49 days. Hate (Zanzas/Squalo)
Love doesn't exist. There is no love in this world that is immersed in the sins of mankind.
Greed? As much as you like.
Envy? At every step.
Love? It rotted, becoming a scavenger for creatures who do not know what to eat.
There is pure hatred in it. In Scoaleau, she burns no less brightly, though a little calmer, without spilling firewater on others like herself. It is accumulated, a storm inside the shores, in which it is sharpened for the time being, and then a rough stream covers the one on whom a patient swordsman will fall. Zansas felt a kind of delight, knowing that it was always the lava of anger and anger poured out on him, with his right hand. All the brightness of feelings goes to him.
This is a manifestation of absolute greed. It's his garbage, and everything that belongs to him belongs to Zanzas, so he revels in someone else's hatred. He drinks without residue, dries up, observing with interest whether this reserve of rage will be replenished.
But the spring is filled up, and Zanzas will be quenched, clenching long, light strands in his fist and listening to the evil one. He does not recognize Levi's adoration. He is irritated by the snotty sigh of rare women who dare to fall in love with him.
Everything is harmonious with Scualo.
He hates the boss with all the hang-ups, admires the power and cruelty, loves the power of others, which easily killed all the useless. Devilish cocktail, splashing in the light eyes of the predator, sparkling in a wide rock, cutting strong muscles. It intoxicates whiskey harder, fogs the mind better than any alcohol and causes dependence more powerful than any drug, and breaking without it is comparable only to the agony of death.
Zanzas would have killed Scualo for the strange contradictory feelings he awakens in Boss, and sometimes he points the gun muzzle exactly at his head, confidently holding his finger on the trigger. His scarred hands often clench his thin throat with a clear intention of strangling. He enjoys making Scoaleau bend over to the creepy crunch of his vertebrae, breaking his arms on the edge where bones can be easily broken.
How can you call it love?
They don't like it that way.
So only hate, dancing on the thin edge, when he is ready to tolerate, and the next moment to kill, laughing at the cooling body. Both are sure that sooner or later one will kill the other, but it will be the highest manifestation of their affection and trust.
50 days. I give up (Gellert/Albus)
He lowered his head, admitting defeat.
Everything. I give up.
Albus grins bitterly, rejoicing that age seals his tears. If that had been the case before, he would have been weeping, even though he was on that fateful day. The emerald painted their faces, distorted by the pain of the moment's irretrievability, and the girl's breathless body fell to the ground. At that moment, young Dumbledore, hugging his dead sister, mourning her along with his own killed love, which he denied, regretting that it is impossible to put an unforgivable spell on her. Since then, Albus has not shed tears.
But he lowered his head, admitting his loss, with all his heart desiring to cry, not counting it a sign of weakness.
It's just humility, which came with pain and a tragic decision.
As much as he wanted, Albus never stopped loving. He kept love in a small box, sealed in the depths of his heart with seven seals, preventing anyone from getting into it, somewhere else naively hoping that everything could be revived. Not without reason the symbol of his family for many centuries was a phoenix. He warmed up his dream that love would once again ignite a bright fire in front of which the two of them spent their summer evenings, sharing plans for the future, hidden secret, opening up and the spirit and body towards each other.
But the coals were extinguished.
Gellerth himself flooded them with the water of his self-confident determination to pick up the world for himself. And if at the beginning of the journey, where their roads had not yet separated, they were moving for each other so that their unforgivable relationship would be accepted, then ever since they had left them, Albus had seen how Gellert was changing. He was possessed by burning greed mixed with rage, which was aimed at destroying the weak and insignificant. Gellert was reveling in power, and Albus was ready to admit that this love was always stronger than feelings for him. The realization was painful, and over time it made him lower and lower his head.
In the end, he bowed down, resigning himself to the inevitable. Dumbledore clenched in his fist the shards of the once strongest oath, ripping apart the old scar that Gellert had lovingly drawn on his hand once. Blood with heavy ruby droplets fell on the floor stone of an ancient school. Even so, since he couldn't cry.
Deep breath.
Heavy on wheezing exhale.
It is difficult to decide on a desperate step, which will forever erase life, destroying everything that is expensive.
What's he gonna have left?
An Albus with a bitter smile leads a bloody hand through the stone wall of Hogwarts, knowing that only here is his shelter left. This place and all his disciples own his heart.
And all his love, which he was ready to give, that belonged for the rest of his life only to Gellert Green de Valda, Albus will hide humbly and show only on his deathbed.
In the meantime...
He surrendered and takes a step towards his former lover and eternal lover, pointing a hard hand at him.