[Zenyatta is prepared now. It does not hurt to see it in Hanzo's eyes whenever they pass beneath the glare of neon, conflict in one hundred colours, or the way he keeps his distance as if emotional intensity were catching. As much as he would like to fold himself into the man's arms- perhaps even take it all back and promise never to bring it up again, though he dismisses the thought a moment later- he knows that Hanzo needs the space to think without the distraction of limbs tangling in his.]
Of course I do. You show me in every moment we spend together.
[With his his smiles, his touch, the way his lips soften against his chrome, in all the ways that matter the most to Zenyatta. Words are unnecessary.
In theory.
In practise (fool that he is, with so very much to learn!) he is aching to hear Hanzo say them back, soft against his neck and unmistakable.
He does not, of course. Instead he finds they have stumbled across familiar ground, and at the very least it is a comfort to be asked, in a manner of speaking, a question to which he has always known the answer.]
If I believed that, I could not love you. [His gaze remains steady and his voice even but for the way it deepens, deep and gentle and almost furtive.] Even in the short time you have spent here you have grown immeasurably. Could you ever have imagined one year ago that you would be living with Genji? That you would be happy together? Or that he would love you as deeply as he did, too?
[Hanzo means to be harsh in those words, but as though he's incapable of taking that stance against the monk, his words soften and he ends the statement with a sigh as his shoulders slump and he returns to his original position with his head rested on Zenyatta's shoulder.
His heart is heavy, and aching with something he hasn't felt in some time. It's difficult to understand, but in the back of his mind he knows exactly why its there. Physical pain to go with the emotional pain of not allowing himself to entertain the notion of saying those words back to Zenyatta. He can't. Not like this.
He's a mess, and it wouldn't mean anything from a drunk man clinging to everything that reminds him of Genji. Hanzo wouldn't want Zenyatta to ever wonder if maybe he's being used as a distraction to the loneliness he's feeling without Genji.]
I would never presume to imagine something like that. I would have thought it was impossible..
[A fool, he says, and for a few moments Zenyatta's shoulders shake ever so slightly with soft and almost mirthless laughter, because Hanzo is right. He is a fool: for falling in love, for falling in love with Hanzo, for telling him now in the middle of the night when he's drunk and hurt and confused. But there is no taking it back now. Even if there were, he is not sure he would want to, and the thought that he could be so selfish strikes him like an open palm.
Even if it is true.
The smell of liquor lingers in Hanzo's hair as he curls closer. In its own strange way it is grounding, a stimulus he can receive and process without stumbling.]
Then... perhaps, in time, you can allow yourself to believe that I love you, too. [The cheek of his faceplate comes to rest on the top of Hanzo's head.] ... I am sorry for telling you this now. I-
[Silence falls, leaden. Through the chaos of his emotions he fumbles for the words- for the truth, no matter how deep that bullet lies. Piece by piece he extracts it, a wound to be lanced only by time and reflection, and, faltering, continues in a soft and humbled voice.]
I suppose I was afraid that. You or I would disappear before I had the chance to do so.
[At least Zenyatta is a fool in good company. He's the fool for letting himself get attached to the monk to the point where it physically pains him not to be forward with his own feelings for him, but surely he must get some sense of the fact that Hanzo indeed reciprocates at least some of it.
How can a being capable of processing so much more than human beings ever not pick up on something like that? He wishes he could open his mouth to say those words right back to him, but instead he sighs again, accepting the closeness Zenyatta is still willing to give him even through his silence.]
Stop. I know you feel the way you feel. Do not apologize for expressing it.
[Some humans went their entire lives never having professed love to the object of their affections, so that Zenyatta was able to do it was already impressive. Hanzo wouldn't allow the monk to feel as though he'd been wrong in speaking what was on his mind.]
I hope if that ever happens, that we will find each other again out there. Do you think you might be able to grow to feel this way about me again if your memories were taken from you? Maybe it would go better outside of this place.
[Hanzo's breath is hot against his frame; the last time they were this close, this warm, they were probably locked in some passionate and single-minded tangle beneath the sheets or against a wall. It is not that this embrace leaves him cold now, far from it, but suddenly there seem to be one thousand and one complexities hidden within it that cast long shadows across his heart.
He cannot remember feeling this lost within himself since Mondatta's death, and the thought is as unsettling as it is reassuring, in some unhelpful philosophical sense. Each conflict is life, he thinks, it is an affirmation. I am unsure; therefore I am.
That does not make it any easier.
The cab is pulling into familiar streets now. He nestles closer all the same, even knowing that in a matter of minutes they will have to part- each second is precious.]
I know I would. My heart would know yours wherever they met. [He does not think about whether Hanzo's would, in turn. It is easier that way, and kinder to the both of them not to presume.
All the same, he aches.] ... I understand, of course. In another life, perhaps...
[Those word give him warmth as Zenyatta's insights generally tend to comfort and balance. To hear that the monk feels as though he knows his heart so well makes him feel...good? Important? Most days Hanzo hardly feels like he deserves to draw breath, yet when he tries to see himself through Zenyatta's eyes he can forget about all the things he hates about himself if even just briefly.]
If we meet outside of here, do not give up on me.
[The car stops, and Hanzo pays the driver, but he doesn't get out just yet. He doesn't want to part ways with Zenyatta. Genji is gone but his belongings are still there. They make the place feel so empty. Lonely.]
Come in with me? Even if just for a while. [Zenyatta is suspiciously good and putting Hanzo to bed and slipping away before morning. Sometimes he wishes the latter wasn't part of it, but he attributes that to his recent increase in neediness. Dependence. He really should do better. Genji would hate to see him this way--but also if he cared about the aftermath he would have fought harder to stay with him. The selfish thought makes him fall back into the self-loathing again. Why would Zenyatta profess love to someone as terrible as he was?]
This life is the one we should be worried about while we are here.
[Ne-ver, the word is the heartbeat he does not have. It resonates within the hollow shell of his chest, softer and softer, until the vehicle grinds to a halt and Hanzo moves. The spell is broken.
Zenyatta does not have to think about his answer.]
I would like that very much.
[The truth is that he is simply never sure of the kind of boundaries he should respect with Hanzo. His bed, his body, his thoughts... already he has been allowed into some of the most vigilantly guarded chambers of the man's life, and it is difficult to know where to stop. They have woken together before, of course, but on some nights it feels as if he is lying next to Bluebeard with the keys in his hands, knowing that the next door he tries to unlock could be the last.
He has never felt quite so self-conscious before, not even with Genji. But he knows that Hanzo is right- and, more than that, he wants to.
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no subject
Of course I do. You show me in every moment we spend together.
[With his his smiles, his touch, the way his lips soften against his chrome, in all the ways that matter the most to Zenyatta. Words are unnecessary.
In theory.
In practise (fool that he is, with so very much to learn!) he is aching to hear Hanzo say them back, soft against his neck and unmistakable.
He does not, of course. Instead he finds they have stumbled across familiar ground, and at the very least it is a comfort to be asked, in a manner of speaking, a question to which he has always known the answer.]
If I believed that, I could not love you. [His gaze remains steady and his voice even but for the way it deepens, deep and gentle and almost furtive.] Even in the short time you have spent here you have grown immeasurably. Could you ever have imagined one year ago that you would be living with Genji? That you would be happy together? Or that he would love you as deeply as he did, too?
no subject
[Hanzo means to be harsh in those words, but as though he's incapable of taking that stance against the monk, his words soften and he ends the statement with a sigh as his shoulders slump and he returns to his original position with his head rested on Zenyatta's shoulder.
His heart is heavy, and aching with something he hasn't felt in some time. It's difficult to understand, but in the back of his mind he knows exactly why its there. Physical pain to go with the emotional pain of not allowing himself to entertain the notion of saying those words back to Zenyatta. He can't. Not like this.
He's a mess, and it wouldn't mean anything from a drunk man clinging to everything that reminds him of Genji. Hanzo wouldn't want Zenyatta to ever wonder if maybe he's being used as a distraction to the loneliness he's feeling without Genji.]
I would never presume to imagine something like that. I would have thought it was impossible..
no subject
Even if it is true.
The smell of liquor lingers in Hanzo's hair as he curls closer. In its own strange way it is grounding, a stimulus he can receive and process without stumbling.]
Then... perhaps, in time, you can allow yourself to believe that I love you, too. [The cheek of his faceplate comes to rest on the top of Hanzo's head.] ... I am sorry for telling you this now. I-
[Silence falls, leaden. Through the chaos of his emotions he fumbles for the words- for the truth, no matter how deep that bullet lies. Piece by piece he extracts it, a wound to be lanced only by time and reflection, and, faltering, continues in a soft and humbled voice.]
I suppose I was afraid that. You or I would disappear before I had the chance to do so.
no subject
How can a being capable of processing so much more than human beings ever not pick up on something like that? He wishes he could open his mouth to say those words right back to him, but instead he sighs again, accepting the closeness Zenyatta is still willing to give him even through his silence.]
Stop. I know you feel the way you feel. Do not apologize for expressing it.
[Some humans went their entire lives never having professed love to the object of their affections, so that Zenyatta was able to do it was already impressive. Hanzo wouldn't allow the monk to feel as though he'd been wrong in speaking what was on his mind.]
I hope if that ever happens, that we will find each other again out there. Do you think you might be able to grow to feel this way about me again if your memories were taken from you? Maybe it would go better outside of this place.
no subject
He cannot remember feeling this lost within himself since Mondatta's death, and the thought is as unsettling as it is reassuring, in some unhelpful philosophical sense. Each conflict is life, he thinks, it is an affirmation. I am unsure; therefore I am.
That does not make it any easier.
The cab is pulling into familiar streets now. He nestles closer all the same, even knowing that in a matter of minutes they will have to part- each second is precious.]
I know I would. My heart would know yours wherever they met. [He does not think about whether Hanzo's would, in turn. It is easier that way, and kinder to the both of them not to presume.
All the same, he aches.] ... I understand, of course. In another life, perhaps...
no subject
If we meet outside of here, do not give up on me.
[The car stops, and Hanzo pays the driver, but he doesn't get out just yet. He doesn't want to part ways with Zenyatta. Genji is gone but his belongings are still there. They make the place feel so empty. Lonely.]
Come in with me? Even if just for a while. [Zenyatta is suspiciously good and putting Hanzo to bed and slipping away before morning. Sometimes he wishes the latter wasn't part of it, but he attributes that to his recent increase in neediness. Dependence. He really should do better. Genji would hate to see him this way--but also if he cared about the aftermath he would have fought harder to stay with him. The selfish thought makes him fall back into the self-loathing again. Why would Zenyatta profess love to someone as terrible as he was?]
This life is the one we should be worried about while we are here.
no subject
[Ne-ver, the word is the heartbeat he does not have. It resonates within the hollow shell of his chest, softer and softer, until the vehicle grinds to a halt and Hanzo moves. The spell is broken.
Zenyatta does not have to think about his answer.]
I would like that very much.
[The truth is that he is simply never sure of the kind of boundaries he should respect with Hanzo. His bed, his body, his thoughts... already he has been allowed into some of the most vigilantly guarded chambers of the man's life, and it is difficult to know where to stop. They have woken together before, of course, but on some nights it feels as if he is lying next to Bluebeard with the keys in his hands, knowing that the next door he tries to unlock could be the last.
He has never felt quite so self-conscious before, not even with Genji. But he knows that Hanzo is right- and, more than that, he wants to.
Zenyatta opens the door and climbs out.]
Come, Hanzo. Rest with me.