if it is right, it happens-- the main thing is not to hurry. nothing good gets away.

[altaschith]

[it's been about two years. two and a half years. two years, six months, and thirteen days, actually. not that he's keeping track. there'd be no real point to knowing the last time he talked to the one and only person who has half a chance of knowing where he's coming from, and where he should be going next. no real point. anyway, it's been about nine hundred and twenty-five days, and chaos has this to say:]

hey.

Comments

[avodah]

Well, if you expect it, it might just come to pass. Of course, I wouldn't want the night [...] to be a disappointment to you.

[If Wilhelm were the teasing type, it might read that way. He isn't the teasing type. It might, then, be a warning--and it might not be a warning for Yeshua.

...]

You don't much tend toward owning this or that. I am sure you'll keep it in mind, though. Are you doing anything new these days? If I understand correctly, you value that sort of thing. Maybe like I value the honeybush.

[altaschith]

[that's the kind of well-wishing to make chaos feel a little paranoid. after keeping himself in the dark for so long, he has barely any understanding of what Wilhelm might be up to right now. Wilhelm doesn't seem like he's had any major disappointments, any major setbacks, and that's about it. meanwhile, Wilhelm wouldn't have much trouble learning of chaos' whereabouts, and chaos' ups and downs, if he wanted to learn them, what with his connections and his Compass and his Testaments. the asymmetry of knowledge here is just as uncomfortable as anything else. ignorance, as it turns out, is nowhere close to bliss. it's a paper-thin excuse at best.]

the night could stand to be less quiet, but i'm fine with how it is.

[anything new. right.]

i do value that sort of thing for myself. [...] so i can't say my cooking skills have improved, but i've found steady work at a small restaurant here. the patrons are friendly and generous with their tips. [...] actually, i could afford a kettle with what i have saved up. it's just a matter of finding the right one. [............

he sighs to himself.]

and i know all of that isn't particularly interesting.

[avodah]

[There's something to be said for the scope of Yeshua's suffering. Wilhelm could call it appreciable. Some of the suffering strains have existed for thousands and thousands of years, throughout all human endeavors, and Wilhelm has frankly thought them trite. Illegible, almost, for how he has looked and still lacked comprehension. Ignorance, yes, and restlessness, and hindrance, and worry. Wilhelm would tell you and Yeshua and probably himself that he hasn't parsed these things; he hasn't needed to.

But when he hears of them in Yeshua, he thinks he can appreciate their role in the universe. Their role in humanity, and humanity's role in the universe. His own role...

...could be--yes--this or that, or this, for one long night, if Yeshua saw fit.]

These are mindful things you've told me. That's good.

Though, I wonder if you could also tell me what would make the right one right?

[altaschith]

[this can't be called pity. to have Wilhelm to ask him about kettle criteria--to feign interest in hearing that criteria--well, if it were anyone else, chaos would believe he's being pitied right now. humored, mocked, even condescended to... but Wilhelm doesn't believe in sentimentality like that, now does he? he's asking because he wants to know the answer, and that's that. in this one moment, chaos controls an amount of information that Wilhelm is not privy to. that's powerful. that's real power. he doesn't have to tell Wilhelm what he's looking for when it comes to kettles, quiet nights, or anything else. he could leave Wilhelm unsatisfied. he could leave Wilhelm wondering about him. wondering more than usual about him and what he wants.

but chaos couldn't be so cruel and capricious, even when it comes to kettles.]

it shouldn't be too big or too small. it should be battery-powered, preferably with those newer battery cores, the ones that last nearly indefinitely. if it has a feature to keep the tea at a warm temperature, that would be a most welcome addition. i'm not immune to distractions, and coming back to a cold cup of tea is its own disappointment. a matching case for easy storage wouldn't go amiss either. i don't have asks when it comes to appearance, but a glass pot and silvery finish are charming in their way...

[in so many words, chaos just described one of vector industries' newest and most popular personal kettles to hit the home appliance market in recent memory. he might as well be reading from a department store magazine. (he is reading from a department store magazine.)]

[avodah]

[Yeshua truly is not immune to distractions; in fact, one might assert that Yeshua seeks them. At the very least, they're valuable to him in a way Wilhelm cannot afford. They're valuable to a price Wilhelm has no capacity to pay. Wilhelm wonders, now, whether he also functions as a distraction, and whether what he distracts from is also what he represents. He wonders about Yeshua. About him, and what he wants. Yeshua is an odd being to perceive. He has duties, and he has desires. There are things he wants, and things he knows he must do, too. That's not widespread, as far as Wilhelm has found. Creatures want things. It's simple, in that way. Creatures hold wants, whether or not they're given a responsibility as well. Wilhelm, meanwhile, will not hold a want. He has things he must do, and that is his sum. It's a different sum than human beings, and the sum of human beings is different from him.

And then: Yeshua, and all his equations.]

Is it by design, then, that I have such a kettle? Or, if you'd rather, you may answer this, instead: will you be joining me in tea for two, or will we drink alone tonight?

[altaschith]

[it isn't by design, believe it or not. it can't be by design. chaos strives to live from moment to moment, making plans for nothing more, because that's so much simpler than thinking about what's going to happen next. it can be overwhelming to worry about that kind of thing. it can make him feel like he's drowning on thin air. that's why, a while ago, he asked Wilhelm if he'd just stop with all of this, if he'd put a stop to his own complex designs... if he'd surrender to fate along with chaos. he asked Wilhelm if he'd give up on forever already. they'd have a finite number of years together--a finite number of long nights over tea, together--and that would be that. and that would be enough for the both of them.

of course the question didn't anger Wilhelm, but the response was not a wholly positive one, either. that's why chaos hasn't spoken to Wilhelm in about nine hundred and twenty-five days, give or take.]

well, that depends. i wouldn't want to intrude on you without an actual invitation.

[no matter the futility of it, there are times when chaos wants to be given more than a benevolent-sounding choice between two states of being. asking chaos what he intends to do tells him nothing about what Wilhelm would prefer him to do. that doesn't mean he's going to do what Wilhelm prefers, but it'd nice to know what that preference might be. it'd be nice to feel like someone is expecting him somewhere, that's all. it'd be nice if someone genuinely wanted to see him.]

[avodah]

How thoughtful of you.

[Wilhelm understands that Yeshua would like to think himself neither cruel nor even capricious. Wilhelm understands that Yeshua intends to be more tender than either of those things. He would rather be a balm. He'd rather be a salve for the here and now, never mind Wilhelm's brand of salvation.

So, Wilhelm can't be angry. Yeshua doesn't know, and he doesn't need to know, that to try and draw desire--or yearning--or a simple want of anything--is the cruelest endeavor Wilhelm can think to be inflicted on himself. It's kind in heart, of course. Yeshua simply and foolishly believes that Wilhelm has the capacity of wanting. Or, he believe Wilhelm has the choice of wanting. Or, to strain it through more purely: he believes Wilhelm has the privilege of wanting.

Belief is bedrock, and that was an easy thing for Wilhelm to learn. His voice has tended to the thirst of many, if only because he gave them a thing to want. A finite number of long nights over tea... Yeshua's eyes had this quiet, vivid outline of belief in them. 'Together.' The belief in that was a risk of great harm.

Well, it's good if Wilhelm can fulfill a request like this. It isn't so cruel as some other things Yeshua has wanted from him.]

Yeshua, will you come to me tonight? I have tea, and I have time, and I would like to offer both to you.

[Finite. A finite number of years. Wilhelm has offered the opposite. They wouldn't have to tick the days between them. Yeshua could know whatever he might like to know, and salvation would come simply. Wilhelm didn't ask for it. He just offered. To ask would mean he had the capacity, the choice, or the privilege of wanting.]

[altaschith]

[ultimately, Yeshua was a coward and a fool. when he had the chance, he should have asked Wilhelm what he was praying for. he should have had the courage to ask about that. prayer is its own privilege, its own form of wanting, and it's an intensely private thing, yes, but Yeshua should have asked him about it anyway when it was still a thing. that's just one of the many missed opportunities that chaos can't hope to rectify now. but chaos exhales forcefully, interrupting himself. he's emptying out his lungs, and doing what he can to empty out his meandering mind, to stop thinking for the time being, so that he can better focus on what's beyond his boundaries. he doesn't need to reach through the connection gear in order to discover Wilhelm's whereabouts. when it's quiet enough, the answer can be found inside his heart, no different from his pulse; he only has to listen to what it's telling him. he closes his eyes and inhales again, slowly, deliberately, a little bit at a time...

when he opens his eyes next, he's looking out at the deepest of deep space. there are more stars than anyone could ever attempt to count--colorful nebulae, gas clouds, and twinkling planets. the only thing keeping him from joining them is the thick, heavily reinforced glass window in the way. it actually surrounds this entire room, side to side, front and back, its clear angles cut to resemble a hexagon. tilting his head, chaos looks around and realizes he's in some sort of meeting room, with a round table sitting in the center of it, intended for two. chaos most likely is intruding on some previously laid plans, and he can feel guilty for that much. that doesn't mean he's going to leave, but he's going to feel guilty about it. regretting his own existence is familiar terrain.]

Nice view, [he comments mildly.

he's an unmistakable guest for his slip of a silhouette, which never changes, ever, and he's turning around now to look at Wilhelm directly. the colors of his bodysuit are different than Wilhelm might remember, now in simplistic shades of orange and black and white, and then orange again, with the belts he favors clinging tight to his hips. (they're more like carceral straps to keep the worst of him immobilized and contained.)]

I don't think I've ever been in here. Is it someplace new?

[avodah]

[The pulse wakes up. Wilhelm usually keeps it quiet. That's not to say he doesn't have one--most likely, he does, and most likely it's most of the time. But it doesn't warrant the reach of his attention. There are other things to think about. His pulse, or not, has no reason to be urgent.

And it isn't urgent now, but it does remind Wilhelm that it's there, and in the moment Wilhelm remembers his own heartbeat, Yeshua is standing before him. Wilhelm would sigh, if he were the sort to. But he isn't; so, his eyelids lower just enough to be a sigh instead. To call Wilhelm content would be to imply he isn't otherwise content--so let's not say it that way. Let's say--Wilhelm knows that in this moment, for a moment, things are right.

He sets aside his tablet, so gently that it barely clicks against the surface of the table. His pen is already resting, but he uses his fingertips to sweep it further off along the table's side. His hands are deft and reminiscent of doves in their arc and poise. They're as soft-sounded as feathers, too. He speaks while one of his hands carries through the air:] Not so new. But, you're right; you haven't visited me right here, before. I would call this... [He's touching his fingers to the cradle of an intercom.] A place of learning. [And his fingertips press to open the intercom's line.]

He'll take his dinner in his chambers tonight, [Wilhelm says, to whatever audience. His voice is like the body of a moth--that grey, that soft, that much of a discernible shape in the evening--and his own smile must be a thing that's fortunate to touch the curving of his cheek.] And he will... [His eyes lower, and he's truly thoughtful.] Have a serving of raspberry sorbet, after that.

[The operator on the other end answers in affirmative, with a softness that can only try to emulate Wilhelm's. Wilhelm takes his hand away from the cradle. He folds it along with the other hand, and his fingers are loose-laced, and his eyes are vital candlelight, mellow and steadfast. He turns them up to Yeshua.]

You've gone and come quite a way. Won't you sit? [His voice, too, is close to candles: the glow, the wax, the softening between the two. He sets out one of his hands, his fingers unclasping, and it rests above the table, palm up. His fingers are relaxed, the littlest inward curl, a study in peace. Maybe an offering of exactly that, too.] Please, [he adds.]

[altaschith]

[as ever, Wilhelm looks like he belongs in an artist's private collection. he's so pleasant, and smooth, and polished, and flawless--totally unlike the messiness of your typical human being. he's an ideal creation of nature to more than one person, or so chaos has heard. a vitruvian man, even, all perfect proportions as described by sacred geometry. just the mere sight of him--maybe chaos wasn't prepared to see him with his own eyes, given the separation. chaos appreciates humanity, and he loves humanity a great deal, but what he's looking at now is one of the things that can drive him to distraction. his tea would be getting cold in the time it takes him to study Wilhelm's features. as ever, Wilhelm looks like he could have been carved from white quartz, with eyes like red coral from the oldest seas... coral and jasper are not worthy of mention; the price of wisdom is beyond rubies. chaos realizes he's staring, then, so he has to avert his eyes, retreating to the pattern of the inlaid marble floor. what he wouldn't give to have the wisdom to weather a long night such as this one.]

A place of learning...

[his voice is low, and it's flat, but gently so, like he's speaking from the very bottom of a lush valley. there's curiosity in it, too, but he doesn't ask what that means and Wilhelm doesn't offer to explain it to him. Wilhelm is speaking to someone else instead, and he's mentioning someone else entirely on top of that. before too long, chaos realizes that Wilhelm is referring to the little boy known as Kevin Winnicot. chaos has only met Kevin Winnicot the one time, a few years ago, and that one time was enough to feel uneasy about him, like looking into a pool of dark water and not knowing how far down it goes. but, honestly, he doesn't want to think about Kevin Winnicot tonight. of all things, he doesn't want to think about the details of Wilhelm's plans.

he looks back up at Wilhelm, and Wilhelm is looking back at him, just then. he's tempted to keep his distance, to continue to be a knotty problem, or a puzzle that Wilhelm is unable to solve... Wilhelm's open hand looks more like a lifeline than a weapon or a reprimand. chaos doesn't realize he's sighing until his lungs have almost been emptied of air again.] I didn't come from that far away, [he says, taking his first step toward the table.] And even if I had, it wouldn't have been much of a problem for me.

[he sits down with Wilhelm. he could have had this so much sooner, if he hadn't been so stubborn, he thinks.

then, a realization, and his eyebrows come together in vague disapproval.]

Oh, sorry. I should have brought something to go with the tea. Like biscuits, or...

[avodah]

[The mountaintop shouldn't be such a strife. Wilhelm is always at its peak, always cresting at a range's ridge, and he has full view of the valley. It is lush, yes. It looks like a soft place to lie. Wilhelm crests above it, and he wants to know why Yeshua finds it so hard to come up higher. Yeshua's voice shouldn't need to roll up toward him on a current of lifegiving moisture. He could easily be speaking close to Wilhelm's ear, if he chose to. But Yeshua is a defiant piece of life. He would rather... Wilhelm is cresting, but Yeshua would have him step down through mountain passes, down into the dips of the valley... Wilhelm knows better. He knows better than what Yeshua is fearing. Yeshua is sure-footed, with the nobility of a hart and the harmony of a hind; he could walk upon high places. He could do that. But he asked Wilhelm to settle in the valley. That's not going to happen, Wilhelm said, in silk and in resolve. It isn't ever going to happen. I recommend against asking me again. It's for the best.

Yeshua left him, then. Yeshua went--perhaps he didn't come here from that far away, but he had to go there first. It's distance. Yeshua left in favor of distance.

Wilhelm closes it between them, for the first time in... well, it's only been a while. His hands are a cradle like bulrushes, like an ark. He reaches through the space between them to touch Yeshua's glove.] Even if you had. That's right. You have come closer over time, haven't you? I know. [His eyes are settled upon Yeshua's wrist; he examines there while he speaks.] You didn't come from that far away, but where you had gone was further. [The heart of him, that's what Wilhelm means.

He undoes the fastener on the inner wrist of Yeshua's glove.]

And when you left, I believe you wanted to go far away from me. It's no wonder. Yes, Yeshua, I do understand. [Wilhelm takes each of Yeshua's fingers, and he tugs the tips of the glove away from them, just enough to loosen the glove's fit.] Much time has passed since you first began to pace your way back and forth between the stars. [With the glove's five fingers made loose, it will only take a steady pull to remove the glove completely. Wilhelm pinches the middle finger of the glove, and he raises his eyes to look into Yeshua's while he begins to bare Yeshua's hand.] Now, I would not ask you to bring a thing. I do not need one thing. Tonight, the things I have here will be for you, and so you will have dinner, and so you will drink as you please.

[The glove slips away at last. But Wilhelm will wait for Yeshua to bring them skin to skin. It's always, always up to Yeshua, how long he wants to go without being touched.]

This was an invitation. I am ordering no tolls. This place... [Of learning, Wilhelm said. Kevin Winnicot takes his lessons here with Wilhelm, and when they share meals together, they'll do it here as well. But, you know,] It's what you ask of it, tonight.

[altaschith]

[chaos knew it would be an impossible request. he had known it to be impossible when he was still sitting there, before he said anything at all, with Wilhelm's hands on his naked shoulders and his own fingers curled over the beautiful stone at his throat. he was being faced with a precipice that he couldn't climb. there were tears in his eyes, and he found it hard and harder to breathe, no matter the unneeded breath. thinking back on it, it would have been so much easier, so much simpler, if he had leaned back and allowed himself to be carried higher on the unspoken promises of the night. but he leaned away from salvation, and his spine might have cracked, doing that, and he asked Wihelm if he would be willing to meet him at the dip of the valley instead. he didn't beg for it. he wasn't pleading per se. but it's what he was asking for, and he knew it was impossible long before he asked for it.

tonight, all that he's asked for couldn't be more unremarkable in comparison. in his time away, he was forced back under the crushing weight of loneliness; he wants that weight to be lifted, and for his back to straighten out again. he couldn't have been sure that Wilhelm was going to forgive him for everything he said, everything he did, until this very moment. even someone as magnanimous as Wilhelm has to have a point of no return, where he finds a person irredeemable, a total waste of his time. the question didn't do enough to make Wilhelm angry, but it did do something to him, something not so good, something that chaos didn't want to face head-on, and that's why he went away for nine hundred and twenty-five days. he's always running away from the consequences of his own existence. he ran pretty far away this last time, starting all over again with a series of odd jobs, none of them fulfilling, all of them a valuable distraction. he'd work all day, and nearly all night, and then fall asleep in his bed with his fingers curled at his throat.

in all that time, he never once took off his gloves if he could help it.

the anxiety of losing a buckler is there in his eyes when Wilhelm touches his glove so decisively. there might be relief, too, but it's really a lot of anxiety; a thickening of blood and saliva. as Wilhelm becomes acquainted with the valves and fasteners, chaos' pulse is making itself known in his ears and his throat. the glove is formed of thick techtron cloth, another innovation by vector industries, prized for both its sterility and its insulation... chaos can't believe the sensitivity of his own skin, buried as it is. the slightest shift of fabric has him shifting in his seat, neither closer nor father away, just more so unsettled. he's allowing Wilhelm's measured words to wash over him as the glove gets removed with all the care of an old dressing over a hopefully healed wound.

then he says, still looking up at Wilhelm,] I wanted to go far away from everything. [five thin and fragrant fingers, let loose for the first time in ages, carefully fold together and meet at the center of his palm. hardly anyone would believe that they're capable of unspeakable things.] And it was my own fault. It wasn't any fault of yours, Wilhelm. If anything, you're... [no matter how far away chaos might get, he can't seem to outrun any of it. the truth will catch back up to him sooner or later, and it's always painful, and then he wonders why he didn't stay in the one place where pain can be tempered with pleasure. there's an unbelievable amount of pleasure in laying his bare hand over Wilhelm's, as he does now. he can't hide the trembling of his fingers. he can't even hide the parting of his lips, or the stirrings of euphoria, either. no one else would agree to touch chaos like this for this much time already. more than the heat of him, there's a sharp current under his skin that threatens to disrupt matter. he radiates. he's radiating power. though a broken husk of himself, he's still one of the most powerful things in the known universe.]

If anything...

[he shouldn't be asking for more than a cup of tea, he reminds himself.

even so,]

If I asked you to undress me, would you do that for me?

[it's too frank, too inappropriate, to be seen as temptation or seduction. he's a man in a straitjacket who would give anything for another chance to be free.]

[avodah]

[Far away, says Yeshua, and he sounds like a mouthful of smoke. He has a voice like incense: it's rich, all smoky, and it tricks the mind. Well, it could trick the mind, if Wilhelm were not careful. He must be cautious in rubbing along the spread of Yeshua's hand, and it's caution just as much for his own self. Yeshua says it isn't Wilhelm's fault, that not any of it is. (Wilhelm presses his thumb into the crest of Yeshua's palm, and then he kneads into each prescient line.) Yeshua groups it all together, all of it, all that he wanted to leave, as if Wilhelm isn't stark in the middle of it. (Wilhelm touches the ridge of each tendon in Yeshua's wrist, and then he's precise about following Yeshua's undercurrent by pushing his thumb along each and every finger, all fragrant, all five.) And Wilhelm is well aware of the fear that he elicits, and he is aware of his capacity to keep it at bay. He is aware of his refusal to do so. He may have a soft throat, and his tongue may be rosy, but he doesn't have the give to him that Yeshua requires. If he had so much give, he'd fit better in Yeshua's palm. It isn't so bad now, the alignment of their hands--they can settle into each other rather nicely. But if Wilhelm sank for him in a certain way--well, if Yeshua were glad for it--well, all else would sink along with Wilhelm. Wilhelm was not built to drown, not in the last gasps of this domain, and not even in Yeshua's palms or power or pretty fragrance. He feels like he could do that, especially when he touches the inside of Yeshua's wrist like this, but it's not his calling. That cannot be his calling. Whether or not it's regrettable, he is made for more than drowning in the contact between them.

Regardless--

He laces their fingers together, loosely.]

Why don't we take our fill in my bedroom, [he says.] Dinner can find you there. [It isn't a question, but it is an encouragement.] There are always so many pieces to you--I shall strip it all away. I can do that for you, Yeshua. [All the straps, everything that fastens, and each part Wilhelm has taken care to find designs for--Wilhelm can take just as much care to clear them away from Yeshua's body. Likewise, he can give all Yeshua's holy highways and avenues of power the attention they've been lacking. He doesn't need to think about how to trace them. He could do it blind, if Yeshua were to blind him.

And Wilhelm doesn't sound seduced. There's no catch in his throat, nothing that sounds like a welling of blood within him. When he's silken in the way of lilies, it's because he always is. But while he rises from his seat, he still holds Yeshua's hand. If they walked hand in hand, and if they kept walking that way, and if their joining were to last, where could that take them? Where could Wilhelm let Yeshua lead him?

No, Wilhelm doesn't sound seduced. Not even when...] You shake, Yeshua. Your hand shakes at the touch of my hand. The more you deprive yourself, the more sensitive you grow. Do you know what you'll do about that? [He's not trying to be mean, of course. He might sound too aerial, with muslin rolling out of his mouth, but it's care--or, he might say, consideration--] Will you last the night beneath my hand?

[If Yeshua wishes to leave before morning, then he can do so--he is capable of doing so, and of choosing that. Yeshua is capable, Wilhelm reminds himself. He has the capacity to think and do. A driving will. Yeshua could leave right now, if he willed as much. Or he could let Wilhelm touch him for just a little while, and leave right after, instead. If he chooses not to last the night, Wilhelm will have a quiet breakfast, and he won't be having it in bed.]

[altaschith]

[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.