He dreams or red hair and strong arms and he prays and prays to Poseidon that it's Tula because it has to be Tula because isn't it enough that he's impure why does he have to be this too, he can't possibly be that he's THAT-

Because they've taught him, haven't they? That that's how the Greeks fell and the Romans after them. Permissiveness, disorder, man taking pleasure in man and woman in woman, upsetting the order and balance of nature upon which all magic depends upon.

The gods frown, child.

And there's no way that he can be that, feel that, not about Roy. The strong arms that hold him in his dreams are Tula's- they're big because she's older, they're big because he's always felt so safe with her. Surely it's symbolism. Just like the strength and hard flatness of her chest- not flesh at all, surely, no matter the human warmth of it.

Armor.

Armor, because she's strong (so much stronger than he has ever been or shall be). The red of her hair is one shade off in the dream because dreams are always discolored, aren't they? And he hasn't seen her in a while so he must just be forgetting.

As if he could forget her, a detail or her like the red of her hair of the gentle curve of her arms, elegant steel cables with none of the bulk of the ones that grip him in his sleeping and waking dreams. The blue of the eyes that call him have none of her green and hers have none of their sharp and teasing fire. She is laughter and light and the easy strength and grace of a dolphin, or a jetstream. She is smooth and graceful but surely it is not so hard a leap for his sleeping mind to imagine her to move like fire, with fury and burning.

He can pretend her hands are callused in a way no proficient sorcerer's ever are.

This is how the Greeks fell, the Romans. It's wrong and sick and he so desires to be good and just and this can't be happening to him, not when he has so much to lose.

So he pretends, and he convinces himself he is in love (and he is).

And he is in love with her, because she's part of him and always shall be and he misses her so greatly and he wants the comfort and security that he feels in her laugh and he wants the safety of loving this woman who is cool as tides. He wants the safety of her love, of her sweet coolness that could maybe please quench the damnable fire burning in his belly.

But at night he awakens with seed on his thighs and the fading sensations of red hair and blue (too blue) eyes and strong arms and callused hands and a rough, low voice in his ear. And he curls up and cries for her and tries to pretend he wants her the way he's supposed to.

And he's so heartbroken (really, he is) when she doesn't want him that way either. Because he can't be safe, not now, and he's not good enough for her and maybe she knows there's something wrong with him.

And months later he'll kick down that door and when Roy asks who broke his heart he'll say Tula but he'll have meant to say "you, because you've destroyed me and made me worth nothing".

But eventually he'll find out that Greece and Rome fell because they were bloated and fatted and too big and doomed by madness and lead and syphilis. He'll learn it had more to do with economics and conquests than the love of men and men and women and women and permissiveness. And he'll start looking at his home from inside out and oh god he lovesthem and he'll die for them but some of them are wrong about Purity and there's a chance that most of them are wrong about this, too.

And when Kaldur comes back from outer space he'll find Roy who Cheshire's left and he'll finally let himself maybe, yes, fall in love. The first time he and Roy lie together in bed and Roy's arms wrap around him and the red of his hair is in the center of his eyes Kaldur will weep and weep and he'll be the bitter kind of happy that people who've lost that much have to be but he'll finally have reached a dream that's more than six years old but never died, not even when he wanted it to.