Young Writers Society

Apparently, I had more breath to lose than I thought I did.
Had I said that before? I was a damn fool.

"Mmm...under normal circumstances, no, but, how can I disbelieve you when you say it like that?"

I tried, too late, to repress the hint of a groan in those last few words. Consarn it.

I may have been loose, but Damascus didn't have to know that. Well, not to the full extent of- well. Not yet.

If he held me like that again, or for much longer- God damn it. I used to be subtle.

Asteri unfolded his arms. "That sounds like a deal to me," he said, giving a smile that no one could see underneath his mask. He held his hand out to Tasha. "I'm Asteri."

Damascus all but prepared himself to ask Boris how, exactly, his infliction was convincincing. Any remarks lying in wait died on his tongue.

What kind of a fool was he making himself out to be?

He knew exactly which tone he had used, if the reckless high that accompanied it was any indication.

It was best, he had half a notion to think, not to blatantly deny anything more than what he could get away with.

It was at that moment that the band's performance started to become even more frantic. Damascus' fervor swelled accordingly, and he hummed in anticipation of a finale. With an intense gentleness, he turned Boris around to face him and let his hand move down to revel in its domain on his waist.

His heartbeat quickened, and he found himself both anxious and strangely relieved to be nearing a conclusion.

There were only a few more simple steps led before he craved flair once again. An ending to a dance like theirs only begged for it.

"Hold on tightly." He told Boris, eyes aglow and breathless.

Supporting his waist with a second hand, he lifted him into the air, managing to step confidently in time.

After a few heated moments of staring up at Boris, admittedly adoringly, he brought him down again. Almost unnecessarily, he whirled him around during his descent, using his own waist as a fulcrum.

With a painstaking gracefulness, he transitioned quickly, aware that he didn't have much time left.

Damascus whisked Boris to the floor once more in a dip, easing his body onto an outstretched knee. The band struck a final, dramatic note, and he was left in silence, staring into Boris' eyes imploringly.

Of course, it was only a silence saved for his quickly-beating heart and harsh breathing.

She took it. "I'm Tasha, that's Evron, and this here is Thana, all of Gryphon Squadron. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Asteri."

He turned me too soon. I was not ready for those eyes, and I feared I would never be, but sweet lord, how could I complain? As far as I was concerned, his sweet eyes, (and his hands, for that matter) could wander as they pleased.

This was enough. I could die, right now, and be happy. I mean, I'd prefer not to, it would scare the hell out of Dama-

Oh. He'd lifted me again. Hold on? Yes. Yes. Always.

Looking down at him, looking up, it was a sight I would always hold dear. This, this was who he was, who Damascus was, he gave his everything to any given moment, be it the direst circumstance or the lightest fancy, he was light, he was light, and he lifted me. Yes.

And yet, it was not enough. This was Damascus beautiful, unfettered, pure, and yet, this was only a fraction of who he really was, and I wanted to see it all, not only the merry, but the sad, the mundane. I wanted to take him everywhere, show him everything, take him home.
Not as a guest. Not as another affair. Home, and mine, and mine.

At the arc of the lift, the disorienting curl of the twist, I revelled in being helpless, revelled in being his.
Because I was.

There, in that final caress, in the too-intimate silence, I knew it was the end. The way Damascus looked at me, so questioningly, I had to wonder, what had he to ask? Doubtless, he had already seen right through me.

This competition of ours had come to a decisive conclusion, and I was only too glad to surrender my all to his sweet victory. Never had I been so desperately joyous in defeat, and despite my vengeful heart, I had every intention to let Damascus keep his spoils with no further protest.

This is perfect! I thought.
From now on, it can all be different. I can be different. I'll change, be the man he wants me to be, I'll make him proud, never let him down! It can all be different.

In seconds, the unspoken words of fevered hope turned bitter and heavy in my mouth, for they felt revoltingly familiar. Not merely because they sounded like absolute bull, but because I had said almost those exact words before. Twice.

If I had meant them the first time, I would still have been with my family.

If I had meant them the second time, I would still have been with Arietta.

I was not capable. I was not capable, and I could not in good conscience put Damascus through that. I could never put anyone through that, ever again.

The voice of reason laughed bitterly within me.

What did you think would happen, even if you could? it said.

Space and time would bend to bring you together, over and over again? Repeat the miracle you dare not pray for?

That in the even then, within the even then, you would not age? Not bleed? Not wither?

You have nothing to offer him but a long list of miseries, or a short one.

I knew that voice was right. I wanted so badly to save Damascus. But it was already too late. So careless had I been, Damascus surely knew my heart. It was too late.
I had already damned him.

I forced a smile. I wished it didn't come so naturally. I told Damascus something that had crossed my thoughts when they were still light and gay. So close were we, so stark was the silence, it ached with every word I spoke.

"Wouldn't you know it, I was actually hoping you'd lift me again. Did you read my mind?"

Damascus raised Boris to his feet altogether reluctantly. Though there was a new, aching silence that had come with the conclusion of their dance, he still wasn't ready to let go of the brilliance of emotions that had been stirred in him.

At the light question, he attempted once again to decipher Boris' expression. It seemed that something halting had passed over his face. Something... melancholy. Or perhaps the absence of music had simply dampened Damascus' senses.

"I'm afraid reading your mind is the one thing I can't seem to do." He uttered. The heaviness in his own tone grounded him yet again.

His gaze wandered their hands, which were still clasped in front of him, and then to his traitorous thumb, which was absent stroking Boris' palm. He dropped them, suddenly uncomfortably aware of himself.

On cue came the wrenching of his heart, much less pleasant without the tonic of performance.

What was he doing? Was he... had he been fawning over Boris this entire time? And under what pretense? What possible explanation for he have for his beviour?

With this cold shock, he could only stand rigidly. A helplessness rose to greet him, in the midst of his spinning head.

He needed to step back, he decided. He was still standing too close to Boris. Maybe he needed distance, space to clear this tangle. Distantly, he clung to the thought that these were just the lingering symptoms of a passionate tango.

Finally, Damascus faced Boris, dazed. He managed to clear his throat.

"Would you... Would you like anything to drink?" His voice tenderly parted the silence that had come with his reflections, and though the word coward flitted into his mind, he was relieved, nonetheless.

And now, finally, he gathered the will to take a step back and grant himself a reprieve from Boris' alluring nearness.

There were infinite ways that he could have judged this flight, but at that moment, he chose to believe that he was sparing then both from himself.

Although my fingers protested the parting of our hands, Damascus, by pulling away, had brought me greater relief than he could know.

He spoke not of the dance, nor intent, nor of anything that may have passed between us. He merely expressed that he wished to move on, and created an opening for me to do so. The question of what went on in my mind was, mercifully, only implied.

I blessed the heavens. There was a chance for Damascus, after all. There was hope. If his reluctancy meant he wished for me to be like a brother, and a brother only...please, Lord, let it be so.

I told my cruel, senseless beast of a heart to cease crying out for the things it wanted, for closeness, and honesty, when it should be happy for Damascus instead.

Damascus doesn't look happy, it said reproachfully.

Go block a drainpipe, and die there, I told it flatly.

I looked back to Damascus, and prayed that he would not see me. "Hah. Now that you mention it, yes."

I failed to repress nervous unease in my voice, but all was not lost, he could interpret it as purely fatigue from the excercise. That would make sense. Please, God.

"I'm afraid I need a moment to, ah, catch my breath. I'd hate to slow you down, so, if you'd excuse me for a little while."

I gave him a light bow, made my way over to a nearby table, and proceeded to fret about my pitiful performance over a glass of water.

Auryon wandered towards Boris as the song ended, having watched his and Damascus' performance. It would've taken a blind man not to have seen what was practically emanating from the two. If she was honest, a part of her regretted it; she'd found Boris to be quite the attractive player.

But of all the people he could've fallen for, she was sure glad it was for Damascus and not someone far more...questionable.

She leaned against the table next to him and poured herself a glass of punch, taking a long sip before she spoke.

"Well, I daresay that was unexpected," she mused. "Though, in hindsight, I suppose we both should've anticipated it. Him too, for that matter."

Viper startled me, and I did not flatter myself with the assumption that she had not noticed.

She made it very clear, how damnably obvious this all was. Thinking from the perspective of the outside, it seemed to insult Damascus' intelligence to presume that he would not at least figure it all out in hindsight. Yet, there was nothing for it but to keep up this masquerade until he did.

I turned to Viper, my grin noticably dampened. I did not mourn the hints of a sigh that coloured my tone. She doubtless would have caught on, either way.

"Viper, was it? You're completely right. But, just for one moment longer, please allow me the indulgence of pretending not to know what you're talking about."

She laughed. "Yeah, alright. You probably deserve that much." She turned around and looked towards the dance floor, sipping her punch.

"Auryon, stop harassing Boris," Kratzer called, catching sight of the interaction. "Leave my brother alone. You're obviously not playing nice."

Damascus barely had time to dip his head into a nod before he was left standing alone with an absolute mess of a countenance.

He let out a shaky breath and wandered to the other side of the room, completely lost in thought. It took everything he had to keep his gaze from darting over to where Boris was.

He stumbled around the ballroom, frowning deeply at the realization that his heart race still hadn't stabilized. How strange.

Still in shock, he hardly noticed that he was wondering closer to the little group off in the corner until he had nearly run straight into James.

"A- ah, excuse me." With a murmur, he stopped his pacing and hovered behind his brother. He wasn't in the mood to be alone with his thoughts, and yet, he couldn't quite handle being social at the moment.

Though they didn't even know the man's name, something about how he appeared to be visibly distracted caught Second and Lorcan's eyes. Discontent with staying around the group they currently were with - mainly because of the discovery that Mira was Lorcan's former owner - they slipped closer to James and the newcomer.

"Hi," Second said, bubbling with a childish energy as he gave the man a wave. Lorcan gave a much more toned down wave behind him, as well as a close-lipped smile to hide his fangs.

Damascus was shaken from his reflections when he realized that two of the guests he hadn't been introduced to were addressing him. He gave them a friendly smile out of habit, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and shook his head to clear lingering thoughts.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met." he held his hand out to the one who seemed to be more energetic. "I'm Damascus."

"I'm Second!" he replied, giving the man a smile as he enthusiastically shook his head.

Lorcan resisted the urge to open his mouth and reveal his fangs with a larger smile; instead, he settled for giving a slight nod of the head and continuing the smile he had on his face.

Second pointed at him. "This is Lorcan."

"Lovely to meet you, Second and Lorcan." Damascus dipped his head into a nod, his own smile slowly thawing his uneasiness.

This wasn't so bad, he decided. It was nice to have a much needed distraction.

"It seem as if you two know each other from beyond this incident." he observed converstationally. "It's a blessing, believe me."