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Language:
English
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Published:
2025-01-26
Words:
804
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
10
Kudos:
69
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my good looking boy

Summary:

It’s like his mind is being dragged by the collar to twelve years ago, back when he was still a rookie. When he was still sheltered by practice drills and second chances.

He’ll try not to think about it too much.

(or, twilight gets captured. lying about the forger family hurts.)

Notes:

ever since i first heard good looking boy by suki i knew it would fit an angst fic

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

Fatigue sticks to the back of his throat, slow and static over his skin. It’s unnerving, the way Twilight is hyper aware of every particle clinging to him. 

 

But perhaps what he’s noticing is just the blood.

 

Each time he blinks, the colours in front of him blur into one shade of pale smoke. Twilight can smell it, too. A fire. Ashes hanging over his head, persistent. It's as if his entire world is being reduced to greyscale: all he manages to eat is tasteless, all he smells is enough to choke him, all he sees—well, he prefers to clench his eyes shut. He doubts the sight before him would be pretty.

 

Open your eyes, Twilight. I didn’t hunt you down so that you could avoid me. Haven’t you hidden away for far too long?

 

Clearly not.

 

There’s a dull thudding coming from somewhere, Twilight notices, but he doesn’t know whether it’s just his heartbeat or if it’s the echo of harsh footsteps. God, he hopes it’s not the last one. 

 

A door slams against the wall nearest to his crumpled figure, making him flinch. Humiliating as it is, it seems like Twilight has lost any self-discipline when it comes to reflexes. It’s like his mind is being dragged by the collar to twelve years ago, back to when he was still a rookie. When he was still sheltered by practice drills and second chances. 

 

He’ll try not to think about it too much. Any memories from before ache, wrapping lithe fingers around his neck. 

 

Come on, Twilight. Do some remembering for me. It was last November, and you stole—

 

I didn’t steal. 

 

Still telling lies, Agent? 

 

He just wants to go home. And he’s not above begging for the chance. 

 

Shutting his eyes, Twilight lets the darkness envelope him completely, ignoring the green and red flashes against his eyelids. It hurts to think about them, and the memories have a chokehold on him, twisting and twisting and twisting his lungs, and he’s surely drowning from the weight of the past, sinking and sinking and—

 

Rising. There’s bile rising in his throat. 

 

Turning to the side, too faint to properly stand, his fingertips uselessly clutch at the ground, scrambling for some sort of leverage as he retches. Head spinning, Twilight can’t tell whether his back is leaning against the wall or another person’s touch. 

 

He hopes it’s Yor’s, and bites his tongue once he realises what that implies—Twilight’s no fool to love. Though, it’s probably just the exhaustion talking, tricking him into wanting comfort. So, it makes sense that he thinks of Yor, because she was the last person to make him feel safe. That’s all it is.

 

That’s all Twilight will let it be.

 

How did you manage to get someone like her to fall in love with someone like you?

 

I didn’t. She didn’t feel anything and neither did I.

 

And how could you have known that? Did you ask her? 

 

I—

 

You took advantage of her, Twilight. I’m tired of your lies already, and I imagine she is as well.

 

The first blow still rings in his mind, the loud smack reverberating on the bloodstained walls. Twilight’s neck snapped back, taken shamefully off-guard. Now, his skin tingles, muscle memory holding onto the pain. Maybe he deserves it—you took advantage of her—and this is all karmic retribution. A starless fate. 

 

It doesn’t really matter. Looking up, he finds that the ceiling holds no shred of resemblance to the sky. He misses it—the clouds, the blues. The bittersweet twilights. There isn't any room for constellations, for grief. 

 

Do you ever miss them?

 

No.

 

And before he can stop himself, Twilight thinks about Anya’s grin, her tiny nose, her hair. Soft, too soft for this world. It’s cruel, he knows, to be dragging himself through the same bout of tender memories, but old habits die hard.

 

And what about the daughter?



What about her?



What were you going to do with her once the mission ends?



Well, she's not my real—



You're just as bad as they say. Even worse. 



The ghost of cool metal lingers on the side of Twilight’s neck, its slowly accumulating pressure leaving a mark on him. There are scars all over his body from the last two nights, small nicks from a blade to cuts that easily run over his limbs like a trail of water. 

 

And yet, despite the wounds, Twilight can't help but feel that the greatest pain he's endured came from lying to his captor about Yor and Anya, all in the name of protection—knowing that if the enemy discovers how much he cares for them, it would only make them targets.



He aches nonetheless, wishing the grey room had no ceiling, thinking of stars and ashes and harsh footsteps. 

 

Notes:

im so tired goodnight <3

@stars-over-ice-cream is my tumblr :)