"...Am I?"
⸻They mutter, resting Their head on Their lovers lap. The Emperor above Them could only hum in question.
"Am I good enough?" They mutter again, Their voice undeniably heavy, yet They hold it up high. Burying Their head in the fabric more, as if wishing They could become one with it. They could become one with the one above Them.
There were no words, The Emperor just brushed Their hair as They continue to bury. It is okay, it was enough, enough to satiate millennia worth of emptiness, for Them. The Emperor's head turns to the side, trying to get a better look at Their face, to no avail.
The silence continues to draw, like writing a goodbye, heavy and reluctant. The Emperor's arms wrap around Their head, "You always are." is uttered. They close Their eyes, tears falling and staining the fabric beneath Them.
They feel shame, ruining this beauty.
They feel shame, living such a life.
They feel shame, feeling this humanity.
They feel shame, embodying such strife.
"Am I deserving of it all?" They ask again, unable to lift Their head. Their body and mind are fragile⸺unlike the usual. Pain is all over, drowning Them in Their own faults.
"Am I deserving of your presence, your love?" They choke out, sobbing. They wish it all would end, to return to such simple joys. Must They be chosen to carry out such pain? Is it selfish to want to live a life?
The Emperor leans down, arms still hugging Their head, Head now touching Theirs.
"You have always been deserving of me."
The words feel like a bullet to Their chest, a sword to Their heart. It hurts, everything hurts. Why can't it end? Why can't I live a life? Why was I destined for this? Why? Distance is suffocating, Closure is suffocating. Why? Why can't I be like everyone else?
Their sobs quiet, Their trembling stops. The Emperor's head is pulled away as They lift Their own, They look into those eyes. Dying Golden Eyes, just like Theirs⸺"Sickening," is what They'd think, if it was the first time They had met.
"I'm sorry," is all They can utter out, resting Their chin on the lap again. Unable to keep Their body up, Unable to put Their thoughts to words. Their eyes are clouded, like Sunlight distorted by Cracked Glass, like a Collision of Galaxies. They're all but powerful right now, They're all but a child wanting a hug.
"I'm sorry too," The Emperor mutters, hugging Them again, pressing a kiss onto the top of Their head.
Maybe, someday, it will be okay.