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"I feel like that's all I've been doing," Cyrus chuckled, "but you're right. I probably need it, even now."
He practically melted into his lover's touch and made a happy sound when the other kissed his head.
"How have you been doing, my love? Are you faring okay with everything that's going on?"
“Regardless it is good for you. You do need it now more than ever. You’re still recovering and your body is using a lot of energy to heal itself.” His voice was amused but soft and motherly.
He took a moment to think over his own issues and injuries, clacking his teeth together a few times before he finally found the words to reply.
“I’ve been alright… it’s really hard using only one hand though… I still haven’t picked up my violin yet. I’m too scared that I won’t be able to do anything with it.”
"True, true," Cyrus sighed.
He rested a hand on Marcus' knee.
"The wounds there are still healing. It'd probably be painful now anyway. I'm sure you'll figure it out. That's your bow hand, after all. And if it takes more than just picking the violin back up, I promise I'll be here to help any way I can. I know it means a lot to you."
Marcus refused to let himself tear up, feeling a headache start to form from the pressure building up behind his eyes. “It does…” he swore his voice could be louder than a whisper; it was just hard to speak right now. “You know, that was the only thing I could ever really do for just me. I started playing when I was like twelve. I picked all my classes myself, paid for the violin myself too. Took me half the year to save up for my own and I used a school rental for a long time. Dad never knew I played or even took the class. He didn’t care much. Only paid for school so he wouldn’t get in trouble with the district. I kept up those classes clear until I quit high school. It was the only class I ever went to really. Never missed a day.” A soft and choked laugh fell from his lips. “I bullied the kids in my classes into staying quiet about it because I was supposed to be this big scary gang kid and no way in hell was I going to let it slip that Lighter, the gang kid, played violin and enjoyed classical music. They would have beat me up.”
He flexed the remaining fingers on his damaged hand, almost enjoying the pain that shot along his arm. He was sure there was going to be some bad nerve damage there for the rest of his life.
“My violin is the only part of my personality that is truly me. Everything else has been taught to me by Marx. In a way I don’t exist without him but I’m scared to face that. So I cling to the only part of me that I know is me…” Marcus gently touched his face; it was wet. He hadn’t realized he had started crying. At least these tears were calm and gentle and not the ugly, hot sobs that tore through his chest with every breath.
“Sorry to get emotional and sentimental on you…” he murmured, wiping off his face. “I wonder if I could get a glove or something with fake fingers or a bar that would strap to my bow… the two fingers I’m missing are important for tone and control. Especially my pinky… that’s for weight. I need like a replacement for that.”
Cyrus gave him a sad smile.
"Don't be sorry. You feel strongly about this. It's such a part of you. You have every right to get emotional," he soothed, "And I hope now you'll be able to find more of yourself- you know, now that you're free to be who you want."
He held the wrist of Marcus' injured hand gently and pressed a kiss to the back of iI.
"As far as the whole playing violin thing goes, I'm sure someone out there has been in the same predicament as you before, injuring a hand and having to learn how to adjust. You could probably find some stories and pick up a tip or two from them. Yeah, it’s going to suck getting back into it and not being able to pick up where you left off, but I think you want this enough."
Marcus returned the smile with one of his own. His chest fluttered with the gentle kiss and he couldn’t help the small giggle that left his mouth. “Thank you, Cyrus. I hope I can find myself too.”
He drew closer to steal away a gentle kiss after the words settled into his brain. Cyrus was just as loving and kind as he ever was. Even now, when he was struggling so much he offered Marcus some comfort.
“You’re right. I do want it enough. And I’m going to try so hard for it.” He stole away a longer kiss, smiling. Once he pulled away he stared at Cyrus, his eyes glassy from the tears that had fallen earlier.
“Fuck… you know I love you more than anything right? Like I’m so fucking in love with you…”
Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut.
"I-I know. I'm super in love with you too. You've changed my life, sure, but I enjoy being with you so, so much. You make me incredibly happy just by existing."
He let out a content sigh.
"Trust me, when I feel more up to it, I'm going to treat you like a king, my love."
Marcus grinned brightly and pushed his face into Cyrus’s neck. “For now I get to treat you like a long. Like my king and my love. You deserve it all.” He purred happily, kissing the other’s neck gently. “I love you so much.” His praise continued in nearly incomprehensible words for a few more minutes before he lifted his head and grinned.
Cyrus almost let a protest escape his mouth. He sure didn't feel like he deserved that kind of treatment, but refusing it would probably just upset Marcus. Instead, he gave the other his thanks, for while he felt undeserving, he most certainly was grateful.
But after that, he just wanted to change the subject to anything but himself.
"So, have you considered what you're going to do? Like, I think I will eventually start looking for work, once I'm healed enough. I don't know what I'll do. I finished high school, but I'm still only going to be able to get entry level stuff because I have no experience."
“A little…” The thought had crossed his mind many times. What was he going to do? Was he going to end up going back to school? Was he going to end up working some minimum wage job and do that till the day he died?
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do Cy… I hardly have any highschool. No experience other than gang stuff, and I’m really not qualified to work with others and that kind of stuff… I’m a little scared of the idea of going into society. I’m not a good person either, Cyrus. I was an arsonist and who knows what kind of stuff I burned along with those houses Marx made me burn. Might end up in prison if that gets out…”
"I… get that," Cyrus breathed, "Luckily arsons are pretty hard to trace back to the perp, so the arrest thing at least, you won't have to worry about much. As for work, you don't need experience to get entry level work just to start with, and you could always go for your GED. I'd help you study, of course."
He shuddered a bit.
"I… I worry about the whole criminal past thing too. Like sure, the idea of getting caught is scary, but also, I think the nature of my work reveals a lot about who I am as a person. And the fact that I have enjoyed stabbing people to death before…"
Should I tell him about those nightmares? The ones where it was him? No, probably not. Not right now.
“A GED would be a good idea… I’ll have to start there… and you’re right, arsons are hard to trace. It’s one of the reasons I’m not in prison right now.” He murmured, tilting his head up at the other and blinking his green eyes slowly.
“It doesn't mean you’re a bad person Cy. Your circumstance was different. It was probably the only outlet for your emotions… I felt the same with some of my fires. I liked them because I had the control.”
Cyrus gritted his teeth, his heart wrenching at the suggestion it was something of an outlet.
"I… suppose, yeah. I just…"
He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face.
"Most people don't even know what kind of violence they're capable of, and in this case, ignorance truly is bliss. I sometimes just felt like an attack dog kept on a tight leash. I don't have much control over my core nature, which is… horribly violent. I just have logical choices and self control standing in the way of me doing more horrible things, I feel like. Now that I'm turned off my chains, I don't- I don't know what that freedom means. If I'll just let loose?"
Marcus cupped his face and drew him in close so their foreheads were touching. He cradled Cyrus there for a moment. “It’s going to be scary, Cy.if you really think that’s your core then shift it. Find another core to take up and build. If you’re afraid of violent outbursts, why don’t you take up boxing or something like that? It’ll help you get out what you need and cope in a good way…”
"I could… try that," Cyrus replied, a little uneasy at the suggestion, but Marcus was probably right.
"And like maybe, one day I'll move past it, but that day isn't anytime soon."
He shuddered again. It was probably pretty odd for Marcus to hear him talk about himself as a murderer when the other had never witnessed anything beyond his father's body. But that was arguably a well-deserved death.
Not only had Marcus not witnessed much violence from Cyrus, but Cyrus hated violence. It made him sick. He was the type of person who literally threw up the first time he killed someone, and the next couple of times after. His first few months of work as a hitman, he'd cried himself to sleep the night following every hit.
And by god, he was just soft. Loving. He wanted nothing more than to be kind to others.
However, knowing what he was capable of tore him apart.
Cyrus snuggled in closer to Marcus.
"Sometimes, I feel like a mistake… I don't even know why I was born. I don't know why my mother even stayed with him long enough to have a kid, much less three…"
“Healing takes time love…” Marcus cooed, his hands tangling into Cyrus’s hair and playing with the strands there. It had become one of Marcus’s favorite things to do recently. He really loved and craved for the attention and affection Cyrus gave him. It was different than the harsh touch he was used to and he got to initiate it when it was okay to. He had never been able to do that.
Though of course, Marcus didn’t really understand the fullness of Cyrus’s grief over his capabilities. Marcus really hadn’t ever seen anything Cyrus had done. He didn’t know or understand the extent to it other than a human had lost their life on multiple occasions in Cy’s hands.
“Love is a complicated thing, Cyrus.” Marcus sighed. “When you get into relationships like those… it’s hard to leave.” He choked a little, biting his tongue to keep from scowling at himself. “Not to mention the manipulation and use of that love against you. You really truly believe you’re in the right place even if you are miserable. You think your whole worth and life is dedicated to them and if they leave then you’re done for. You need them. I craved him when he left me for days on end in that basement. I needed him to assure me that I was wanted. He rewarded me for good behavior too, though I didn’t always like the reward…” he shivered, ghostly hands and bounds once again traveling across his skin. He felt suddenly dirty, like he needed a shower. “It’s hard to leave someone you think you love.”
Cyrus frowned.
"I didn't ever love him… there was no facade there. He didn't even pretend to care for me. It was all blackmail," he sighed, "My 'reward' was always not having the shit beat out of me, not having to go without eating because he refused to provide. He was less like a father and more like a malevolent, vengeful god, you know? Although I suppose in that sense, I was made to feel like nothing without him. He picked me to kill because I could do it… because I had that capability none of my other siblings did. Nina was never one for that kind of dirty work. She does poisons and always tended towards more logistical stuff anyhow. Hugo didn't have the constitution for it. Sometimes passed out at the sight of blood. So he was a drug dealer. It worries me that I fit the bill for a hitman. Clearly he saw something in me too."
Cyrus leaned back into Marcus' gentle touch.
“A reward is still a reward.” He murmured softly, though didn’t argue beyond that. Cyrus had a point. A very big and a very good point. Though it bothered Marcus a lot. He didn’t like it at all. Nor did he like the other’s train of thought.
“You were trained that way, Cy. No one starts out with a bloodlust… unless you’re a psychopath… but even then in order for it all to get to the point of killing you have to have some sort of push. Something or someone awful enough to make you do things you wouldn’t otherwise do.”
"Well… that's one thing I'm not," Cyrus said softly, "But not even a psychopath has the inherent desire. Although I guess it's not the desire I'm talking about. It's that ability- like you know when someone makes you snap? It's like, what would I do then? Because believe it or not, Marcus, I've killed a handful of people outside of contracts. I've no doubt my father is responsible for me electing to take those actions, but-"
He frowned.
"The thing is, you're probably right, but I just- I'm having such a hard time believing that I could be anything other than a monster."
“Cy, you’re no monster beyond compassion. Monsters aren’t all bad creatures you know. And you don’t seem like a monster to me. You’ve been nothing but kind and gentle with me.” Marcus was grasping at all he could in hopes of helping the other. But the truth was that he had no idea what he could do or say or be… this was a new thing to him. He was used to his partners owning up to the fact they were monsters and killers and they usually used that to threaten him. But Cy didn’t do that…
“Cyrus. I’ve been around monsters before.” He stated suddenly, a bitter taste in his mouth. “You are nothing like them.”
"You're right… I hope," Cyrus murmured, "And it makes me feel glad to know I'm not like the others who have hurt you before. At least I don't give you that reminder. I just hope- I hope I can continue to be good to you, you know? That's all I want."
He gave a halfhearted smile.
"I'm so used to being talked down on, so now that I have no one to do it, I'm talking down on myself, huh?" Cyrus sighed, "I don't mean to argue with you, I really don't. Sometimes I just genuinely feel like a shitty human, and while there's no real reasons there to back that up, it makes sense in my mind."
“You’ve been amazing to me.” Marcus reassured. Truth be told, anyone who showed him any sort of semblance of kindness was pretty good in his book but Cyrus had done so much more that he was practically the top idol of everything. Anything Cy did was amazing to Marcus.
“I know the feeling, Cy. You don’t have to justify it with me. I understand it.” He pressed a few fluttering kissed to Cyrus’s skin. “We both have things that we need to work on. Just know I’ll be right here to help you as best I can. I’m not very good with this stuff but I’ll do my best for you.”
"You're doing better with it than most people I know," Cyrus replied, "And I thank you for that. You're so supportive, darling."
He held Marcus a bit closer.
"I know one person can't be a whole support system, but you're the best start I could've asked for."
“I’m trying my best, Cyrus. I wish I knew exactly what I could say to make you feel better, but I’m doing all I can for you.” Marcus let out a gentle sigh, and stared at the wall for a small moment. “Do you think we’ll eventually get to a ‘normal’ amount of functioning? Like do you think we can fit in with the rest of the population someday?”
"Maybe," Cyrus replied, his brow furrowed a bit, "I'm not really sure. Only time will tell. But yknow, it's not like I ever really fit in in the gang either, so here's hoping."
He gave a bit of a shrug.
"Otherwise, I'm just gonna fake it until it feels natural."