All it had taken was one second.

One second, and the memories of a thousand lifetimes crashed back over him, all at once there, in his mind, pressing and squeezing to make room in his thoughts, to be heard and remembered, all at once.

He remembered nights locked in a library, browsing shelves and resorting scrolls and leather bound tomes into a semblance of order.

He recalled days spent half asleep, a cigarette between his lips, coffee in hand, ignoring all the calls around him for his attention.

He remembered a dirty and battered little boy in unchained manacles, bouncing along after his keeper, yelling and laughing and taking total delight in everything that passed by him.

He recollected the thoughts of a tall blonde man, solitary and untouchable, white robes stained as little hands grabbed at him, laughing and asking to be picked up, to be held, to come and watch, to come and play, to come and just live.

Gilded cage, locked from both inside and out. The prohibition of change, the blasphemy of losing purpose, changing mind, changing thoughts.

Wide eyed stares as he grew, as he changed, as they both changed, but he didn't know who the other half of they was for a moment.

Black hair. Sunset red eyes, warm and laughing, free. So familiar, exactly familiar, sickening twisting pain as he realised, realised what a sick joke it was, what twisted fate had done this to them, to all of them, doomed in their ignorance to live next to each other and never know, never feel those thoughts, those ways again.

He remembered his crimes. He remembered hot nights, twisted around that lean body, breath against breath, lips not quite meeting, just brushing close and back again in teasing laughter and heated moans. Quiet days, hidden away from prying eyes except the eyes he lusted for, eyes he stared at and maybe even loved as he felt unbearable pleasure from their combined movements.

Love. The sickening reason behind it all. The growing awareness, the taunts and teasing and the reprimands, which were fine so long as it was them together, so long as no one stopped what they had.

But when it became violent, when whips were lashed across that fair skin, when they made him listen to his beloved screaming, heard himself screaming at them, screaming abuse, screaming and sobbing and they already knew the truth, why did they try to beat it from him, beat it from both of them and make them watch.

Being cast out would have been fine. They could have found a way to live, would have been happy to spend their only true lifetime together.

Those bastards hadn't given them that.

He remembered the pain of that last stolen kiss as they tore his general from his side, hands twining, trying to catch just a second's more warmth from each other and he was gone.

Cast out. He would not be cast down until his beloved was dead and gone.

They stole their last chance, they stole their love and they stole the only time he had had to say the words he had wanted to.

He remembered every pain, every indignity, every secret.

He hated them in that moment, like he had never hated before. He hated as a victim, and he hated as the man who would be forced to live with memories not quite his own, yet intrinsically his.

He opened green eyes he never remembered closing, and saw red eyes, his love's eyes, and yet not his love, not now.

He needed a cigarette.