atehimrightup | (no subject)

This is the longest that Lee has ever gone without Eating. He isn't sure why he's doing this to himself. Well, that's a lie. He knows damn well why, and he also knows, deep down, that it's futile.

He hasn't seen George in two days, told him he wasn't feeling well and needed some time to himself. Which is true, he supposes. He wants so badly to never have to lie to George, and there it is. That's the reason.

Eating has always been a difficult thing, no matter how good it feels in the moment. Now the thought of luring someone into some shadowy alley and ending their life just so his can continue makes him feel sick. He can't put his hands on someone, seduce them into a false sense of security, and then go look George in the eye with their meat in his belly. He just can't.

But he can't let go of George, either. Even though that would probably be wisest. Safest. It would be what's best for George, but Lee thinks about breaking his heart and he just can't. He can't Eat, can't face George, can't leave George, can't sleep and can't think about anything other than how hungry he is. He's stuck and he has no idea what to do.

He glances at himself in the mirror in the bathroom at his nearly empty apartment, noting that he looks sallow, more gaunt than usual. His eyes are so dark that they're almost black, lips pale and chapped. His jaw aches from how much he's been grinding his teeth. His belly aches with hunger, his blood burns, his mind races.

This isn't sustainable, but he has no idea what to do. He has to Eat or bad things will happen. But Lee is the bad thing that will happen. He's always the bad thing that happens.

He lets out a frustrated snarl and slams his palm into his own reflection, splintering the mirror until he can't make out his own face anymore. His palm is sliced open when he pulls it back but his blood is dark and sluggish. Unhealthy.

He leaves the apartment so he stops pacing a track into the carpet like a caged animal, wondering if maybe fresh air will help. He puts on one of George's hoodies and feels like he's drowning in it, like his skin is stretched tight over his bones. Earlier that afternoon he ate four double cheeseburgers and it didn't even make a dent in his hunger. It isn't what he needs, and Lee is so frustrated that tears spring to his eyes.

He finds himself cutting through Petros Park in the crisp fall air, breathing in deep, but the walk doesn't help. Each step makes him feel weaker and he stops in the middle of the path to pinch the bridge of his nose, waiting out a rush of dizziness as his stomach clenches.

It's been weeks. It feels like he's going insane. It feels like he's dying.

But he thinks of George's sweet, trusting face, and he wants to keep trying.

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Lee wrenches his arm away and George shoves down the anger he feels in response. He has, he thinks, every right to angry. He was the one who lied to, wasn't he? He doesn't reply to the comment about loving a monster because he did. He does. He shakes his head.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do about any of this," he says. "Does anyone else know?"

"No," Lee says flatly, then thinks of Lestat. "Only other monsters."

He sighs, and it comes out on a broken sort of exhale.

"You don't have to do anything, George. I'll get you home and I'll never bother you again," he says in a hollow voice. "If you don't believe anything else, believe that."

George does wince at that, his head dropping for a moment. "I didn't mean..." But he did, in the moment, even if he regrets it when he hears it come back out of Lee's mouth. And he can't take it back. He swallows back a sudden ache in his throat, and nods. He should have more to say, he knows.

Ahead, he sees a shimmer, and he raises his free hand, pointing.

"There?" he says, finally looking at Lee for reassurance.

"You did," Lee says plainly, feeling that desolate numbness wash over him again. He lifts his head when George gestures and can only nod a little, feeling his steps falter. He sniffs and looks behind him, then at George's feet, and then at the door again.

"Go ahead," he says quietly. "Go home."

"Fuck that," says George, shaking his head. "I told you, Lee -- you don't get to die here. I'm not...I can't." He takes a step foward. "I said that I wasn't leaving here without you and I fucking mean it, alright? Whatever else happsn, I mean that." He swallows. "I don't know what happens next. I don't know...how. But I know I'm not leaving you here."

"I told you I wouldn't die," Lee replies in a low voice, willing to doom himself to a lifetime of misery if that's what George wants. "I just don't see why I should get to go back. Maybe this is where I'm supposed to be and I just dragged you here with me because I fucking ruin everything I touch."

He sets his jaw and looks somewhere in the area of George's chest. "You keep saying that you don't know what happens next, but I do. I keep on being a monster or I die. All of it without you. And I can't die, as we've established, so it's probably best that I stay here with the other monsters. So just go, please."

That, as it turns out, is the thing that breaks through the wall that's he's desperately scrabbled up around everything he's been thinking and feeling. It feels like a punch to the gut and he actually almost doubles up around it. When he pulls his shoulders straight, his face is set but his dark eyes are welling tears.

"You could at least look at me when you say it," he says. "And you might be able to live here, Lee -- might be able to survive it -- but I, monstrous as I surely am...or will be, one day, it seems -- will not. And if you stay here, then so do I." He swallows. "I'll die here."

"I think I'm gonna be selfish one more time and just remember how you looked at me when you still loved me, if that's okay," Lee gets out in a thick voice, still staring stubbornly at George's chest. "I don't want to see however it is that you're looking at me now."

He crosses his arms over his chest and grits his teeth, huffing at the threat. He doesn't understand why George just can't let him stay here. Surely he knows that Lee going back means that other people in the city will die, right? Because that's how it works. For Lee to live, other people have to die. Why would George want that?

"That's fucking low," Lee grits out brokenly, then walks past George and through the door, blinking against the harsh sunshine on the other side.

Edited 2025-10-23 18:42 (UTC)

Lee stalks past him, arms still folded and George lets out a shivering breath of relief that sounds almost like a sob. He drops the knife he's carrying in the dirt and steps through into the autumn sunlight. He wipes his face with both hands. The smell of that other place clings to him. He's like this sweater, but he's going to have to burn it.

"Promise me you won't go back on purpose," he says, addressing the words to Lee's back. "And, if you do go back, you'll find a door. On my life. Promise."

"I will suffer here for the rest of my life if that's what you want," Lee says flatly, dropping his own knife and hanging his head. "I promise."

He sniffs and looks around, confirming that they're really back home. They are, and just up the street from George's building. Most of Lee's things are in George's apartment, but Lee's used to starting over. He doesn't need them.

"I'm sorry," he says one more time, though he's sure it means very little. "Goodbye, George."

And then he starts walking, away from George and away from their building, putting more and more steps between himself and the only place that's ever felt like home.

George stands and watches him go, and he hasn't felt so close to flying apart since his first days at court when everything felt helpless and the blade beside his mother's bed had felt like his only answer. Turning towards his building, he digs in his pockets and, instead of his own keys, he finds Lee's necklace instead. The sight of it is too much and a sob spills out of him, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Fuck," he mumbles, as he lets himself into the building and trudges up to the apartment, full of Lee's things, the remnants and ruins of a life that he'd loved with a man that he loved. Still loved.

Fuck.

He just needs to think. He needs to clear his head. He needs to make sense of it, impossible as that feels.