Re: log: antique store - louis, misha, and damian
Studied disinterest was one of Desire’s most favorite things. Such a stubborn determination to go against the grain was a charming trait. Satisfied desire was good, but there was a sweetness to desire denied, given and then snatched away, or desire suppressed, shoved down until it calcified, carbonized, turned harder and brighter and more beautiful. Perhaps that said something of its strategy with Louis - satisfying the desires of individuals, and then ripping away the object of their fantasies, sooner or later. There was something delicious in that.
Between the stubborn boy and the angel, it felt the rare link of satisfied desire that still burned unchecked, which had its own piquant appeal. “Desire makes everything go,” it said. ”Without it, there would be no life, and there would be no faith. People have to want to be saved, don’t they, little angel? Don’t forget it for a moment.”
It didn’t bother arguing whether it could claim. It could, of course, or how was it standing here in the place of a borrowed humanity? It watched Damian tip his head and turn his eyes away, apparently bored with it all, wishing it fervently away. It smiled. ”Oh, I know,” it purred, to Misha. ”I saw the fall, what came before, and what came after. I was there. I know what a member of the Host wants when tempted away from the light. I know what second door it prays for, outside of heaven.” It glanced to Damian. “I hope you both know what you’re getting yourselves into.”
It didn’t bother to try to get the last word in, or make a bombastic show of disappearance. As Misha was kissing Damian’s temple, it simply wasn’t there anymore, no spray of smoke, no blinding light. As it had appeared, it disappeared - leaving Louis standing in the kitchen, looking disoriented.
He blinked, looked between the two of them, and grabbed the edge of the counter to prevent himself from falling over. He felt lightheaded and strangely buoyant, as well as sick. Once he’d realized where he was standing, he had gone white as a sheet. “I’m - I wasn’t expecting that.” He came so close to apologizing that the words started to form in his mouth, but he stopped. “I was told I should apologize less,” he said. But his eyes fell to Damian’s hand, and he winced. “That looks terrible. Let me get you a bandage.”
He turned toward the bathroom, discreetly leaving them alone for a moment to comfort each other, if need be, and to collect himself. He’d done enough harm for one day.