iridian
She can feel the very moment he falls asleep, can feel the way he finds a door in the dreamscape that allows him to travel directly to her even without her needing to bring him closer. It is odd, of course, and if she weren’t filled with such an aching kind of relief to have found him again she might wonder why this time felt different. But it is easy to blame the way her world falls apart, easy to believe that it is weariness or weakness or the beginning of the end, that it is she who has changed and not him. Not Firion.
Her eyes are still closed, still hiding her in a dark that she is so afraid to escape from lest she open her eyes and find she was mistaken, that she is here alone and there is no boy with gold and black and the most beautiful rosettes traced across the shining ore of his skin. That would be the true end, she thinks, that would be the reason her world finally crumbled and laid her to rest beneath it. She is used to the impermanence of dreams, of friends, of her life in its entirety. But she does not know how to survive the impermanence of him.
Iridian.
It is just one word, just her name, but it is enough to unravel every ache inside her chest until she does not know how it is she holds the tears away from her eyes, away from his. Her eyes fly open, soft and searching and full of longing she has no name for as she takes in the face of someone who is grown and more beautiful than she had ever seen. The boyishness and youth of him is gone, the gangliness she had not realized while they both shared it cleaved cleanly from his bones. She blinks, blinks again, and realizes that her pulse is a whispering in her ears that threatens to drag her under.
I’ve missed you.
He unshackles her with those three simple words and she steps forward to fall into the warmth of a chest that has grown half again as large as hers. It’s okay though because it means she fits here perfectly. Her lips find the curve where neck becomes shoulder, and although she is completely still now and remembering she had promised to keep her pain a secret from him, she cannot help but to remain there where she can breathe in the smell of him. “I’ve missed you too.” She says, and because she hasn’t pulled away from him, her words are a whisper of warmth against his gold and dark skin. “I wasn’t sure I would get to see you again.” She tells him, pressing her cheek against him before finally prying herself away again.
She resettles a more polite distance away from him, close enough to reach but no longer pressed into that odd, desperate embrace against his chest. It is nice this way because now she can see his face again, and harder because now he can see hers. She feels like a liar as she looks quietly up at him, feels treacherous in these secrets she keeps. That this is their one last hello, this is their ephemera. But this is a pain she can spare him from, and maybe he will dream of her again, even if it is only her ghost, her echo.
“You’ve grown.’ She says, and her sad eyes don’t match the crookedness of her affectionate smile as she peers up into his face. “You’re,” and she pauses there, a faint wrinkle in her brow as weighs the words she had been about to say, wondering if they’re better left unsaid. But she can find no reason not to say them, can think of nothing it will change. “You’re very beautiful.” He is. He is why gold is her favorite sunset color, why panthers used to haunt her daydream forests. Her wings shuffle against her back, the feathers an array of chestnut so bright it is almost copper, of blue so varied they must be stolen from every summer sky. Then the question that means the most to her, the one she holds so tightly to her chest. “How are you?” And she hopes he will give her truths, will give her more than one single word of affirmation - good, fine, well - because when the dark finally reaches her she will need thoughts of something else to carry her into the forevernight.
Her eyes are still closed, still hiding her in a dark that she is so afraid to escape from lest she open her eyes and find she was mistaken, that she is here alone and there is no boy with gold and black and the most beautiful rosettes traced across the shining ore of his skin. That would be the true end, she thinks, that would be the reason her world finally crumbled and laid her to rest beneath it. She is used to the impermanence of dreams, of friends, of her life in its entirety. But she does not know how to survive the impermanence of him.
Iridian.
It is just one word, just her name, but it is enough to unravel every ache inside her chest until she does not know how it is she holds the tears away from her eyes, away from his. Her eyes fly open, soft and searching and full of longing she has no name for as she takes in the face of someone who is grown and more beautiful than she had ever seen. The boyishness and youth of him is gone, the gangliness she had not realized while they both shared it cleaved cleanly from his bones. She blinks, blinks again, and realizes that her pulse is a whispering in her ears that threatens to drag her under.
I’ve missed you.
He unshackles her with those three simple words and she steps forward to fall into the warmth of a chest that has grown half again as large as hers. It’s okay though because it means she fits here perfectly. Her lips find the curve where neck becomes shoulder, and although she is completely still now and remembering she had promised to keep her pain a secret from him, she cannot help but to remain there where she can breathe in the smell of him. “I’ve missed you too.” She says, and because she hasn’t pulled away from him, her words are a whisper of warmth against his gold and dark skin. “I wasn’t sure I would get to see you again.” She tells him, pressing her cheek against him before finally prying herself away again.
She resettles a more polite distance away from him, close enough to reach but no longer pressed into that odd, desperate embrace against his chest. It is nice this way because now she can see his face again, and harder because now he can see hers. She feels like a liar as she looks quietly up at him, feels treacherous in these secrets she keeps. That this is their one last hello, this is their ephemera. But this is a pain she can spare him from, and maybe he will dream of her again, even if it is only her ghost, her echo.
“You’ve grown.’ She says, and her sad eyes don’t match the crookedness of her affectionate smile as she peers up into his face. “You’re,” and she pauses there, a faint wrinkle in her brow as weighs the words she had been about to say, wondering if they’re better left unsaid. But she can find no reason not to say them, can think of nothing it will change. “You’re very beautiful.” He is. He is why gold is her favorite sunset color, why panthers used to haunt her daydream forests. Her wings shuffle against her back, the feathers an array of chestnut so bright it is almost copper, of blue so varied they must be stolen from every summer sky. Then the question that means the most to her, the one she holds so tightly to her chest. “How are you?” And she hopes he will give her truths, will give her more than one single word of affirmation - good, fine, well - because when the dark finally reaches her she will need thoughts of something else to carry her into the forevernight.
@[firion]