![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Lasse's decided he loathes him.
He's no different from the Spades he ran away from. His eyes are hard and his jaw is set and he doesn't flinch when he slits the throat of a man condemned to premature death. His muscles are soft and his voice is soothing and he doesn't hesitate when he embraces the wife of the man he's killed moments before in the other room.
What kind of man does that?
He cares about everyone. You can see it in his smile, the gentleness in his hardened hands, and the way he tucks his cigarette behind his ear when the kids run up to him and grab his trouser legs. But he’s a utilitarian by nature and he’d leave them all to the wolves for the sake of anything.
Why would he laugh if you called him despicable to his face?
He's a bad liar when he tries to cover up the parts of himself that's been wrecked to pieces but he lies effortlessly about everyone else. He says he loves Lasse but, the damage already done, he’ll part his lips and let his dead abuser slip in between his legs and give him everything he asked for if he was still alive. He's weak because he'll never fight back against those who enjoy hurting him but he’s as fast and ruthless with a knife as the mad queen he threw years of his life away serving. She grabbed his lapels and pulled him down from heaven and made sure he was lucid while she slowly tore his wings off – but he’ll always be an angel.
How could you love someone who’s fallen so far?
He sleeps on his couch with the morning breeze brushing his hair across his forehead. He can sleep and laugh and listen and sing and feel and love despite the lies, the sins, the pain.
The alarm goes off for half a second before Lasse’s palm covers and mutes the sound.
“You’re going to make me late for work.” Dark eyes fluttered open, and Michael smiled.
“Yes. But I love you.”
He's no different from the Spades he ran away from. His eyes are hard and his jaw is set and he doesn't flinch when he slits the throat of a man condemned to premature death. His muscles are soft and his voice is soothing and he doesn't hesitate when he embraces the wife of the man he's killed moments before in the other room.
What kind of man does that?
He cares about everyone. You can see it in his smile, the gentleness in his hardened hands, and the way he tucks his cigarette behind his ear when the kids run up to him and grab his trouser legs. But he’s a utilitarian by nature and he’d leave them all to the wolves for the sake of anything.
Why would he laugh if you called him despicable to his face?
He's a bad liar when he tries to cover up the parts of himself that's been wrecked to pieces but he lies effortlessly about everyone else. He says he loves Lasse but, the damage already done, he’ll part his lips and let his dead abuser slip in between his legs and give him everything he asked for if he was still alive. He's weak because he'll never fight back against those who enjoy hurting him but he’s as fast and ruthless with a knife as the mad queen he threw years of his life away serving. She grabbed his lapels and pulled him down from heaven and made sure he was lucid while she slowly tore his wings off – but he’ll always be an angel.
How could you love someone who’s fallen so far?
He sleeps on his couch with the morning breeze brushing his hair across his forehead. He can sleep and laugh and listen and sing and feel and love despite the lies, the sins, the pain.
The alarm goes off for half a second before Lasse’s palm covers and mutes the sound.
“You’re going to make me late for work.” Dark eyes fluttered open, and Michael smiled.
“Yes. But I love you.”
