[there are things chaos wants to hear, and there are things chaos needs to hear, whether or not he wants to hear them. only Wilhelm knows what chaos needs to hear at any given moment, making each of his words more like a shock to the nerves than anything indulgent. Wilhelm tells him that he will take care of the shackles, that he'll release chaos from his necessary, self-imposed exile, and chaos' entire body is what's trembling now. the anticipation can't be called sweet--it's painful, honestly. it honestly hurts to think he still has a ways to go before Wilhelm will expose the rest of him to reality. his anxiety only deepens, but he'd be fine with doing it right here, right now, in full view of more stars than anyone could ever attempt to count. he'd be fine with any number of cosmic voyeurs. but he smiles weakly, and he nods weakly, too, and his eyes are glimmering like those same stars behind him, with relief, with boundless gratitude.]
Your bedroom, then, [chaos murmurs.] Thank you, Wilhelm. Thank you for doing this for me. [at this point, it must seem like he's only here to have Wilhelm touch him all over, when there are things they could talk about and things they could discuss. it really wasn't his intention to keep using Wilhelm like this. Wilhelm is more than an artful pair of hands that holds a map and compass to chaos' lonely landscapes. Wilhelm can be overwhelming for everything that he is and has become over the years. given another hundred years, another thousand, chaos would still struggle to put everything into more precise words. he does it best in the songs he has written for Wilhelm, though. he has hummed unique melodies against Wilhelm's shoulder, and down along the dip of his waist, whenever the mood strikes him. a normal man would find these psalms incomprehensible, if not muddling and maddening, but Wilhelm is separate from such concerns... Wilhelm, naturally, never seems moved by any golden lyric, though chaos suspects he enjoys it more than he'd ever admit.
just as chaos wouldn't admit he's glad to follow Wilhelm's lead in standing up from the table. he's glad to have his hand held and to know that Wilhelm will take care of him for the time being. he'll never admit to it if he can help it, but as often as he paces back and forth between the stars by himself, he can get so tired of doing that. so sick of doing that, even. he doesn't know where he came from, not really, or where he's supposed to go next, but Wilhelm could tell him both of those things, if he were willing to listen. maybe it's what he needs to hear, even though he doesn't want to hear it. maybe, after nine hundred and twenty-five days, with the end of days fast approaching, he could just...
oh, yet again, Wilhelm has a way of wresting chaos' attention by the very roots. he's merciless about it. he isn't being mean, but he's absolutely merciless.] Deprive... [chaos can't deny his own asceticism, and he can't argue in favor of it, either. he would elicit no sympathy in doing so.] Hey, you know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to tease me right now. [which isn't an answer to either one of Wilhelm's questions.
but his voice dips low, lower than the valley where he's asked for hearth and kin, and this time, this time, there's more to this than a helpless request.]
If you expect me to last the night, you're going to have to keep me preoccupied.
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Your bedroom, then, [chaos murmurs.] Thank you, Wilhelm. Thank you for doing this for me. [at this point, it must seem like he's only here to have Wilhelm touch him all over, when there are things they could talk about and things they could discuss. it really wasn't his intention to keep using Wilhelm like this. Wilhelm is more than an artful pair of hands that holds a map and compass to chaos' lonely landscapes. Wilhelm can be overwhelming for everything that he is and has become over the years. given another hundred years, another thousand, chaos would still struggle to put everything into more precise words. he does it best in the songs he has written for Wilhelm, though. he has hummed unique melodies against Wilhelm's shoulder, and down along the dip of his waist, whenever the mood strikes him. a normal man would find these psalms incomprehensible, if not muddling and maddening, but Wilhelm is separate from such concerns... Wilhelm, naturally, never seems moved by any golden lyric, though chaos suspects he enjoys it more than he'd ever admit.
just as chaos wouldn't admit he's glad to follow Wilhelm's lead in standing up from the table. he's glad to have his hand held and to know that Wilhelm will take care of him for the time being. he'll never admit to it if he can help it, but as often as he paces back and forth between the stars by himself, he can get so tired of doing that. so sick of doing that, even. he doesn't know where he came from, not really, or where he's supposed to go next, but Wilhelm could tell him both of those things, if he were willing to listen. maybe it's what he needs to hear, even though he doesn't want to hear it. maybe, after nine hundred and twenty-five days, with the end of days fast approaching, he could just...
oh, yet again, Wilhelm has a way of wresting chaos' attention by the very roots. he's merciless about it. he isn't being mean, but he's absolutely merciless.] Deprive... [chaos can't deny his own asceticism, and he can't argue in favor of it, either. he would elicit no sympathy in doing so.] Hey, you know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to tease me right now. [which isn't an answer to either one of Wilhelm's questions.
but his voice dips low, lower than the valley where he's asked for hearth and kin, and this time, this time, there's more to this than a helpless request.]
If you expect me to last the night, you're going to have to keep me preoccupied.