it isn't the same," he says simply, still more direct than he had been before Patho-gen took him. "There's being a natural at something, that's part of it, but that's where the similarities end. There's also loving it so much you wouldn't choose anything else."
He sinks deeper into the water so that his head rests back against the edge of the basin. "You never chose your former life. That's why you dance around it when you talk about it, right? Your choices say as much about you as your talents." He tilts his head. "What exactly did you do that you still carry so much guilt over?"
no subject
"I don't—"
He starts to lie so smoothly, so easily; he's done this dance a hundred times, and even those who know about his past in Karteria only know because he chose to tell them, forced himself to. He wanted Northly to realize he wasn't a good person; he wanted Mel to see that he understood her. What does he want from Gale?
That's not an easy question to answer, as every outcome is full of contradictions. His more intimate feelings aside, Pom wants Gale to realize that no, their pasts aren't entirely the same, but it's close enough that they can commiserate. Pom wants Gale to see himself the way he sees him, even if he knows the importance of being seen the way one desires to be seen entirely too well. He wants them to be honest with one another, but the thought of revealing who he is under that dandy persona makes his stomach turn, even after all this time of living together. It only gets worse the longer it goes on, the more monstrous they become.
He looks to the tiny bottles on the tray, wetting his lips as he tries again. It's better Gale knows now, when it's easier to walk away.
"I was a poacher. A thief, a killer. Whatever I needed to be. I didn't choose that life, but I reveled in it all the same."
no subject
Gale lets him work through his thoughts in silence. He cares for Pom, so much so that he thinks he could drown in it, but he doesn't know how to be soft anymore. He still knows how to love, but like Pom, his clawed hands aren't made for handling things gently.
"I wonder which of us has killed more people," he muses after a moment of silence, "I never kept count. Did you?"
no subject
He shakes his head. "No. Count don't matter so much as how I felt about it."
no subject
"Somehow, everything is different when it's you. You hold yourself to different rules, harsher standards," Gale says. His gaze is strange now, unwavering, almost unblinking. "You enjoyed it. So did I. The thrill of battle, of victory. The adrenaline rush! The sound and smells of people burning alive, not so much, but—" He winces with the intense feeling of deja vu that hits him.
no subject
Pom turns to face him, tray still in hand, his temper hot as the water. Gale makes it sound like it's no big deal - that his past is nothing that should stay with him, weigh on him, dictate who he is and what he does now. He's been hiding for the entirety of his new life; he modeled himself into someone and something else, all for sins that Gale makes sound mundane, commonplace, acceptable.
The steam fogs his glasses, but he can't bear to remove them, not when he can't hide the rest of himself. Gale's gaze cuts him straight through, and he goes on the defensive before he can stop himself.
"There's no thrill when they don't fight. When you gut people just because it makes you feel good. When you take all they've got and don't even leave them with their lives, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did you do that? How many of those did you do?"
no subject
Gale leans in a little, unwilling to back down. "So you liked hurting people who couldn't fight back? Taking from those who couldn't defend themselves? What's stopping you from doing it now, then? You're bigger, stronger. I doubt there are many people who could stop you. So what's stopping you?"
He splashes a little water in his face, almost painful, all challenge. "I think you didn't know any other way. I think when someone showed you a different path, you took it. I think you changed."
no subject
Pom closes the gap between them, setting the tray on the water before grabbing one of the rags and dunking it beneath the surface. He wrings it tightly before reaching for Gale's arm, not even asking for permission to help. It's a routine he knows, one that also reminds him of home - of her. Despite their proximity, he avoids meeting Gale's eyes.
"I was good at what I did. Liked it, for the most part. It's Purl who changed me, and without her... I'd still be there. Still be a monster because I wouldn't choose otherwise." He handles Gale's limb cautiously, wary of his wounds, and with all the attentiveness of someone who has had to dress many across the years. "When we left that life, I had to be a different person. Relearn everything. Claw my way toward being something. It might not've been ideal, but I had a reason to."
no subject
Pom reaches for his arm, and Gale goes rigid at the unexpected contact. As a wizard, he was always nervous about having his hands restrained, because it left him unable to cast spells, but since his Patho-Gen capture and subsequent torture, he's especially skitish. He's not afraid of Pom, he's just afraid. It says a lot about how much he trusts Pom that he does not pull away, though a tremble does run down his arm and his pulse gallops.
"You had a reason to, but you didn't have to. I'm not saying you ought to forget every bad thing you ever did, but you deserve credit for the strides you've made too." He reaches for Pom's steam fogged glasses with his free hand. "I know something about feeling like if people ever saw all of you, the real you, then they would leave. But I like you and I'm not going anywhere."
no subject
And old ways of thinking. She'd scold him if she knew he thought he needed to be caged again.
Despite everything that happened to him, Gale doesn't pull away, and Pom is silently grateful, all the more gentle as he continues to help him wash around the tender scar tissue around his shoulders. That puts him well in range for Gale to reach for his glasses, and though Pom flinches reflexively when they're touched, he allows him to take them, reddening at the tops of his long ears and along his cheekbones.
"You say you know that feeling, but then talk like your magic is all you are," he remarks quietly, hoping the steam covers for the feelings he's struggling to rein in. His eyes are as vibrant as ever, though their glow is a little less fiery orange and more warm amber these days, a ring of brown — much like Northly's eyes — now framing the edges. "But that's not the Gale I see... or the one I like. The one I'd have done anything to get back."
no subject
Gale wasn't without scars before he arrived in Karteria, but a mage's place in combat is always at the rear, and he didn't have any major blemishes other than the orb. That's certainly not true anymore. Pom's kicks to his legs during their fight at the Valentia, Astarion's bites, his own mutations and amputations, Patho-Gen's torture — it has all left its mark. He watches Pom clean all that gnarled flesh so gently, gentler than he looks like he'd be able to, and his heart aches fiercely. The owlbear makes demands that Gale can't fulfill.
"I know you would have. I remember what you said while I was trapped," he says softly. It's easier to stop pretending he doesn't remember the circus dream when they're not making eye contact, Pom still focused on his skin.
no subject
"You... you do?"
no subject
Gale sees that hesitancy, but completely misinterprets it's cause, assuming that Pom is as uncomfortable as he is because they kissed, because Pom is already spoken for. "Yes, it has all been slowly coming back to me in bits and pieces," Gale admits, gaze flicking away. "And I am so sorry. It wasn't fair of me to do that to you, I know. Not when you were there for me, as you always are, offering me comfort and strength when I had none. I fear I repaid your kindness poorly, and I'm sorry."
no subject
When he was being tortured and maimed by people with absolute control over them, all while locked away where no one could find them. Pom has largely been avoiding talking about the dream for fear of bringing those memories back - it's not right to make Gale relive them, all so he can figure out his own feelings.
Though he resumes carefully scrubbing Gale, his ears dip as he struggles to focus on it.
"I was just... I was happy to see you. Relieved. Angry and frustrated and helpless to do a damn thing about it, but also... like I could breathe again, just knowing you were still there. That you weren't gone. You've got nothing to be sorry about."
no subject
"I know and that's..." Pom gently scrubs around the scars left by Astarion's reptilian bite, and he can feel the tension in Gale's shoulders. "I thought I wasn't coming back, so I could be excused for my indiscretion. That's no excuse, though." He turns, making sure he can catch Pom's eyes when he continues. "It was taking advantage of your friendship, not to mention Northly. So yes, I am sorry to have done that to you."
no subject
"I'd admit I was surprised, but... Northly was convinced you were interested months ago. That we'd already been involved at the Valentia when she heard me Shifting in my room."
no subject
no subject
"Wh... what?"
no subject
no subject
He's not usually the sort, but Pom can't help the laugh that escapes him, a single chuckle of utter relief. For months, Northly has been reassuring him that Gale was interested in him; Pom argued Gale wasn't, that his own inability to express himself with any degree of sincerity had pushed the wizard away. It was better they were just friends - Gale needed someone who could be honest with him, who knew what he wanted and how to vocalize it.
As it turns out, Gale might have had a completely unrelated hang up, and they've been talking around one another the entire time. He lifts Gale's hand to his face, pressing his cheek into it. He's not good with words and vulnerability, far more comfortable expressing himself through gestures.
"It's not like that between us. Never has been. We're close, but... not the way I wanted to be with you."
no subject
no subject
That had been well and good until Karteria, where he's had to learn to survive on his own, to find his own desires and wants while navigating the horror of losing himself. Eventually, it wasn't about just survival anymore, but how he could feel whole again in this strange place as his humanity slipped away bit by bit, pieces of him devoured by his Natural Soul. It became about the connections he'd made with his Imprints, what he could do for them, how they made him feel in turn. He needed to get back to his world — get home — but for the time being... he'd make it. His Imprints would help him survive without her.
But one of them was different. Eventually, he figured out why it was his stomach turned when Gale was near, but no one else. Why Gale could hold his attention for hours doing nothing but reading aloud. Why he started to think of that little house he shared with Gale as home, and looked forward to returning to it each night. Something new took hold in him - not the loss of his other half, or the frustration at his fading sense of identity, but something hot enough to keep his bones warm: ardor.
And there it was, something he'd seen on the outside, had faked a handful of times, but hadn't experienced for himself. A habitual liar like himself wanted a genuine relationship, but had not a singular clue how to get it - how to be authentic enough to deserve it. Could he even be sincere enough to deserve it? Most other relationships in his life have been performative, a transactional play rather than something bound by emotions and heartstrings. It was better that they could only see the mask, that he wasn't himself.
And Gale deserved better. He wanted better. Pom had convinced himself of that, too.
And then came the dream. In his worst moments, thinking the end was near, Gale had chosen to set aside his pain and despair to express how he felt. It was the kind of vulnerability Pom isn't sure he's capable of... but he's desperate to learn, even if the prospect is terrifying. However, with no bars between them, their bodies soothed by the heat of the water and the comfortable thrum of their Imprint, he finds it much easier to try. They're both laid bare, literally and figuratively.
And Gale is still here. Despite knowing what Pom was once upon a time, despite seeing his monstrous shape again and again, despite knowing he will live... he is still here.
"If you don't mind that I'm a mess—"
Pom doesn't finish that sentence, cut off as he leans into Gale, his free hand wrapping around his neck, and steals a kiss for himself.
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)