16: are you the definition of insanity? (or am i?)

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He barely had time to duck as the projectile shattered against the wall behind him, raining ceramic shards across the floor. Virat turned, chuckling at the remnants of what seemed to be a hand-painted pot.

Since when did pastel flowerpots grace his penthouse? What once was mostly empty and cold now seemed strangely lived in. He couldn't quite pinpoint it but Virat but found himself liking those little things. Signs of Naseem were scattered all over –  a sketchbook on the coffee table, lights strung over the hallway.

On the second floor, the boy stood with a lamp at his feet, arms crossed and face stony, as if he hadn't nearly taken Virat out moments ago.

"You have scarily good aim." It was a genuine compliment.

Naseem didn't seem to appreciate it though. "Have you lost your mind? What do you think you're doing?"

Standing near the base of the staircase, Virat tilted his head slightly, studying Naseem as if he were a complex puzzle. "Protecting what is mine."

Naseem's incredulity was evident in his echo. "This is not what protection is."

"It's for the best. There will be no risks, pain will never touch you."

"No more pain? That's bullshit, Virat! I have never been more miserable. I have never been more alone!"

"Haven't I given you your friend?" Virat's voice was steady, as if that ridiculous man was convinced he was speaking sense.

Naseem threw the lamp. It shattered at Virat's feet, the pieces reflecting the dim light in the room.

"How dare you?" It was strange, how even raw anger could not raise Naseem's volume. "I always had him. I always had Babar. You don't get to give him to me now, I don't want him!"

Virat's brows knitted. He took a step forward, uncaring of glass crunching under his shoes.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want him here!" He repeated, hands gripping the railing in a too harsh grip. "I never wanted him involved. That was our deal, you don't get to drag him into this!"

"But.. why?" The genuine confusion in Virat's tone would almost be sad, if Naseem's frustration wasn't threatening to bring the entire building around them any second.

"He is your brother, you... love him."

You love him so surely you should want him close. In your sight, safe. You love him so he is yours to have.

Naseem descended the stairs in a flurry of motion. "Because that's what people, normal people, do. We let go! Even if it means I never see him again, I want him gone, I want him free."

The space between them had shrunk, but it felt like an unbridgeable chasm. Virat could not reach him.

"You're such a pretty liar, Naseem."

Naseem levelled a truly lethal glare at him. Virat hesitated for a moment, considered stopping, but this wasn't the time to. He extended a hand, only for Naseem to slap it away.

"Don't you get tired of these pesky morals always in the way of what you truly want?"

For a second, Naseem looked as if he might stab Virat with his paintbrushes. But all he did was turn away, staring out at the moon, jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle ticked visibly.

"Let him live his life, Virat. You don't have to win everything. I'm here. I'm who you want."

That was the undeniable truth, set in stone. But the problem seemed deeper than Virat wanting someone he already had. It had never felt enough to have Naseem on his arm as a pretty thing. And now, it did not feel enough to have him so close yet still so far away.

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The desire was overwhelming, and Virat had no idea how to quench it. He wanted to see Naseem pleased, to see him pleading, to...

Virat wanted to see him happy. He remembered the starstruck smile when Naseem first saw the penthouse studio, his laugh that grew less subdued over time, the teasing that slipped through his facade.

Greedily, the painting of golden hues and warmth back in Naseem's own studio flashed through his mind.

Virat wanted to make Naseem happy.

He shook his head in answer, watching the boy sigh, his shoulders sagging. 

"Why can't you be human?" Naseem's voice was tinged with desperation, but he was not begging. It seemed a tangy mix of disappointment and weariness.

"Forget the crime boss and murderer bit – God knows I don’t care about that. Why can’t you just have normal emotions?”

This time, when Virat reached for him, Naseem didn't swat his hand away. Virat held onto him gently, guiding him away from the broken glass dangerously close to his feet.

Humanity, Virat thought, would never have granted him this semblance of paradise.

"Just let me be the villain, won't you?" Virat murmured. "It is my fault that led us here. Let it be mine forever. Blame me, hate me."

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Naseem's ear but did not force the boy to meet his gaze. He let him have his pretense moral battle, even though Virat knew the end.

"Shubman will take care of him, you know this."

And I'll look after you.

Let me, Virat wanted to say. Get down on his knees, hold onto those ankles, knowing that Naseem would always understand.

All he got was silence.

The feeling of calloused hands broke him from his daze, Virat blinking out of his stupor to stare right into Bambi eyes.

He's so, so gentle. Both his thumbs caressing Virat's cheekbones, cradling his face.

A strangled noise escaped his throat when Naseem leaned back, stepping further away as Virat reached to hold him, his hand grasping thin air.

"This is not what Jasprit meant at all, you know this."

Naseem's gaze was unwavering as he watched war wage on Virat's features.

God, Virat never learned, did he? Standing at the foot of these very stairs, his own words thrown back at him in the most agonizing ways possible.

It was a wonder that Naseem thought he always won.

"Let you, Virat? You're acting as if I have any power here. Just do as you like."

He turned on his heels, marching up the stairs. Naseem didn't deign him a final look, he just laughed, if that cold, harsh sound could be termed one.

"But you won't touch me at all from now on."

A door that hadn't been touched in over a month finally opened and shut with a thud.

The studio that Virat had made and then preserved like a relic.

Naseem might be as cruel as him.

---

The park was, as usual, empty for this time of day, even more so because of the overcast sky casting a grey hue over the surroundings.

Gloomy and damp to match the conversation the duo hiding away in the trees had just had.

Shaheen's mind had already been on the verge of exploding from making up the worst case scenarios. The answers Shubman had given him, however, were even worse than his imagination. He had known it was all connected: Babar's cafe sealed off, both his friends disappearing without a trace, and Shubman himself missing for a month.

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