a book of brallon oneshots

"these violent delights have violent ends."

dallon weekes found himself completely enchanted by the man who had played whizzer on the night he went to see falsettos in college. he was a beautiful man, a man who drew him into the story more than just listening to the soundtrack did. he had these sparkling eyes that shone triumph and excitement during curtain call. he had a smile that plagued his memory. his lips looked of a smooth cluster of clouds on a sunny day. his skin looked soft and unblemished.

and his voice. oh, his voice. his voice was silky smooth and gentle or rough and dangerously intoxicating when he wanted. he was in total control of every situation, and this was why it was so heartbreaking to see his character reach his untimely end.

dallon found himself two years later, very glad he had spoken to this man after the performance, lying on his bed in a hazy fog of bliss and delight. he couldn't stop touching his lips that buzzed with feeling and he often looked over at the same man that had enchanted him years ago. with time, he learned to love a man who was haunted with tragedy and illness. he learned to love him with tenderness and care.

dallon loved him on the smiley and cheerful days and he loved him on the days he was too sickly to get out of bed and the days he realized he was watching his love rot in front of him. those were the worst days. they were the days when dallon spent in the hospital with silent tears falling down his cheeks to not wake the man who severely needed rest. they were the days that made him angry and want to break himself and make himself as sick as him so he could feel the same things. he wanted to know how it felt to be this ill.

dallon thought of all of these things over and over when he visited brendon's grave. he thought of their last kiss and their last smile and their last 'i love you'. he would sit and recite their memories for hours. he sat wishing he could feel his beloved's skin again. he sang him songs and told him unending stories.

dallon found himself in a state of bitterness. he hated how people were happy when his brendon was dead. he hated how colorful the world was when it should be sad and dull because his brendon was dead. he found himself so angry that he spent most of his days sitting in front of his grave and speaking with him.

only dallon weekes would think it poetic and beautiful to die by his brendon's grave, lying in a pool of his own blood and a blissful, happy feeling residing over him as he went to permanently embrace his beloved.

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this is real depressing i apologize for the angst
but the title is so sad that i just got so inspired this chapter is v vague and i wrote this listening to chopin okay byeeee