He's too good for Nihlus. Far too good. The kind of good that you don't find sleazing around gay bars on Thursday nights, or in subway station bathrooms after work on a Wednesday. The kind of lovely innocence that can only be plucked from sheltered families, where morals and religion are taught, where a proper upbringing gave birth to something like him: like Nuage. You couldn't find Nuage's cum stains in the beds of half the men in the city. You couldn't hear the echoes of his voice risen in anger against his mother back home.
You see, Nuage doesn't deserve someone like Nihlus. And Nihlus... god, Nuage is the opposite of what he deserves.
Nuage grabs at Nihlus in confusion as they part, one hand in his long brown locks, the other still hungrily placed on the back of his neck. But where his hands lie, Nihlus itches to scratch - it's so wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. He shouldn't be in love with something so fragile. Not when his every step is a crushing blow. Nihlus can't bring himself to meet the other's gaze, but his words still come through like a sledgehammer:
"I-I think I'm in love with you."
His lover smiles as if this is a good thing.
Kisses him, as if this is a good thing.
And for a moment, Nihlus can almost pretend that it is. Can almost pretend that the wrongs he's committed are only funny and not slanderous. Can almost wrap his arms around Nuage and mutter those words over and over again, I love you I love you I love you, he can almost pretend that those words wouldn't end up destroying Nuage.
In another heartbeat, he is nearly convinced that he can pretend, that the love he feels is fake and that this is just another means to getting laid, to getting his dick wet. But when the meaning of Nuage's softly moaned words come in to focus, he knows that he can't. He can't pretend that what they are doing won't destroy Nuage.
He places a hand on Nuage's chest.
Tears them apart, a supernova gone wrong; colliding stars thrown off course by a force almost godly in power.
There's tears in his eyes, but they do not spill.
There's anger in his voice, and as always, he can't find the means to contain it.
"Stop, Nuage," his hand contracts into a fist, the other finding the bed beneath it and shoving Nihlus to the carpeted floor. There's goosebumps all over his mostly naked body, and somehow his arousal is forgotten in the wake of the devastation he feels like vomit threatening to spill from his throat.
He stares at the disheveled boy in his bed, as if somehow this was all his fault. Because Nihlus never learned how to take blame for his own wrongdoings.
Had never learned how to love.
"It's not a good thing."
"It's terrible."
"I'm a fucking monster, Nuage."
He falters then, loses his aggressive edge, drops his gaze and reaches up with both hands to grip the back of his head. Like this, he looks up from below his brows, tears swimming wetly beneath them. His voice (weak now, uncertain and broken), cracks as he speaks, barely a whisper.
"I've never been in love before. And you shouldn't be subject to how badly I'll fuck this up."
Nihlus
that's all I want