[ 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. ]
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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. ]