[ As much as Dokja would love to make light of this situation, he's really lacking the energy for it. At the very least, he does keep his tone brighter than how he feels, and the strained smile on his face is still a smile, even if Eustace can't see it from where he is. ]
Ready as I'll ever be.
[ Dokja senses the worry that still hangs over them, and it's guilt that gnaws on his insides this time. It's so easy to regret telling Eustace about this and putting him in this position. He wants to flee, to do this on his own, to not have anyone concerned about him, but it's too late now and all Dokja can do now is press forward. ]
You don't have to stick around, you know. It should take a few days, and I can find my way back.
[ If he makes it back, of course. But that part is very pointedly not said. ]
[ As if he would even consider leaving the spot Dokja's shard is buried in. Dokja might not be able to see the flat expression that crosses his face but surely he can sense it through their bond, a feeling of absolute unamusement over how inane that suggestion is. At least that feeling saves Eustace the trouble of having to reply back.
Instead, he carefully slides Dokja onto the ground, careful to keep one arm out for balance lest Dokja stumble and drop to his knees. (So he tells himself, but there's something comforting in the continued physical contact, an anchor for him to desperately cling to in these last moments.) ]
It'll be fastest with a gun, but if you're averse to being shot, I can use a knife instead.
[ He'll hate it either way, but Dokja deserves the option of choice at the very least. ]
[ The unspoken refusal to leave drops an unexpected and heavy blanket of reassurance over Dokja that quells anxieties he hadn't even known about. With the countless times that he's died, he had convinced himself that it wasn't anything special, nothing that could leave a lasting impact, but after his most recent death and the violent awakening he'd had to suffer through following it, he's beginning to realize that it might have taken a toll on him if this is how he's reacting to Eustace wanting to stay close. To make sure his Shard won't fall into the wrong hands a second time.
Gratefully, he gives Eustace's arm a squeeze as he's lowered to the cavern floor. For a moment, he hesitates, and then he pulls at Eustace to get him to sit as well. ]
The gunshot would be too loud. A knife is fine.
[ He doesn't want to bring about unwanted attention should there be others around, but most of all, he wants to avoid any similarities with his last death. He'd been killed by a gun back then, and while he knows it's unreasonable to link that with waking up in Aetos's workshop, he'd just prefer... something else. ]
[ A knife it is then, and some small part of him can't help but feel relieved at the choice, knowing that he won't have to see Dokja's face every time he picks up his gun in the future. A reminder of all the crimes he's committed, both unwillingly and by choice. ]
Alright.
[ He follows the tug to sit, lowering himself to the ground next to the other man. From there it's just a matter of positioning himself until they're close enough, and then sliding his knife out silently from its sheath, eyes lingering on the glint of light off the blade. ]
Through the heart?
[ It's not really a question, not unless Dokja wants to die a bloody death via a slit throat, but the illusion of choice makes all this a little easier to stomach. ]
[ Dokja hears the knife being drawn from its sheath, but he doesn't look down. He keeps his eyes on Eustace's face, traces the features there that he can see. Commits it to memory. Should this really come to be the end of it all somehow and in some way, he thinks this wouldn't be a terrible last memory to take with him.
He wraps his fingers around the hand holding the knife, guiding it to his heart in silent agreement, until the point digs at the flesh there. No matter how many times he's done this, apprehension always follows, but his hands don't shake, and his gaze is steady as he nods. ]
Don't forget to tell Gray where you are.
[ He tries for a smile, tired and as unlucky as ever. But even so, he wouldn't have wanted anyone else here with him now. While some vestiges of doubt linger at the far corners of his mind, he knows in his heart that this isn't the end. He'd just gotten Eustace back. There's still so much they have left to do. ]
[ His hands might be steady but the erratic pound of his heart is anything but. He tries not to think about the possibility that this might be the last time he ever sees Dokja, does his best to ignore the way his heart constricts further in his chest as old familiar grief rises up from the depths. This isn't the end. It's just another bump on the road, one of many. But just in case...
His lips thin, teeth grit together in unhappiness. There's a second where they both do nothing but stare at each other in silence. And then he's reaching out and grabbing hold of Dokja's chin with his free hand so he can lean forward to press one last desperate kiss against his mouth. Actions over words, the full weight of his emotions - affection, concern, fear, guilt - filling up the conduit between them, briefly freed from the constraints he keeps them so tightly bound behind normally.
It's hard to see underneath the shadows of the roots that twist overhead, but there's something in the corner of his eyes that catch the light when he pulls away, a faint glimmer of saltwater that seems to match the hoarse rasp of his voice. ]
Don't make us wait too long, asshole.
[ Us. Him and Gray, his family. The people that love him (and their animals that tolerate him). The home that Dokja has haphazardly cobbled for himself over the past too many months, whether he likes it or not. It isn't much but it's theirs, despite how often the forces around them have tried to take those things away again and again.
He doesn't give Dokja a chance to respond, fingers tightening around the handle of his knife before abruptly pushing in with alarming force, the blade plunging through cloth and skin and fibrous tissue to pierce its target all the way through, lingering only a second before he drags it sideways, severing as much of the heart and its arteries as he possibly can. ]
[ He'd been prepared for a knife in his heart, not warm lips pressed against his own, and so Dokja is left stunned, frozen in place, as his mind races to catch up with what had just happened. And what had just happened? They've kissed before, either by accident or by some outside force, but never once like this. Not sober and coherent, not while under any influence other than their own. He's barely given any time to react, nothing more than wide eyes and an open mouth when Eustace pulls away.
How had it fallen to this specific moment for Dokja to realize? Why hadn't he noticed it sooner? He thought he'd known himself, but like this? A red face, uncontrollably beating heart, and emotions that threaten to drown each other out as they fight their way to make it to the surface. Incredible. Impossible. It was always written out for him, what kind of ending he'd have, the one he deserved after everything he'd done, the way he'd try to atone, if not there, then here. Nothing for himself, nothing after he'd already taken, and taken, and taken.
Until Eustace.
There's so much that Dokja could say, some of them complaints about this timing, most of them words that he would never speak out loud, but he's not given that chance to play clown or coward before the knife is plunging into his heart, and the familiar feeling of death cradles him close.
What the hell is his very last thought, and his failing vision must be deceiving him when he catches what look like tears in Eustace's eyes. How unfair for this to be happening right this second, right as Dokja slips away, falls into the all-consuming darkness beckoning for him, his consciousness breaking apart. Now, more than ever, he has to come back. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Ready as I'll ever be.
[ Dokja senses the worry that still hangs over them, and it's guilt that gnaws on his insides this time. It's so easy to regret telling Eustace about this and putting him in this position. He wants to flee, to do this on his own, to not have anyone concerned about him, but it's too late now and all Dokja can do now is press forward. ]
You don't have to stick around, you know. It should take a few days, and I can find my way back.
[ If he makes it back, of course. But that part is very pointedly not said. ]
no subject
Instead, he carefully slides Dokja onto the ground, careful to keep one arm out for balance lest Dokja stumble and drop to his knees. (So he tells himself, but there's something comforting in the continued physical contact, an anchor for him to desperately cling to in these last moments.) ]
It'll be fastest with a gun, but if you're averse to being shot, I can use a knife instead.
[ He'll hate it either way, but Dokja deserves the option of choice at the very least. ]
no subject
Gratefully, he gives Eustace's arm a squeeze as he's lowered to the cavern floor. For a moment, he hesitates, and then he pulls at Eustace to get him to sit as well. ]
The gunshot would be too loud. A knife is fine.
[ He doesn't want to bring about unwanted attention should there be others around, but most of all, he wants to avoid any similarities with his last death. He'd been killed by a gun back then, and while he knows it's unreasonable to link that with waking up in Aetos's workshop, he'd just prefer... something else. ]
no subject
Alright.
[ He follows the tug to sit, lowering himself to the ground next to the other man. From there it's just a matter of positioning himself until they're close enough, and then sliding his knife out silently from its sheath, eyes lingering on the glint of light off the blade. ]
Through the heart?
[ It's not really a question, not unless Dokja wants to die a bloody death via a slit throat, but the illusion of choice makes all this a little easier to stomach. ]
no subject
He wraps his fingers around the hand holding the knife, guiding it to his heart in silent agreement, until the point digs at the flesh there. No matter how many times he's done this, apprehension always follows, but his hands don't shake, and his gaze is steady as he nods. ]
Don't forget to tell Gray where you are.
[ He tries for a smile, tired and as unlucky as ever. But even so, he wouldn't have wanted anyone else here with him now. While some vestiges of doubt linger at the far corners of his mind, he knows in his heart that this isn't the end. He'd just gotten Eustace back. There's still so much they have left to do. ]
I'll see you again soon.
no subject
His lips thin, teeth grit together in unhappiness. There's a second where they both do nothing but stare at each other in silence. And then he's reaching out and grabbing hold of Dokja's chin with his free hand so he can lean forward to press one last desperate kiss against his mouth. Actions over words, the full weight of his emotions - affection, concern, fear, guilt - filling up the conduit between them, briefly freed from the constraints he keeps them so tightly bound behind normally.
It's hard to see underneath the shadows of the roots that twist overhead, but there's something in the corner of his eyes that catch the light when he pulls away, a faint glimmer of saltwater that seems to match the hoarse rasp of his voice. ]
Don't make us wait too long, asshole.
[ Us. Him and Gray, his family. The people that love him (and their animals that tolerate him). The home that Dokja has haphazardly cobbled for himself over the past too many months, whether he likes it or not. It isn't much but it's theirs, despite how often the forces around them have tried to take those things away again and again.
He doesn't give Dokja a chance to respond, fingers tightening around the handle of his knife before abruptly pushing in with alarming force, the blade plunging through cloth and skin and fibrous tissue to pierce its target all the way through, lingering only a second before he drags it sideways, severing as much of the heart and its arteries as he possibly can. ]
no subject
How had it fallen to this specific moment for Dokja to realize? Why hadn't he noticed it sooner? He thought he'd known himself, but like this? A red face, uncontrollably beating heart, and emotions that threaten to drown each other out as they fight their way to make it to the surface. Incredible. Impossible. It was always written out for him, what kind of ending he'd have, the one he deserved after everything he'd done, the way he'd try to atone, if not there, then here. Nothing for himself, nothing after he'd already taken, and taken, and taken.
Until Eustace.
There's so much that Dokja could say, some of them complaints about this timing, most of them words that he would never speak out loud, but he's not given that chance to play clown or coward before the knife is plunging into his heart, and the familiar feeling of death cradles him close.
What the hell is his very last thought, and his failing vision must be deceiving him when he catches what look like tears in Eustace's eyes. How unfair for this to be happening right this second, right as Dokja slips away, falls into the all-consuming darkness beckoning for him, his consciousness breaking apart. Now, more than ever, he has to come back. ]