There Is Something Just So Damn Compelling About Lonelyeyes As A Deeply, Deliberately Harmful Relationship,

there is something just so damn compelling about Lonelyeyes as a deeply, deliberately harmful relationship, as a vessel for fear, for feeding.

every time they're together Elias knows Peter can barely stand his company, knows he'll be leaving both soon and abruptly, knows that Peter will never truly give himself away. he knows that his archives are full of letters from friends he left to die or killed himself, knows that his closest companion is an avatar of Forsaken, knows that he truly has no one left but himself.

every time they're together Peter knows Elias can see him, see all of him laid out and plain, all his most private thoughts, all his hopes and his fears. he knows there is always, always a chance that Elias is watching him whenever he is anywhere but the Lonely itself. even on the Tundra, tucked away in his private sanctum, he can never truly escape it, but that fear is so much worse here and now, with Elias' eyes (Jonah's eyes, really) on him. it is undeniable that he is seen, and known, and judged.

Elias knows that Peter understands exactly what he's thinking when they're together, that he knows all the sentimental weaknesses he's tried to cut away. Peter knows that Elias will never truly care for him, that at the end of the day he will always be another piece on Elias' chess board, practical and expendable.

they both know what this is for. they need fear, and they do, at the end of the day, want each other (in certain ways, in painful ways, always too much or too little), and they are under no illusions about what this means to the other (Elias knows what it means to Peter, of course, and while Peter doesn't have any supernatural insight he's no fool), and it hurts, and it's meant to hurt. it hurts, and it sustains them, and when they go their separate ways they can't help but wait for the next visit with longing and fear alike.