The artist squeezed his eyes shut, and he wanted to block it out, and the feeling was awful because he should have been able to be happy, should have enjoyed the thought that Orpheus wanted only him, should have been able to turn over and look him in the eyes and hear him out and return every feeling, every sentiment...
But how could he? How could he glory in this moment, knowing that there was no way to keep the monster from hearing these admissions as well, knowing that this could be the end?
He wanted nothing so much as love, and at the very same time, could imagine no curse greater.
Asterion was quiet for several seconds, and his eyes were burning, stinging when he opened them. "Say it," he whispered, and he drew a breath but it quivered and shook in his lungs. You'll damn us both, he thought to himself, and he tried to force himself to be more stoic, not to cry. But it was unfair, it was terribly unfair to ask his lover to be out with it when he offered his back this way, closed off, shut up. So instead, he rolled over, first to his back and then finally propped himself up on his side, stared at Orpheus. Slowly he reached over, slid his fingers through his lover's hair, gently cupped his cheek. "Just...say it." And already he possessed a thousand objections, even more questions, already his gut was filling with fear...but it wouldn't change a thing, not a single thing, because eventually all that was left unsaid would tear them both to pieces, secrets more destructive than a monster could ever manage.