I should have loved a thunderbird instead
at least when spring comes they roar back again
Aegean marvels at the world but does not quite feel small in comparison. For as much as he lives in his head, he does not often think of himself at all. He is a byproduct of the world and the lens through which he views it, but the rest of it falls away in the presence of the wonder he takes in. The only exception of this rule was the period of his life in which he was without Pteron. He was consumed with his own sorrow those days—studying every angle of it, obsessed with the way that it tore him apart, piece by piece.
These days though, he is a healed man—fully whole and realized. So he does not think of himself as he stands before Elio. Instead, he finds himself fascinated by the man the same color as the sunsets. He watches him as he meets the world that Aegean paints and finds his heart thrumming with joy at the other’s sheer appreciation for his illusions. It is not often that he gets to share them with others like this.
Aegean weaves more sea life to swirl around Elio. Pulling waves of the ocean to swirl around Elio’s legs. Perhaps he can smell the salt in the air. Feel the coolness of the water against his flesh. Perhaps it merely affects his sight. His illusions touch the sense of others differently each time, and he is not sure.
“Perhaps you are not daydreaming the right way,” Aegean muses, taking a step closer to the other but not letting go of his control over the illusions. His fascination lights his purple eyes and the amethyst of his hooves sinks into the rich Tephran loam. “What would you like to see in these daydreams of yours?”
He begins to push his gift toward the other, wondering if Elio would feel that small sense of control that Aegean loans him. He is less practiced in letting another help weave his creations, but he knows that he can—has done it before. He can only wonder at what Elio would create given the chance.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
(I think I made you up inside my head.)