the perforation of the heart.

i would rather have a punctured lung,
than waste my breath on you

Dahmer Oriel just didn't know what to do with himself. Rather, he knew what he could do, but he just wasn't able to bring himself to do it. It was difficult, an issue he had never really encountered before – he was the decisive type. Choices were always settled with careful deliberation and quickly followed through with any action he deemed necessary. It was one of the reasons he had risen through the ranks of the Bureau, arriving at the title of Master Assassin along with his partner in record time. Pressure never handicapped him in the way it would others – situations would arise and Dahmer would keep a level head, moving forward and making split second decisions with a swiftness that left enemies astounded and struggling to react. But this was something entirely different. It had nothing to do with strategy and gaining enemy ground. It was an emotional matter, and his heart was complicating things. Fear was there, too. It was impossible for him to forget the feel of devastating lost that had torn at his insides as he watched his friend walk away from him. He had felt nothing but fury while it happened, but as time passed the anger transformed into an achingly hollow sadness and sense of loss. He was empty now, and couldn't bring himself to take a step in any direction.

So here he was, just sitting in his chair – his third day of doing just that and nothing else. Aside from a few talks with Ghost, Dahmer had spoken to no one since the catastrophic event now seen in his mind as “The Confession.” Which was probably a good thing, because he was completely incapable of thinking or speaking of anything else. He was dimly aware that Ghost had stopped by a few times, though he was fairly sure that he hadn't uttered a word worth hearing. He remained in his seat and she'd stay quiet, just keeping him company. She had brought a chair down from the tree house above,  somehow knowing that taking the place directly in front of him wasn't a good idea. The first time the white wolf claimed her own chair, Dahmer remembered briefly wondering at how she knew that sitting in Sherlock's place would cause him pain. His friend had come a long way – from someone who could barely identify her own emotions to being sensitive enough to realize something about a new friend.  Gratitude had filled him as he gazed at his companion, his eyes warming slightly. Then he thought of why Sherlock's chair was empty and abruptly fell back into the depths of his bleak thoughts and memories . He wouldn't emerge for a while.

i'm so good to you,
and you never did deserve it
curse your tendency to hide and ignore it
just know that i try, know that I go crazy
adding up all the wasted hours away...
from you


Now as he sat in the darkness of his home, Dahmer's mind continued to skip over the same key details, repeating themselves over and over as though his head had become a broken record. He wished desperately that he could unplug from everything and plunge himself into mindless things that would keep him occupied. Build an entire house. Prune every tree in the entire forest. Anything that would help him put off the inevitable – the moment when he had to stop running and start thinking about what really mattered. But it was impossible. If he couldn't even force his mind to do what he wanted, how could he possibly convince his body to cooperate? There were periods of time when he entered a sort of fugue state – hours would pass without him seeming to notice and he'd come to some time later, with no idea what he'd been doing. At first he assumed that he'd just be falling asleep – seeking the blessed relief of unconsciousness. It soon became obvious that sleep wasn't what was happening to him, for even in his dreams he was plagued. No, this was a little easier than slumber – at least in some aspects. He wasn't haunted by nightmares or the crystal clear image of Sherlock's scornful sneer. Instead it was a sort of idleness in which time passed him by, leaving him with no control whatsoever. It was terrible and horrifying in an entirely different way. He'd come to after minutes or even hours later, sitting in his seat, his hands tightly grasping the precious violin Sherlock had left behind in her desperate attempt to disappear from him forever. He would return to the present world with a jolting gasp, as though breaking through the water's surface after being submerged for a very long time.

Slowly he'd become aware of everything around him, the walls surrounding his possessions, everything that made his place home. And then the empty chair before him would intrude on his few seconds of peace and ignorance, making way for the unpleasant knowledge, the things that punched a hole in his chest. Memories of the words that had been flung back and forth between them, the looks she gave him and his answering snarls – most of all, the crushing blow of complete rejection that had almost swept his legs out from under him. He would drown in these feelings as he gently caressed the smooth wood, fingers running along the length of the violin's neck. The male would clutch the instrument close to his chest, as though it was actually her he was clinging to. Eventually the cycle would repeat itself...and he couldn't go on like this much longer. He needed to make a move, he needed to change something, anything. What he really needed to do was make the decision. It was a choice that would determine everything from here on out. His two options were painfully clear – it was just the aching doubt that made things so difficult. He was terrified of going through it all over again. He wouldn't survive something like this another time. But now that he was aware of certain information, doing nothing at all would probably cause the same emotional damage as getting hurt again.

i'm so happy with the thought
of walking next to you,
i'm not sleeping, instead i think of you  
it's never that easy, i know

Ghost had found him on the second day. The two of them were supposed to meet up at one point the day before and when Dahmer didn't show, his friend became worried. Dahmer never missed a meet up. At first she assumed that maybe he was busy with Sherlock and hadn't wanted to intrude. She knew Sherlock was staying with Dahmer until the repairs on her house were completed. Ghost had happily lent a comforting ear for the male to talk into as his excitement had turned to flustered apprehension and finally frustration. She had even been able to get him to laugh at a situation he was convinced would be his most embarrassing moment ever: the first night of Sherlock's stay, when his offer for her to use his bed made it sound as though he wanted to use it together. He had been positive that making eye contact with the black female would be an impossibility from then on. But Ghost helped him see the humour in the situation. Then their conversations about Sherlock took on a more serious tone as she listened sympathetically to his complaints over his partner's behaviour. Ghost was able to talk Dahmer down when his frustration at Sherlock's silence boiled over – she was well aware of how difficult things were becoming with him. She knew just how close his anger was to the surface, and Ghost would search Dahmer out more and more to give him an opportunity to vent. She'd show up at Sherlock's home while the male continued building, helping when and where she could, but mostly she'd just listen. It made a big difference and on those days, Dahmer would be able to breathe a little easier when he returned home to his house guest. So when her friend failed to show up at their meeting spot the first day, Ghost figured that maybe the two of them had sorted things out and Dahmer wanted to spend time with his old partner. But when the second morning slipped by without any word from him, she set out to find her friend. On her way to his house, she ran into Sherlock and what followed after threw Ghost into a confused panic. Sherlock was in a hurry to get herself as far away from the area as possible. As far from Dahmer as possible. Ghost listened with growing horror as the usually composed wolf spoke of what had happened with her friend. She didn't know what surprised her more – that Sherlock Holmes was actually confiding in her, how disheveled and broken she seemed, or the fact that Dahmer had actually confronted her in such an angry matter.

Sherlock explained why she had to go, why she needed to leave for good. Her eyes were slightly red and swollen, her words broken and hopeless. She confessed that she loved him, had maybe loved him for a while, but just couldn't see it before now. And then the most shocking thing of all: Dahmer's reaction. He had been cold and furious, declaring that he didn't care in the slightest, that it didn't matter. He didn't want her. Ghost's eyes had widened impossibly as she took this in, shaking her head without seeming to be aware of it. She wanted to tell Sherlock that it wasn't true, none of it was real – Dahmer didn't mean his words to sound like that. He was hurt, of course – who could blame him? She had treated him badly, but he didn't mean to throw it all away like that. If she would just go back and talk to him again, everything would be okay, it would all be fixed. But as soon as Sherlock finished speaking, she was gathering herself and offering a crisp, slightly regretful goodbye before taking her leave. Ghost knew that Sherlock had only confided in her because of her emotional state and that if she wasn't in such a rush to get away, she would have put more effort into pulling the walls up around her. It was a mistake, and the white female chalked it up to the confusion of Sherlock's normally organized mind. In any case, it helped Ghost see Sherlock Holmes in a more positive light. Her distress and inability to completely compose herself as she once might have only proved how she felt for Dahmer – if she didn't really love him, she would have been able to move on easily. She would have been able to prevent herself from spilling out the truth to a practical stranger. She would have given Ghost a curt explanation as to why she needed to leave, and Dahmer probably wouldn't have been mentioned at all. As it was though, Ghost gave the fleeing wolf the credit she was due, and watched as the blowing snow swallowed up her retreating form. She stood silently for a moment or two longer before bolting for Dahmer's.

Dahmer heard the scratch on his door and the idea that it might be Sherlock lasted only a few seconds before Ghost quietly pushed her way through the door. Sherlock wouldn't have hesitated at the door. The male buried himself deeper into his chair, dragging his gaze from the floor and up onto the female. It felt as though he was looking at her from the end of a very long, very dark tunnel. She spoke so softly and kindly to him, gently pulling from him the entire story. Before long she was up in the chair with him, the two of them impossibly crowded as she rested her muzzle on his shoulder. He listened to the sound of her steady breathing and drew comfort from it. Then she spoke. Her words were soft and almost cheerful, and oddly insistent for a wolf who used to talk only to her own shadow. It isn't true, you know. Dahmer leaned away in order to properly see his ;friend. Ghost nosed his neck in a sisterly manner before hopping off the chair and sitting on the floor before him. Her tail thumped slightly against the wood. That she doesn't love you? Well, I mean...the right way. You think she loves you the wrong way, that she doesn't want to love you at all. But she does. She's just scared. And maybe she reacted in a bad way, maybe she said the wrong things. But you didn't do everything perfectly yourself. Dahmer had been astounded at Ghost's frank matter, baffled as to where this confidence and knowledge came from. Ghost never talked like this. It gave him a sort of off kilter feeling, as though he was in another dimension in which everything was just slightly out of place. But she seemed to know what she was talking about, so he listened intently. You could have been honest from the beginning, instead of keeping your feelings locked up like a secret you're ashamed of. Hiding and ignoring something doesn't make it go away. It still exists.
Her eyes had become a little angry at this point, as though she was also referring to something else that was on her mind as well. And it just gets bigger and harder to hide the longer you ignore it. Sherlock wasn't denying her feelings like you were. She just didn't know about them. And if you had've said something at any point, maybe the two of you could have figured it out together. Instead you kept silent and everything got bigger. Everything got worse. Until you made it into an ambush and Sherlock didn't know how to react. She didn't deserve to find out in that way. You know her better than any one in the entire world, Dahmer. You should have known that she'd need help! I'm sure she could have confessed her feelings in a better way...but a lot of things could have been done differently. And now you're going to wait until it's too late to fix anything. You're letting her get away because of your bruised pride. I get that you're hurt, I really do. But she does love you. And if you don't find her again, she'll never be able to learn how to love you properly.

Ghost trailed off at this point, her voice a little hoarse as she tried to catch her breath. Meanwhile, Dahmer just tried to get up. He was at a loss – where had all this wisdom come from? Not even a month ago Ghost hadn't known the first thing about friendship or family, let alone romantic love and the pride involved. And yet here she was, completely out of character and telling him exactly what he needed to hear. She couldn't have stepped out of her shell in a more convenient way. Question was, was he smart enough to take her advice? He was still hurt...and there was a lot of anger festering somewhere in there as well. So there they were – his choices. Would he put aside his anger and pride, risk being hurt again in order to go after their 'happily every after?' Or was he better off just sitting here, wallowing for the rest of his life? It should have been an easy choice, it should not have taken as long as it did. Yet he would sit there for a day longer, completely torn.

there – enough, i'm still in love with the false hope of us
stabbed inside my chest
although my dear,
i would rather have a broken heart
than give up hope on you.

It wasn't until dawn broke cold and snowy that Dahmer made a move. He thought of Ghost and the life she used to have – she had been trapped, too afraid to move outside the comfort and safety of the only world she knew for so long. She spent so much time in the darkness until she was brave enough to refuse the life Jahre was trying to force on her. Without knowing what was out there, she plunge forth and took her happiness into her own paws. And look at where she was now. If Ghost could do all that, what was stopping him from grasping at whatever happiness might be available to him? His stupid pride and a bunch of anger? If she turned him away, then he could spend the rest of his life with them, just like he planned to do while sitting alone in his home. But if she was willing to be brave along with him... well, the two of them could work on their issues together. So what the fuck was he still doing here? How far ahead had Sherlock gotten while he was feeling sorry for himself? Dahmer jumped to his feet, setting Sherlock's violin gently in her chair. He looked around him and then out the window, eyes wide with panic – was it even possible to catch up with her? Sherlock hadn't taken anything with her, he had no idea where her destination was. Did she plan to just wander in one direction until she found what she was looking for? Ghost had told the male which way Sherlock was heading, but with the large amount of snow they had and the flakes that were still falling, tracking his old friend was going to be difficult. But he couldn't give up just yet! He had to try, he had already wasted so much time.

The male burst out his door, slamming it impatiently shut behind him. He pointed himself in the direction Ghost claimed Sherlock was heading, and plunged on through the snow. It was deep and heavy, putting up just enough resistance to make him even more desperate. Giant flakes still fell from the sky, turning the land around him into a world of white, muffling the sounds of the forest. He plowed on with determination, initially opting to stay on two legs instead of the more convenient four. Traveling was a lot easier in his wolf form, especially in deep snow, but he figured the time and energy it would take for him to shift would outweigh any benefits having the extra paws might offer. After an hour or so of silent running though, Dahmer was forced to give in and compromise. He shifted to his halfling form – giving him the convenience and speed of all fours, while retaining the energy a full shift would have cost him. He made a lot better time after this, the secui form well suited for heavy running. He was able to push his way through the snow, shoveling aside drifts as he ran. He didn't have to worry about losing his balance, either. It wasn't too long before the male felt the need to slow, worried that he might run past any sign or scent of his friend.

Dahmer's run slowed to an almost meandering pace as he paused here and there, nose to the ground. His snuffs and the crunch of paws in the snow were the only sounds for what felt like miles. He was no longer moving in one direction, instead staggering his path as he moved back and forth in hopes of catching Sherlock's scent. He continued on in this manner for a while, long enough to allow for the sinking doubts and fears to take residence in his chest once again. Was he even going in the right direction? Was Ghost wrong? And if she was wrong about this, maybe she was wrong about everything else! Before long, Dahmer was ready to give in to his fears and despair, prepared to slink back home in order to wallow in his disappointment and stupidity. Completely at a loss, Dahmer gazed around desperately. Wait, what was that! His eyes narrowed as he struggled to see through the thick snow. There. Right there! It was a tiny blot of darkness a little ways ahead of him, maybe a cave. He would have shrugged it off any other day but the wind shifted slightly, bringing with it the slightest whiff of Sherlock's scent. The massive male almost collapsed with relief. He leaned in to the wind and plunged forward, his nose to the ground. As he drew closer to the cave, Sherlock's scent grew stronger and so did the male's relief. Originally an awful inconvenience, the snowstorm was turning out to be his best ally. Sherlock wouldn't have gone far in the middle of such a storm. She had made the logical move, finding shelter that allowed for her to spend the night in relative comfort. And because the snow hadn't let up, he knew she couldn't be far beyond him. There were no paw prints heading into the cave, but a trail definitely lead away from it – and the tracks were fresh. Dahmer stood outside the makeshift den, his eyes closed as relief washed over him. The wind continued to howl angrily, blowing snow whipping his fur all over his massive frame. He had to keep moving. She couldn't slip away from him, not again.

Another hour of diligent running and finally the cold and bleak landscape of white and skeletal trees gave way to a single image of hope. There, a hundred or so feet ahead of him and moving against the wind was Sherlock Holmes. The sight of her caused Dahmer's knees to go weak and he failed to catch himself before collapsing into the snow. He had told Sherlock that he didn't care if he never saw her again – and if he hadn't known it was a lie then, the warmth and love that filled him now would have chased away any doubt. He loved her more than anything possible. It was as simple and complicated as that. But for the first time ever, he was going to force himself to actually do something about it. She wouldn't get away again, not without knowing how he really felt. He couldn't watch her walk away without stopping her, not again. It would kill him. Where everything else that had happened between them weakened and hurt, this would completely do him in.

The male dove forward and gathered all his remaining strength in order to close the distance between them. SHERLOCK! He shouted into the wind. His voice was just as loud as it had been that fateful day before. Only then, his tone had been overcome with fury and confusion. This time the syllables were coated in warmth and love, buoyed by the hope Ghost had gifted him. He had to know if things could be fixed, right here, right now. Sherlock had different ideas: either she didn't hear him, or had no intentions of stopping. He watched as she faltered slightly for just a second before pushing on, increasing her speed. He moved as well, throwing himself forward once again as he spurred toward the female, kicking up snow in all directions around him. Though she had a head start, she was fully shifted and only on two legs, so Dahmer was able to take advantage of his speedier form. Just as he found himself within reach of her though, the male fell back on his hind legs. With the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins as the result of seeing her again, Dahmer fully shifted himself in order to have use of entirely formed hands. Sherlock, please. Wait! He pleaded, finally drawing even with her fleeing form. His left hand shot forward, grasping the female's arm and arresting her progress. His speed and strength caused the female to spin around to face him, and he took advantage in order to pull her close. Maybe it was wrong, but right now he didn't care about any walls she'd want to put up between them. He refused to let them keep him out anymore.

The snow swirled around them, but it was all lost on him. He couldn't even register the biting cold anymore. The only other thing in his entire world was her, nothing else mattered. His hand ran along the length of her arm, up and over her shoulder before he let it rest against her neck. He held her head gently, tilting it to look up at him. His eyes were sad and pleading, but there was also something else there, something bright and burning, struggling to break through. Please don't keep running. I need you to stay, please. Right here, for me. He pulled back slightly, relinquishing his hold on her. He had caught her and managed to stop the female from running further – but he wasn't going to force her to stay there. It was her choice. All he could do was ask and wait to see if she was willing to take the jump with him.