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They’re in bed together. The other Heart- Pluto- is backing up against the wall, his butterfly wings folding purposelessly, squished down by the wall in a way that must be painful. Heart doesn’t know if he should touch him, smooth him out somehow, pet his wings- the wings which he can’t handle being touched…
He curls up in one sharp movement, and presses his hands to his ears.
“(It must be nice,)” He starts, lilting oddly, because he can’t hear himself. “(To hear silence. Aren’t you glad?)”
He sighs.
“(You don’t hear it. You don’t hear it! It must be nice, to hear silence. You don’t- it’s not. You don’t get it, you really don’t, you just hear silence all the time, I know you do! It’s so- it’s so, it’s so, so…)” He forces himself closer to the wall as if hiding from something, his wings pinning tightly against his back. “(It’s so loud.)”
Heart leans over and taps him to get his attention, utterly unsure what else to do. He recoils, hard. Then his hand grasps for him, nails digging hard into his skin.
“(All you hear,)” he inhales, shuddering, “(is silence. It must be nice.)”
“(This is where he would do it.)”
Pluto’s hand covers his heart.
“(He would hold me down. And then it would be over.)” His sentences are far more coherent than usual. Almost emotionless, like he’s just stating facts.
“(Pluto, what is it?)”
The other Heart brings them chest to chest and slips a hand down his shirt, resting where it always rests below his wings. “(He’s going to kill you one day, Heart. Lamb against knife. Was and will be. You should be afraid, dearest. You shouldn’t let him. I can’t be better than a victim, but you can. You should be afraid of him.)”
Pluto doesn’t initiate this much touch. Ever.
He’s shaking.
Heart attempts to disentangle himself from him but the other Heart keeps him trapped in the position. “(Who is he? Pluto? What do you mean?)” Clarifying questions aren’t very likely to do anything near ‘clarifying’, when it comes to him, but Heart could try. Heart could always try.
“(The blasphemer. The parasite. The murderer-)” He spits, with an uncharacteristic vitriol, one that has him remembering he’s still a Heart- in more than name. “(Danger, toxin. Knife. You need to be afraid, dearest. Before it’s too late. Take the knife. Be better than me.)”
What is the other Heart referring to? Who?
Did someone kill him? Was it his Soul? His Mind?
The blasphemer.
(Whenever the other Heart knew his Atlas had a knife, he would hide behind Heart, clutching onto him like a thousand pleas- to save him from…
Wings pinning to his back like a butterfly caught.)
“(Pluto…)”
Be better than him.
“(You think he’s going to hurt me?)”
“(I think?)” The other Heart laughs harshly. “(I know, dearest. He has the capacity to murder inside him. Someday, the tension’s going to snap. You know what ‘the tension’ is, he’s so anxious… But you’re just going to let it happen. You won’t even try. Are you going to let it happen, or will you listen to me - for once - will you be more than a fucking victim -)”
The other Heart’s pulse thuds into his chest like a stabbing.
“(Pluto.)”
“(You’re not going to listen to me, will you? You trust him too much. Far, far too much. You have the capacity to understand inside you you just refuse to use it-)”
Those words again, Heart distantly notices. ‘You have the capacity to understand inside you, you just refuse to use it.’ The other Heart quotes them a lot.
Heart doesn’t know what to do. He’s still rambling. Heart wishes he had some solution (Heart wishes the other Heart didn’t fear his Mind) but he doesn’t.
He cards a hand through the other’s hair.
“(You’re not listening-)”
After Pluto made it clear what silence did to him, Heart began to sing so that it was never quiet enough to be a problem.
“(He was sobbing,)” the other Heart interrupts him with. “(It took me a second to realize what happened but the sound, the sound, was- was, was- pretty- it was clear, it made itself clear. He was pleading too. Pleading for Mind to stop. But he didn’t. He didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until Soul did.)”
“(Heart-)”
“(It’s- the pleas gave way to screaming. Incoherency, really, it must have been hard to measure out your words when you’re, y’know. Or maybe it’s just, he didn’t feel the need to scream, but then Mind just kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and- I figured it was stabbing, eventually, the noises, and it’s his signature weapon, just the sound of the knife tearing into his skin-)”
The other Heart shuts up.
“(Heart? Are you alright?)”
Heart realizes: his Mind murdered his Soul, and he was there, to listen, and apparently, memorize it-
“(I don’t want to be like this.)”
His hand presses against Heart’s chest. “(But it’s a good thing to remember what Minds can do, dearest. If only you would listen. Listen. Not let anyone turn you into a lamb.)” Restraining himself from sobbing or something like it: “(If only.)”