Regiphobia

The Perfect

It was the night of Goda's eighteenth birthday. The night Gabe had proposed to him. The night where things felt halfway normal in their relationship for once. No threat of cutting and scarring. No stressing over the state of the country and international affairs. Just the two, laying in bed, Goda in his fiancé's arms. He was pressed against the other's chest, curled just enough as to not hurt his healing cuts.

Gabe looked down at his love. He was beautiful. Perfect. Well, if you asked anyone else, they'd say Goda was average at most, but he had a lot of potential. His skin wasn't the nicest, the bags under his eyes made him look strange, the timidness of his nature was hard to deal with. Gabe didn't care. He knew that, just as he was, Goda was Perfect.

Gabe was born in the palace with his fate determined long before he was even conceived. He was raised to be king, to be in charge, to be Perfect. Perfection was his goal, his life, his everything. It was his oxygen, his blood, his food and water. He needed Perfection, so when his father had started putting more and more pressure on him, he didn't let himself crack. When his mother suffered a heart attack and didn't make it, he didn't cry. When his father got harsher, stricter, brasher, he didn't break. He stood tall. Because he was Perfect. He was going to be Perfect.

When he was sixteen, his dad had brought him along on a few routine inspections. He searched for Perfection. Then, he saw it. One man, described to him as the best soldier in their entire military. He was too skinny and seemed a tad harsh, but with a bit of time at the palace, that would be smoothed out. 

One problem: he wouldn't leave. Not even at the king's command. Not unless they brought his brother with them.

Gabe looked at the brother. Nowhere near Perfection. Too eager, too empathetic, too moody, too unstable. However, if that's what it would take to keep his Perfection at the palace, he would take him and he would fix him. They brought the soldiers to the palace and started giving them more food, more training, more work. One was slowly turning into true Perfection, the other... not so much. He would bear it, however. It wasn't like the two were going anywhere.

Six months later, only a few weeks after Gabe's seventeenth birthday, he walked to his father's room. He explained his idea, and how marrying a commoner might improve the morale of the citizens. His father agreed and sent out the letters. Gabe didn't expect to fall in love, he expected to keep whoever would be the easiest to mold to his needs. For days, weeks, perhaps even a month, he talked with each person for only a few minutes on average, just to get a feel for them. He kept Tristan, who would be more than willing to become whoever Gabe wanted. Enthusiastic, suggestable, a complete people-pleaser. He kept Ahmed, who was already polite and cultured. He kept Davide, who was naturally charming and likable. He kept Edmond, who looked the part more than any other.

Then came Goda. As Goda entered the room, he raised an eyebrow. Timid, clearly, but likable from sight alone. He looked weak and short. 5 feet tall at most. Goda sat down, looking around a bit before focusing on Gabe. A small flicker passed through his eyes, a flame present for only a moment, a spark that revealed everything for just a millisecond. Gabe knew exactly what that look was, and exactly what it meant for him.

Goda had already fallen for him. Gabe just needed to know how he felt about him now, as well as... one other, less quantifiable thing. They talked. And talked. And talked. An hour, maybe two, flew past, and then Gabe looked at the time and sent Goda out. He turned to his guard, a pale, sickly looking fellow that was far from what he wanted in a soldier, and said, "Keep him." The man nodded, relaying the message to the officer escorting Goda.

That was the day Gabe stopped having interviews. He had the other four men to fall back on, if Goda were to show himself to be inferior, but that didn't seem to be the case. Goda ate little, kept himself out of the spotlight, talked quietly when he did at all. His stutter and timid behavior made people either think he was cute or see Gabe as a saint. Goda improved appearance-wise during his stay, but mostly he just showed his potential. For this job, that was exactly what Gabe needed. Potential, but not improvement past that.

Six months came and went, and Goda was the only one left. He was what Gabe had been looking for for so long. He was Perfection. He was not perfect, mind you, he had dozens of issues and problems and worse, but he was exactly what Gabe needed. The day that Gabe went to his father with his choice, with the decision of who he would marry one day, he was a bit nervous.

He entered the king's study with a quiet knock. As soon as his dad gave him permission to speak, he started. He said his choice and he started explaining, but his father cut him off. He started berating him. Why Goda? He was small, and weak, and not beautiful and too thin and he stuttered and was messed up with a horrid dad and a dead family. Gabe listened. Rage built inside of him. When he finally snapped at the king, he found himself storming from the room. He wanted to plant his fist into the nearest wall, but he kept himself collected on the outside. He had an image to maintain.

Over the next year, until the day of his father's death, Gabe spoke to the man only eight times. He felt nothing when he died. He felt only pride at his own ability on his coronation day. He felt no guilt, no sorrow, no pain, no loss.

Another year passed, and on the day Goda turned eighteen, Gabe proposed. Goda said yes, of course. Then, there they were. In bed together, hugging each other with soft breaths and tired eyes.

Gabe moved one hand, tilting Goda's head up to look at him. The latter looked tired, but completely in love. Despite the lingering pain he most certainly felt on his stomach from the night before, he loved Gabe. It was a twisted, mangled, deformed sort of love, but it was the only love Goda knew. Gabe smiled softly, kissing him.

The kiss was gentle and sweet. It was so fitting for the moment. Goda didn't try to pull away. In fact, he kissed back with seemingly no hesitation. The pain he felt faded to the background, because, as he did every time after he hurt him, Gabe had promised to never do it again. Why he trusted him each time was beyond anyone.

Gabe pulled back, whispering as to not break the moment, "You're perfect. I love you."

"I love you t-too."

"Get some rest, doll. We'll have to start planning the wedding tomorrow. How does six months from now sound?"

"Sounds p-perfect," Goda mumbled, already starting to doze off. Gabe kissed his temple as his eyes drifted shut and his breathing changed, slow and deep and steady. He pulled the sleeping man closer, pressed against his chest, as he closed his eyes. All he could think of was his father's annoyed voice at his choice and his own rage and response. The pain still felt fresh whenever it came to mind, but he was thinking about it less and less often nowadays. A lot could change in two years.

Gabe opened his eyes again to rid himself of the image. Instead, he pulled down the collar of Goda's pajamas, revealing the words he'd carved there.

Fucked up

He smiled softly. It was true, yes, and yet it contributed to his special brand of Perfection. His flaws only worked to make him more sympathetic, more human. If the people saw him as some damaged boy Gabe was helping and fixing, it helped his image. His strange love for Goda.

Plus, there was that other, less quantifiable thing.

 Goda looked exquisite with his own blood running down his torso.