#but thing is victoria is 200% serious and besotted

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

"You're so pretty."

Victoria's movements are soft, half formed, as though she'd not quite thought the action out before it started. She feels her ears heat up with embarrassment. It had been happening more often lately - moving before she can think clearly, as though dealing with two separate entities within herself, brain and heart. Perhaps Jennyanydots' amused diagnosis of "twitterpated" was not too far off the mark; there had certainly been enough reasoning to back it up.

Plato blinks, slow and confused, as though being pulled from a dream. And perhaps he was; he'd been staring at Victoria for the better part of an eternity, focused, but very clearly somewhere else. He did that sometimes - disappear somewhere she couldn't quite follow him, eyes hollow and dark. Victoria wishes she knew where he went; perhaps one day he'd tell her.

The staring, she couldn't fault, however; she'd been staring at him right back.

"What?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"Pretty," Victoria signs again, submitting to having been caught, exaggerating the movement so he'd get it. Perhaps he'd been half paying attention, and only seen the tail end. "You're very pretty."

Plato wasn't much for laughing, Victoria had come to know - smiling, yes; Plato had developed such an easy smile over the year spent with them when they could coax it out of him. Laughing, on the other paw, not particularly, though he was never able to put quite into words why that was. Perhaps he was self conscious of the way it sounded; perhaps he hadn't much in regards to a sense of humour.

Be that as it may, for some reason, that affirmation plasters bewildered scrunches between his brows and his eyes practically disappear under his eyelashes. It even gets that odd, wheezing noise he'd make when particularly amused.

The queen could only be partially annoyed and a teeny bit embarassed - he was very handsome when he smiled, afterall, one fang hanging slightly lower than the other. An in consequential flaw that did nothing, Victoria thinks, flustered, than make him even prettier.

Victoria huffs. "What's funny?"

Plato tosses the motion back haphhazardly, as though brushing the thought aside. "You're funny."

"Not funny." Victoria frowns. "I'm serious."

Plato sobers immediately, smile gone as quickly as it came - it's like a candle being blown out; a night and day difference. The temperature in the clearing seems to cool as he continues to study her. There is an undeniable feeling creeping at the back of Victoria's neck that she may have mis-stepped somewhere, but all she'd said was...

She presses on, feeling an ache begin deep in her chest. She repeats herself, motions firm. "You're very pretty."

"I am not," he says after a long moment. There is an expression on his face that is difficult to read - he does not look embarrassed or pleased, even humbly so; he almost looks as though he is about to cry.

"Yes you ar-"

"You-" he points at her firmly, cutting her off, jaw set. The motion towards her is quick and harsh as a result, unsheathing his claws in the process. He startles as she does, horrified, staring at the space that has swelled between them; he is a breath away from scratching her.

"You," He points to her again after a moment, claw carefully pulled back this time. "Are very pretty. Not me. Look." He motions to the whole of himself, as though that were enough to dissuade her feelings. It only steels her resolve further.

"You look-" she insists, touching her paw pads to the delicate skin of his cheek to demonstrate. Plato flinches as though she'd hit him in retaliation; it looks to have been a struggle for him to resist moving away, but the desire is clearly there. There is fear burning in his eyes -anger and remorse and upset - like a bird trapped in a cage of teeth, waiting for its bones to snap in on themselves after the hunter had toyed with its prey.

Victoria pulls back, tangling her paws in her lap. The ache becomes a gnawing hurt. The fear in Plato's eyes burns hotter, guilt shining just beneath the surface.

"Please." Plato sets his jaw, and the fear fizzles slowly - forcibly - last of the flame suffocated. But he does not get near her again. He is gone to that place she cannot follow. "I cannot...do not lie to me."

"I am not lying," she manages, tears at the precipice of her eyelashes. The silence grows even heavier between them

"Then," he continues at last, breath hitching eyes wide and astonished, and Victoria feels ice settle at the base of her spine. After a moment, his expression dulls again. The smile on his face returns in a flash, a plaster over a wound, but it is bitter, cool. Empty. "You are being cruel? I did not think you had it in you."

#have this half finished nonsense too idk #Plato #Victoria #platoria #my fanfic #fanfiction #plato has body and self worth issues due to years and years of abuse #You walk in another world #Everything that touches you is moonlight and stardust; turns to gold in your grasp #I could only hope that being in your presence should do the same to me #I am stupid to think so #hahaha i'm sad #about this universe i mean #idk if this requires a tw but like plato has a very poor opinion of himself #and he's not mad at victoria - not at all - he is devastated that even she (in his twisted minds eye) would be cruel #and play with his feelings because he can't tell genuineness from a hole in the wall #but thing is victoria is 200% serious and besotted #not meant to imply any abuse or anything like that - macavity is just very close to plato's surface #in more ways than one and it terrifies him that he'll hurt her like macavity hurt everyone else #and the fact that victoria could be cruel in his mind? breaks his heart