Untitled Special Event - Teigan

[Liam Nightray]

This is a fanfiction/roleplay. Nothing in this roleplay has really happened. This is a result of a skype conversation that was started by the lovely Teigan. This is set on 2047, Liam Nightray and Jeremiah Raven were twenty eight years old. Jeremiah was married to Arianna Nightray, and Liam was married to Taylor Blare. Arianna was dead, and this is set on her funeral.

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It was funny how a flimsy piece of wood could bring comfort or terror. On the other side nothing more than an endless corridor of shadows and things he didn't really want to face. On the other was the safest place where he could be sane, thought that wasn't saying much since everybody came and went as they pleased. It has been hours, and the rain outside still hadn't stopped, and so was the rain inside the room. The room was void of any noise except for the occasionally sound of someone's cries or of the servants offering their visitors something to eat. This wasn't a party. Not really. Or perhaps it was, a farewell party that is.

Today's his cousin's funeral and it was all that damn lion's fault.

Liam Nightray was standing by the window, his eyes fixed on the black and elegant box that held his cousins' body. It looked beautiful, yes, but was still only a box. He frowned as he heard the door softly clicked shut and his eyes traveled to the only other person remaining inside the room, Jeremiah Raven, silently wishing that he had killed him every time he had meant to all those years ago. If he did, the Arianna wouldn't have died. It was his fault. He shuddered at the thought and forced himself to stop. Thinking about it wasn't going to change anything. He should kill him now.

The twenty eight years old continued to glare at the other. It was so easy to fall back on old habits with the other around. The darkness that had always threatened to drown him and swallow him into nothingness always felt closer, like it knew where exactly to hit him. He wouldn't admit it nor did he realized it, but when he was in a bad mood, mocking, blaming, and continuously killing Miah in his mind has always lifted his mood again. But this time, mocking him would do nothing.

Silence. There was no sound but the sound of rain outside and the only source of light in the room were the lamps situated near his cousin's coffin. No one had entered the room since the last man left earlier. There were only the two of them there, yet the room felt too crowded already and Liam felt suffocated. He usually appreciated silence, but not this time. He wanted to see the twisted expression of anger and despair in Jeremiah's face. This was his fault, or at least, he kept telling himself that it was, it made things easier for him. Getting angry and hating the man was easier than consoling and comforting him for the lost of his wife. He wasn't made that way. He stormed right to where the man was and stood in front of him, his shadow looming over his form. His eyes were hard and cold. He had grown taller over the years but the boy, no, the man before him was still taller than he was, something which he didn't want to accept. He didn't know why he had to compete with the former Gryffindor in everything, but he just did. He didn't want to lose to him in any way. Though in more ways than one, he probably already did. He grabbed Jeremiah's hand in an attempt to make him look at him. He needed to release his anger and there was no one else in the room to be on the receiving end of it except Miah. Though in reality, even if there was someone else in the room, Jeremiah would still be in the receiving end. He pulled at his arm, his grip tight, he was still glaring and the door was still close. "Say something," he ordered, though instead of keeping a calm and cold tone, it came out as a yell, his voice echoing inside the room, and he was trembling, both due to anger and due to something else he couldn't pin point. He pulled at the former Gryffindor's arm again, saying the same words again. He needed to break the silence else it would drive him mad.​

 

[Jeremiah Raven]

Jeremiah had never been one to wear black. It was a sullen, desperate colour that took every shade of pink from his cheeks and aged him. With rings under his eyes from lack of sleep and lips dry from not being used, Jeremiah stared emotionless at the casket that he had picked for his wife, Arianna. He was only twenty-eight. He was just only becoming a father. He had never imagined that he would have to raise little Mike by himself. Just a few months ago he and Arianna had spoken about their son, wondering who he would take after. Would he have his mother's eyes? His father's height? His mother's lips? His father's fingers? Would he have hair, or would it come later? Would he cry or be a quiet child? Would he giggle? Learn to walker faster than other children or would he be lazy? Would he be happy?

Arianna had never been a strong woman. They waited until they were sure she would be strong enough to have a child, but the Healers must have been wrong. And now, the Gryffindor was left with a small boy and funeral, feeling as though there was no-one to turn to. No-one to ask advice from. What did one do when this happened? Would could one do? He was surrounded by people he could care less about - nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, uncles, cousins - none of them mattered. The rain hit the window loud enough to resonate through Jeremiah's mind as he desperately tried to grasp that now he was very much alone. Being alone was not the worst thing, he supposed. Many were more alone than he. It was not as if he enjoyed crowds and swollen places, full of people and clutter. He enjoyed solitude and quiet, more than he would ever admit, yet it was not merely being alone now. It was being lonely. He had never truly felt lonely until the people started to gather up their emotions and leave him. Many paused to give him a sorrowful glance, and shallow 'My condolences' as if that would bring her back to him. Miah cared little for their 'condolences'. They did not care as much as he did. They couldn't understand what he was thinking - what he was feeling. He wanted them to go before he burnt this place down. He didn't want their pity. He didn't want their lousy apologies. Arianna was not coming back because her second cousin three times removed apologised for her death.

He sat down, finding his knees to be weaker than he had expected. The wizard sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the rain as it drummed outside. He had not cried, nor really said a word to anyone since Arianna had died. He felt he did not need to explain himself to any of these people. He knew where each and every one of them stood. His family were apprehensive about the marriage to begin with. She was not a woman chosen by his mother - it was obviously going to end badly. And so it had. He was not a Nightray, they were about as bad as his own family, they never treated Arianna the way Jeremiah felt she should be. But most of all, Liam was a Nightray, and it was hard looking at him whenever the family were together. It was hard looking at Taylor, Liam's wife, as well. It was her who had caused the death of Ai, one of his closest friends, and he cared little for her excuses. Even after all these years, he still had not forgiven her. He had not forgiven Liam either, for all the other man had done to him over the years. He had not realised it, but he was very unforgiving towards them both.

His silent thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Who was walking so loudly? Breaking the silence he had managed to accumulate on this seat? If it were one more offer of condolence, man, woman or child, they were going to be hexed. Blue eyes snapping open as the feel of his arm begin grabbed, Jeremiah stood up and looked at his aggressor. Liam Nightray. The cousin of his fallen wife. He frowned at Liam, and pulled his arm away from the shorter man. He had never listened to the order's of this snake, and he was not about to. He had no interest in speaking with anyone, most certainly not the likes of Liam. Turning his back on Liam, Jeremiah proceeded to walk to the other side of the hall, finding his own window to stare out of. If Liam called his name, or otherwise said anything, he did not hear it. The pureblood was keeping a stern look at the weather, as it mirrored his inner thoughts to an almost perfect degree. He gave Liam one glance over the shoulder, a cold one, but said nothing to him. Nothing at all.
​

 

[Liam Nightray]

The usually comforting silence was terrible. If it was any other time, Liam would have done everything to keep Jeremiah's mouth shut. But that time wasn't now. Even after being married to his cousin, Liam had never accepted Jeremiah. He hadn't, and he never will. He paced back and forth, his footsteps heavy, nothing in the world could have distracted him from his inner conflicts. He ran his hand desperately through his dark locks which fell to the nape of his neck. He stood tall, or at least, as tall as he could be. He was wearing a black suit and white shirt, black tie and black shoes, things that he usually would found comfort in but currently feels too restricting. He stopped and glared at the man. He always hated him. Always wanted to kill him. He had always wanted to see the life run out of his eyes, those blue eyes that hunter him before, and those eyes that were still hunting him now. He badly wanted to carve and dig those eyes out of the man's sockets. He hated him, but he hated those eyes more. His were black disks filled with anger and thirst for vengeance, the man's weren't. His were dull and cold, Jeremiah's were a pool of blue which shone when he's around Arianna. He had never seen him flash its gentle color at him, but he didn't wish him too. He despised Jeremiah and those hunting eyes of his.

It was like a malevolent force was within him, forcing him to lash out at the former Gryffindor every time their paths would cross. No. That force has always been with him and even just the mere mention of the man's name could drive him mad to the point that he could ran around a whole town or burn an entire village down. Jeremiah had that effect on him.

Liam believed that he grew up, both physically and mentally, that he finally became acquainted with the concept of patience, and that his enormous amount of pride has lessen, if only a little. After all, one needs to be patient when one is a father of seven kids. How he managed to become one, he didn't even want to remember. Liam was not suited to be a father, in fact, once when he was asked to name one of his kids, he sarcastically answered that his kid be named Darth Porkus for all his care. He knew his wife was unstable, but perhaps, he had underestimated her and thought that she would not listen to him. Merlin was he wrong, poor kid had to live the rest of his life with such a ridiculous name. But looking at the brighter side, though he was far from being optimistic and in fact was rather gloomy, having seven kids was one thing that he had more than Miah. Though who in their right mind would compete over the number of kids they have? But Liam had never been reasonable around the former Gryffindor. All sense of reason always escapes him when he was around. All those years of trying to grow up was instantly thrown out at the window. He always had to compete with him, whether it be one sided or not. He always felt the need to lask out and yell whenever the other was around, and now that he was alone in the room with him, he desperately wanted to get his hands around the man's neck and strangle him. Hexing him would not do. He had to physically hurt him. He wanted to feel his fist get in contact with the man's face, punch him and hurt him until he couldn't open those blue eyes again. Jeremiah Raven brings out the worse in him.


The silence was maddening. Liam hung his head low, his eyes were fixed upon the dark, hardwood floor. He ran his hand desperately through his dark locks which fell to the nape of his neck. His shoulders were trembling. It was like the silence was causing him physical pain and he looked like he might explode. He shouldn't be bothered by this. His greatest enemy could have been a hurricane, it could be a disease, or it could be his parent's enemies. But evil and his enemy had taken form in black tresses and blue eyes. His fists were already turning white and there was a sickening feeling in his stomach. Jeremiah was ignoring him, and when usually he wouldn't have minded it, this time, he did. Against better judgment, he marched towards the man's place, grabbing him by the elbow in an attempt to make him look at him. Jeremiah was taller and he barely reached the man's cheekbones. His eyes held nothing but anger and as his eyes locked with the other man's Jeremiah's blue eyes made him hate him even more. He was angry, his anger was like a slime covering his whole being. No matter how much he wiped it, it wouldn't come off. He didn't even know why he was angry, but he was seething. He was at his breaking point. He punched the window by the Gryffindor's side, breaking it to pieces, and his hand was bleeding. But he didn't care. Droplets of blood slowly appeared and those droplets quickly became too heavy for its perch. It began wending its way down his hand, but he didn't care. "I said say something! Damn it Jeremiah!" He was shouting. A bevy of emotions came swimming in his head and he didn't realize the tears that were starting to form in his eyes. Whether it was the grief over the loss of a precious life or the anger that was swelling in his chest, or something he couldn't completely accept, he didn't care. What he cared about was that he couldn't show any weakness, not to this man that he hated.

He abruptly turned around, but he still couldn't contain his anger. In fact, it was beyond anger, and every last nerve ending on his body was alert. He kicked a row of chairs and the sound filled the room. This was his cousin's funeral, he was supposed to respect it and not cause havoc. But his sense of reason was fighting a losing battle like it always did when he's around the man. He was running on auto-pilot. Venom and profanities spilling out of his mouth like someone had turned on the spigot and it couldn't be stopped. But what were his actions but to spite his enemy? The sight of Jeremiah infuriated Liam, those flawless skin and those cursed beautiful eyes. He didn't know where those thoughts came from and he quickly pushed them to the back of his mind, letting the anger overflow instead. Jeremiah stole his cousin away from him, he stole his sense of reason, he stole everything, and every time he would see him, those things would always hit him like a bullet. "Why?" He didn't know why he said it. Was he asking about Arianna, or was he asking about something else? He was trembling again. His throat was dry and the room was now full of overturned chairs. He didn't know what he was feeling, for feelings were something that he wasn't familiar with.​

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[Jeremiah Raven]

The window gave him no peace, as his eyes wandered the far off grounds. Hedges cut into a variety of shapes lined the horizon, breaking the sunlight as it began to set. How long had they been here, in this room together? How had his time ran away from him this quickly? He arrived here at the crack of dawn, ready to leave as soon as everyone else had, but he still had to wait for one more person. Liam. Why the Asian man had not left with everyone else, Jeremiah was not sure, but he had remained anyway. It was to spite him, Jeremiah was sure of this. He could not have a moment alone with himself. His baritone voice was shattering everything that Miah was using to leave this place, he could not leave here if his silence was continually destroyed by the once voice he could not stand. The voice he had heard ringing through his ears since they were school attendees. The voice that never had something good to say about himself, his child, or his wife. He was not one to want the emotional support of someone like Liam, just as Liam was not the one to give such support, but the least the man could do was stop making such an issue about his silence. The more the old Slytherin spoke, the tighter Jeremiah's hands became around his arms as they now were folded across his chest, constricting his own breathing with every word that left Liam's lips. He had no desire to listen to Liam's voice any longer. He turned away from him.

He shut his eyes as he heard the window beside him break, but otherwise made no further movement. He knew the consequence of such an action. Liam would surely have a bloodied hand. The Italian born man could almost smell the wound as Liam proceeded to yell at him, to scream at him. As if he expected Jeremiah to return the favour, as if the new found widower was going to turn and break his own window, shout Liam's name and scream for him to make a sound. He refused to do as Liam pleased. He heard the shard of glass crash into the ground, further shattering themselves until they could no more. He turned around as Liam fell silent, finding this sudden decision to let Jeremiah stand in peace suspicious. What he found was Liam's back, his brown hair looking red in the candle light. The colour shifted with the flame, making it appear as if Liam's hair were shifting and moving with the air as it blew in through the window, bringing fresh oxygen to them both, but he doubted Liam took much notice of it as he tore through the room, destroying all that he could touch.

Jeremiah remained by his window, a silent, passive observer as the room around him was torn apart by Liam, who was kicking the rows of chairs, yelling as if he were mad. He watched, as Liam's suit had to endure what no suit should. Splatters of his blood hit the ground, the columns, the chairs, the sills. Everything and anything remotely close to the man as he tore through the room like a natural disaster, making Jeremiah feel a little dizzy at the noise and destructive capabilities he was showing. Was the silence truly having this affect on his mind? Had his wife's instability rubbed off on her husband during their marriage and seven children - while it would explain the name of their youngest - Jeremiah had thought the man to have more mental fortitude than this. He stepped away from the shattered remains of the window, cautiously approaching Liam as if he were a wild beast with a flesh wound. In some ways he was, that hand wound was not clean, nor in a good place. If not tended to, it would only get worse.

Jeremiah reached Liam just as the other man began to settle down and stopped flailing around, allowing a safe approach possible. He was just in time to hear his question, though he knew nothing of what he meant. Why indeed. Why did he persist in demanding that Jeremiah speak with him? They never spoke anyway, his silence in the face of sharing a space with Liam was not at all surprising, yet here they were, both confused at each other's actions. He examined Liam, finding no further injuries on the man, much to his surprise quite frankly. He pulled a white handkerchief from his chest pocket, and at first presented it to Liam, before silently taking the man's injured hand and wrapping the fabric around his cut palm and fingers. As with his own, Liam's were dainty, not used to hard work or labour. The hands of the privileged, some would remark. Hands that bore no callouses, but had deep creases formed by age and from hours of paperwork that he must have to do. That they both had to do. He tucked the fabric in on itself, and looked back at Liam, straight into the other's dark eyes as if he were staring right at himself.

He opened his mouth to form some sort of answer, or demand an explanation for this situation, but nothing came out. His voice refused him, and so he returned to being stoic, and simply stared at Liam, communicating his desire for an explanation visually, with his eyes.
​

 

[Liam Nightray]

The metallic smell of blood permeated the air. It was not something he was not familiar with, but still, it didn't seem to bother him. It stained the floor, the chairs, everything. It was amazing how such an injury could produce so much blood. The formerly well kept room filled with carefully arranged rows of chair was nowhere to be found. It was like a natural disaster had torn through the place, destroying everything in sight. His clothes were a mess. His coat had long came out from being buttoned, revealing white shirt which had been carefully tucked before but was now no longer tucked in his waist, making him look smaller and leaner than he really was. Blood stained his shirt. His own blood. His tie was hanging loosely on his neck, his hair, usually styled cleanly, was disheveled, and he was flushing. Liam had never been out of control like this. Never been one to vent out his frustration and anger this openly. Perhaps it was the wine. He had never been able to tolerate alcohol. He couldn't even take one glass though he would never openly admit it to anyone. Usually he would avoid it, only taking a sip or two if the situation calls for it. But today, he needed it. He needed it, if only to keep him sane. But the effect was the opposite. He was far from being sane. His sense of reasoning was long gone. The silence echoed in his ears, he was hyper alert of everything around him, yet also apathetic at the same time. He looked down at his hand, wounded, covered in blood. He should be feeling dizzy already, but he wasn't. Surprisingly, he felt nothing. He felt numb. He knew that the wound should hurt. He clenched his fist, then open it again, applying more pressure. Still nothing. Somehow he wished that it did hurt, then perhaps it would take his mind away from the inner conflicts that he was having.

Or maybe it wasn't the alcohol. Maybe it was Jeremiah. He was sure that the damn Gryffindor's sole purpose for existing was to annoy the hell out of him. Ever since that hero wannabe showed up that hideous face of his, his life had turned for the worse. Jeremiah had always messed up with his plans, always sticking his nose in his business. When was the last time he called him a hero wannabe again? He couldn't remember. He decided it was childish to call him that, but alas, old habits are easy to return when the Gryffindor was around. He grew up, that much he knew. No longer was he the kid who threw threats around as much as he breaths. But with Jeremiah, he was still the kid that he was back at Hogwarts. Had he ever been able to act properly around the man? During family occasions, had he ever given him a word of compliment or even a mere nod of acknowledgment? No. For he could barely control himself around him. He wouldn't have attended the wedding if not for Arianna. The look on the Gryffindor's face as they said their vows sickened him. Jeremiah in his wedding attire, his eyes, those cursed eyes, twinkling in mirth as they finally said their 'I dos'. It made his stomach turn in ways he didn't know was possible. He couldn't accept him, not as Arianna's husband. Not as anyone else but his enemy.

He was panting, out of breath, his head was swimming with all kinds of emotions while his body remained motionless. He never felt so... helpless before. He could hear footsteps coming towards his direction. He knew who it was, the door had not opened since a while ago. It was like it had been stuck in place, merely a decoration which separated them from the rest. He ignored the man. He was being unreasonable. He wanted him to talk, didn't he? Wanted him to say something. But why? Didn't he hate the man's voice? Hated how the mere sound of him seemed to tear through his defenses, making his sense of reasoning go haywire?

The footsteps stopped in front of him. Against better judgment, he raised his head, looking at his enemy, the man who stole everything away from him, whether he intended to or not. Like him, Jeremiah was wearing black. Liam liked that color, but he hated seeing it being worn by the man. The black highlighted his eyes, those eyes that he desperately wanted to dig out, those eyes that were now staring to his own, drowning him in emotions he instantly tagged as hate.The dimness of the room wasn't helping either. Those eyes stood out in the darkness, making it more inviting... attractive even. Air blew from the hole in the window that he just made, sending chills to his body, yet remained motionless, but the sudden gust of wind made the flames shift a little and as they did, the combination of both shadow and light only highlighted the taller man's features. They had been in much closer proximity before, what with him almost always getting rather physical around the man. Liam would always resort to verbal violence, but around Miah, he always felt the need to use force. The silence continued, the flames danced, and he still stood still.

Jeremiah's lips moved, was it to say something? He didn't know, but what bothered him was the fact that he was paying attention to the man's lips. They had a lot of exchanged of verbal arguments before, but this was the first time that he noticed its shape. He never paid attention to anyone's features before, not even his own wife, though admittedly, Taylor is beautiful. Liam, while not one to throw around compliments, do know how to appreciate a work of art. Taylor was one, and much to his chagrin, Jeremiah was too, though he rather be dead than say that, or better yet, Miah should die so he could rid of these ridiculous thoughts. It must be the alcohol. He swore not to ever drink any again.

Liam shook his head. This was bad, this was really bad. He was supposed to hate Jeremiah, and he did. He hated him with every fiber of his being. He wanted him dead, and this was the perfect opportunity to do this. Just a quick shift in his stance and a swing of his fist and he could do it, but he remained on his spot, trembling, drops of blood traveling down his hand, or where they? He felt something warm on his hand, but he paid it no attention, as his mind was occupied with clashing thoughts. When did he start having these thoughts about him? Was it earlier? Was it when he saw how the sparkle died from his eyes when he first learned of his wife's death? Or was it years earlier? Either way, he hated it. He hated the voice that would so often come to his head to remind him of the man, of everything that he had that he didn't. When did he start thinking about the times that their paths would cross, thinking about how he should have done 'this' instead of 'that' or said 'this' instead of 'that'. When did he start to find him so dangerously... alluring?

He knew he hated Jeremiah, he reminded himself everyday of how much he despised him. Jeremiah stole everything away from him, and now, he was stealing his sanity. Couldn't he ever be contented with what he already had? Liam tried to shut those thoughts, but those thoughts refused to be ignored. Liam refused to let him steal his sanity away. He had to do something. Perhaps storm out of the room? But that would make it seem like he was a coward, a weakling, and he couldn't let Miah see him as one. So he did what he usually does in order to deal with confusion whenever Jeremiah was around, be violent, hurt him.

He raised his hand to take hold of the man's collar but by doing so, he took notice of the thing that was making his hand feel warm. A white handkerchief. He couldn't remember wrapping his injured hand with one. He was pretty sure his handkerchief wasn't white either. Jeremiah. And the conflicting thoughts were shut in, his ire taking over. He did not need his help. He needed no one's help, most importantly, not Jeremiah's. Never Jeremiah's. The blank countenance gave way to a crazy, possessed, and twisted expression of rage. "What is this? What are you playing at?" He shouted, shaking his injured hand, currently wrapped with the man's handkerchief, in front of Miah’s face. "I don't need your help. Don't you understand? I don't!" Nothing good could come out of lashing out like this, Jeremiah didn't do anything wrong. He's reasonable side knew that, but he didn't care. This was what he does best when around Jeremiah. It was his defense mechanism, a way for him to be rooted to who he should be. "Give it back, give everything back!" His reasoning. His sanity. His sense of self. He had the man by the collar, pulling at him. The difference in height was frustrating, why did he have to be so damn short? No. Why did Jeremiah had to be so damn tall? Maybe he should cut his legs. That way he couldn't run like he did before, and maybe then, he didn't have to look up just so he could look straight at those damn eyes. He pulled at the man’s collar again, pulling him down so he didn't have to strain his neck from looking up, perhaps pulled too hard, perhaps applying too much force, and before he knew it, before he fully processed what he did or what he accidentally did. Skin met skin. Lips met lips.​

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[Jeremiah Raven]

Jeremiah licked his lips silently as they grew dry during their lack of use. Upon wrapping Liam's hand in his handkerchief, he immediately wanted the fabric back and away from the poison that was the Nightray before him. He loathed him with every fibre of his being. He stood for everything that Jeremiah was against, and while perhaps if circumstances had have been different, they would have been good friends, able to help each other through many woes that they had both endured over the years, Jeremiah's most current being now. But instead they had both met under trying circumstances, and both believing they were right, naturally butted heads until there was no possible way to salvage their relationship. Many tried to convince them to change, to become friendly for the sake of Arianna. Arianna herself had begged him to try and be kinder to her cousin. She tried to tell him that Liam was partially decent under all the cruel armour he wore. Apparently, deep down inside the man before him was a beating heart that loved as much as he did, but it was difficult to believe. Liam was an animal, barely civilised enough to control himself on one of the hardest days in Jeremiah's life. This was Arianna's funeral, and the least Liam could have done was respect it - her - enough to not go destroying everything. Just once, all Jeremiah wanted was for Liam to stop destroying everything in his life, to stop corrupting everything that was good, to just back away and allow Jeremiah the space he needed to grow, and to live happily with himself and his family. But Liam could never leave him alone, and nor could he afford to allow the same for Liam.

The man often found himself going out of his way to antagonise Liam, though he knew not why. He enjoyed getting him angry, seeing him lash out at anything in his path. He enjoyed leading Liam into a destructive fury, that would see his entire office levelled within the hour, and Liam a ferocious mess in the middle of the room, while Miah would simply leave and return home, knowing that his work had been done. Liam's brown eyes would light up with energy when angry, and this energy would encompass his entire being, being almost a physical force all of its own, beyond his magical or physical capabilities, his emotionally charged reactions were what intrigued Jeremiah the most. He often appeared civilised. Well dressed in a suit, tie tied to his throat carefully and shirt ironed. His sleeves greeting his wrists evenly on each side, his pants fitting him comfortably and just shy of his shoes, which were often shined. He never had facial hair, and for this Jeremiah was glad, as Liam would probably look hideous with such growth. His skin was much too smooth for a bead to be complimentary. Sometimes he would have glasses for reading, as just like his own, Liam's eyes had grown tired over the years or peering through long eye-lashes at the small print that both would spend their days in their respective offices, reading. Black and sleek, complimentary to his eyes and eyebrows, that would sit just above them. They made him look clever - far cleverer than he actually was. Regardless of his fancy suit and shined shoes, sleek glasses and long lashes, Liam was an animal in his breast, in his heart, and Jeremiah knew exactly how to call it forth, to rain down destruction on everything around them, yet he was rarely the victim of this violence. The chaos would shower all around them, but Miah would never be harmed. Statues would fall, glass would shatter, and yet Jeremiah could stand in the centre of it all, and find himself unharmed by the chaos that Liam caused. And it had seemed that, once again, history would repeat, as it often did when it came to him and Liam. Liam and him.

Liam was once more in a fine suit. It had been pressed, and fitted him stunningly. It was expensive, a fine soft fabric that shared its origins with Jeremiah's own. Cut from the same cloth, one could say, as he fingers had graced it and felt the similarities of his own wardrobe. But this was not his suit, as it was much too small, it would never fit him. However, now the suit did not share as much as it once had with his own. It was dishevelled, it was torn, it was stained and broken. Buttons were loose, his tie was unstuck, and his collar was crinkled and messy. His shirt had untucked itself in his hurry, his once shiny shoes, that reflected the candle light, were now dulled with dust and dirt. The brilliantly white shirt underneath it all was stained with blood that would never come out, and Liam's once perfectly styled and tamed hair, was now wild. Strings and strands stood on end and across others, on his face and his shoulders, crossing through his eyebrows and entering his mouth. Just by looking at the strands, he could see that they had been held in place by product, which would have also made his hair soft to the touch, not that he would know, but a part of him was curious to find out. Arianna had always said that her cousin had nice hair, and that this trait had passed to his children - all seven of them. Jeremiah and Arianna had wanted a big family, but her health had denied them this, and yet there was Taylor and Liam, producing children almost yearly, when neither wanted them as much as he and Arianna did. Neither of them loved children as much as he and Arianna. Neither would have been as goo parents as he and Arianna would have been. And yet, there they were with their large family and happy lives, their house and school fees, their crying children and tumbling toddlers. Happy and loud and excited. And here he was, without a wife to love, and with a sickly son that he could barely look at, for every time he tried he would see Arianna's pale face staring back at him.

He breathed deeply through his nose to wake himself from his thoughts. He could not think of his love at this moment, of his son, for it was too much for him. He caught the scent of sweetness, noting the scent to be the alcohol originating from Liam's lips, as they seemed to move. He was shaking his head, it seemed, though Jeremiah knew not why. He had said nothing, he had done nothing but observed him as if he were a fish in his tank. An animal in his cage. As Liam's head shook, Jeremiah's tilted with misunderstanding, and as he attempted to question him, his words were unable to be summoned, and he once again remained in silence, watch the man before him react to something he was unable to grasp. He appeared to be trembling, and yet Jeremiah still had no idea why. He could barely get a part of him to move - even breathing felt like a conscious effort that was slowly beginning to become too much to pay. His lungs were screaming at him to just stop using them, to allow himself to fall with his wife and meed her once more. To hear her talk of simple things, such as Spring and whether her roses had bloomed properly, and to debate baby names with him. He had wanted something traditional, perhaps Cirino after his late brother, but Arianna had laughed at it, and refused such a name. This continued, Arianna had suggested Liam at one point, to which Jeremiah may have overreacted to. He had nearly become the beast he knew Liam to be, but he had reigned himself in at thoughts of scaring his wife, and had declined the name like all the others. He could not have had his child named after this man. This man had been a torment for what seemed like his entire life, and he would never be rid of him. Liam would always be in his life, a part of him, because of what they had shared over their years together.

His injured hand was raised, and Jeremiah saw that the blood was beginning to seep through it. His hand began reaching for his collar, but paused, and Jeremiah pulled his eyes away from the extended hand, to the arm that moved it, to the toned shoulder that balanced it, and finally to the sweaty, tired face of his nemesis. A man who had been impacting his life since they were schoolboys. His face twisted. He was beginning to break through his cage one last time, as he had just moments before. His eyes darkened, his lips curled and snarled at him, his eyebrows knitted together and his voice erupted in rage. He demanded answers that Jeremiah was incapable of giving. He was playing at nothing, it was a moment of kindness that he assured himself would never be repeated. He did understand, he understand more than he realised, and for what seemed like the first time in either of their lives, Jeremiah realised that this man before him was just as broken as he was. And yes, he did need his help. He probably needed Jeremiah's help more than Jeremiah needed his. He grabbed his collar, and Jeremiah instinctively grabbed his wrist. he wanted everything back, but Jeremiah had nothing to give. He was yanked down to Liam's level, eliminating his natural height from the equation as Jeremiah felt his collar tighten around his throat painfully. The taller Italian gave way to Liam's wishes to avoid causing damage to his throat. His face slammed into Liam's, his upper lip being cut by Liam's teeth, and while one part of him wanted to hit the man, to cause him to bleed just as he was, another part refused to move from this current stance. And so, there he stood, his hands slowly slipping down Liam's arm.
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