It is, he thinks, appropriate, that the realization that he loves, he loves, he loves, comes not as a gentle stream, as a steady crescendo, as a subtle climb - such a love is a luxury reserved for the blessed few, for the ones who are able to afford coy smiles and soft touches and lingering kisses under the cloak of twilight. This is not a thing that they can have, not a thing that he can give - it is the love that Dorian deserves, and he spends each of his days after his revelation mourning the fact that such a life was robbed from them.
(And it would have been wonderful - he would have courted him properly, with flowers and poems and candlelight, and the mage would have been horribly indignant but he would have adored it, too, this much he knows. Perhaps someday they can do it over again.
Perhaps someday they can do it right).
But what they have…he falls, and when he falls he falls hard, and fast, and all at once.
my worst flaw is that i procrastinate everything. had a pep talk about it from someone unexpected. now i’m motivated and ready to finish a painting i keep putting off. after i unpack of course (it’s been more than a week now).