Breakdown | The Second Time
Or, the first time, continued
âI know.â
Of course he does. Dionysus didnât have to say it for the statement to be true. He has said as much a hundred different ways at a hundred different times, even in what had to have been their short time together, even if it feels to Dionysus like it had taken up half of his immortal life.
The other half has been characterized by their separation.
Who was Dionysus before this abrasive, unpredictable demigod entered his life?
What is divinity in the face of love?
And yet, what is love in the face of fate?
Dionysus studies the man across from him. Sveinn is little more to him at the moment than an inscrutable Rorschach. He wants to believe that âwould haveâ could be stricken down once again to simply âwouldâ, but it would take far more than the godâs own wishes to do that. It would take Sveinn, for one. And as of yet, Dionysus isnât exactly sure what Sveinn wants. Does he want to reminisce? If thatâs all, it was terribly cruel of him to pick Dionysus as the person with which to do that, and as Dionysus has already more or less decided, Sveinn simply isnât that kind of person. Does he want to apologize? If so, he should just say it. That is his style, after all.
Does he want to fix it?
Thinking about that is almost too much to bear, because what if he doesnât and Dionysus hopes against hope that he does? That kind of heartbreak Dionysus isnât sure he could survive, immortal or not.
Dying of heartbreak...
If itâs possible for a god to do so, then Dionysus is sure that one last rejection from Sveinn would be the very end of him.Â
Instead of breaking the silence or taking it any further, Dionysus stands and carries the ache along with him as his mind races and his heart throbs like an open wound and his untrustworthy legs save him from the mess he has turned himself into and from the hope that he has left behind. It simply costs too much to keep.
He returns to the rooms where he resides, but he has left behind his home.
