Of Gods and Monsters

False Pretenses

"We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell Of saddest thought."

-Percy Bysshe Shelley

Tears still welled up from Elek's eyes, but had ceased overflowing. His face was stained a slight hue of red where they'd fallen, just under his eyes and down to his chin, creating a stark contrast against his pale skin. He was grateful that the rest of their trip back home had been in near-silence. He was also grateful for the tight grip Ambrus had maintained on his shoulder. In a reassuring, but possessive manner, the entire time. Elek felt guilt tighten around his heart almost painfully. He knew he shouldn't have sought out Victor on his own. He'd sensed the danger, but had simply suppressed it for his own selfish reasons. He shouldn't have frightened him like this, but he'd needed answers. Answers he was afraid that, if they'd continued on as they had been, Ambrus would've never given him.

He dared to meet Ambrus's eyes, noticing how his eyebrows were drawn together even still, in anger. Victor had given them no reply after he'd been struck, he'd just shrunk away back into his theatre, to be with the rest of the riff raff that dwelled there. Perhaps he sensed any protest would've probably meant his death. It was a wonder in the first place how Ambrus hadn't killed him on sight. He would have, truthfully, if Elek hadn't already been upset. Anymore death would've just exacerbated the situation.

He noticed Elek's puppy-dog eyes looking at him then, as they swept into their neighborhood. He looked so sad, so utterly lost. Ambrus felt his own guilt build-up in his gut, giving him a sick feeling. If he'd known how sensitive Elek would be, known how human he'd remain, perhaps he would've reconsidered their current arrangement. Perhaps he would've simply continued to watch him, as a mortal, until he expired. The thought of his companion expiring at all brought him pain.

He'd first noticed Elek long before he'd ever started going to masquerade parties, long before their fateful encounter. He'd walked past his families' estate in the dead of night, hearing the soft ebbing and flowing of a violin, which caused him to pause and linger. Noticed a window ajar, and peered from the shadows within. Candlelight had illuminated his point of interest, and shown him the utter beauty of Elek. His soft, contemplative face, unruly  dark hair, eyes squeezed shut as he played. Played for no one in particular, simply the joy of it. Ambrus had found him to be the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

After that point, he'd made a habit to "visit" him, if one could call it that. (Since, the arrangement was clearly one-sided.) He couldn't bring himself to speak to him, or approach him. He felt tainted, monstrous, lecherous. Elek was so innocent, so perfectly naïve, he wouldn't have wished anything remotely like himself onto the poor boy. So months dragged on, perhaps it had been years, of Ambrus just watching him simply exist. That had all changed, however, in two simple occurrences.

The first, Ambrus had simply overheard his parents by accident while lingering and waiting for Elek to return home. They were betrothing him to another, another woman Elek had never even met. He heard them use this innocent, pure thing for their own financial gain. Wanting to stomp out his wonder, his excitement for life and art. Meld him into a creature of dread and regret. It made him burn with anger and jealousy. He knew then; he had to possess Elek. For his own selfish reasons, of course, but also to preserve him. Preserve his freedom, preserve his soul. Something like him shouldn't be wasted, left to expire by time and age. No, that wouldn't do. Not at all. Not when there was an alternative.

The second was an instance of fate, perhaps. In any event, the boy had come to him, surprisingly. After Ambrus had agonized over what to do, how to approach this person he knew so intimately but didn't' know him at all, he'd walked into his life of his own accord. He'd swept him up, of which he knew he could, and coaxed him into making a choice. A choice that would later rid him of his guilt, or so he had hoped at the time. And he'd taken him, selfishly, harshly, and made him something even God himself couldn't touch. No, Elek wasn't God's child anymore. He was his.

He shook his head, getting rid of his muddled thoughts, as they reached the entrance of their home. Finally, back into the solitude of their basement. Only then, did he release Elek from his vice-like grip. He had to speak up now. He knew he needed to explain.

"I'm sorry—about Victor. If I had known he'd planned something so awful for you, I wouldn't have brought you there in the first place."

He confessed, his features taut and melancholy.

"No, I shouldn't have gone there. You warned me, about others. And I still went. I'm sorry."

Elek apologized, sending Ambrus into a tizzy of emotions. He slammed his fist against a nearby table, which nearly caved under his force. Elek winced.

"Don't---never apologize to me, ever again. I don't deserve it."

He said, his face a mask of pain. Elek closed in then, attempting for the first time to comfort Ambrus. As much as he wanted to accept, he knew he couldn't. He knew he couldn't until he told him the truth. He couldn't let Elek love him under false pretenses.

"Victor told me, told me what happened to you. I understand now—your pain."

Elek attempted to coax him, but it did nothing but make Ambrus angry. He flinched away, almost violently.

"Please—don't touch me. Don't. First, you've got to hear what I'm going to tell you. You need to hear the truth."