(you can pm me here or on plurk if you'd like to beforehand, but also if you'd just like to drop something at my doorstep with no preamble please do!!)
[ Even a perfect, painless world. Even if it kills him to see it through.
Something shifts. The single overhead light in this converted supply closet of an office has been flickering, in-and-out fluorescence making his already bad headache worse. He feels pressure against his eyes, removes his glasses – it doesn't abate. Like a solid plate of heavy gold digging into his skin. He doesn't understand. ]
I love you. I'll take care of you. That will always be true, no matter how mad you make me sometimes.
[It's not silent in that carbon copy apartment surrounded by liminal space. Their voices echo beyond it into a vision of Eden itself that surrounds all.
It's their home, it's nothing, it's a blooming field of vibrant flowers.
It can hardly be called an argument when only one party is speaking - her almost husband stoic on the couch. Silent. Arms folded over his knees. Slouched, like she suspected. He doesn't feel well, but this is all the time they have left. He doesn't feel well, and she wants him to know it's okay.
He doesn't feel well, even as the conversation dulls into nothing. Only the buzz of a too old refrigerator filling the gaps as she sits next to him.
Rumi doesn't know who starts crying first - him, her, it almost doesn't matter. He was always the more emotional one between them. That doesn't mean she doesn't have the capacity to hurt. He knows that - more than anyone. Tried to protect her from it. His rationale revolves around it. Her. All for her. A power she can't understand forming from more than her, but its depths are rooted in his memory of her.
It's silent again - confession after confession. It's quiet, until she breaks it with a crack about kicking his ass through her own tear stained face.
They wanted a family. A home. Her parents should have been in their lives until old age sent them to another world. They would inherit the house, live in the country, raise children who would one day live elsewhere, who would bring home grandchildren for them to adore in their final years.
She doesn't know where they are, but as the world around them starts to crack and shatter like Eden when a boy's hand slipped-
It's only their cognition that remains. It's only their hearts that exist. Wherever that led them-
She's grateful.
More than ever.
That her hand could clench his so tight as a perfect world of vibrant flowers falls again at the edge of their vision. That she could keep him on the couch with her, like a siren of death, as the liminal space starts to crumble in turn.
I love you a whisper over the crumbling ruins, the rumble of their own small world being ripped apart.
I forgive you - I will always forgive you as an encroaching darkness takes over and-
I'll find you - I will always find you turning into a glimmering, blue butterfly to echo in every lifetime after.]
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no subject
[ He promises. ]
Of course I promise.
[ Of course he promises. ]
You know that I'll promise you anything.
[ Even a perfect, painless world. Even if it kills him to see it through.
Something shifts. The single overhead light in this converted supply closet of an office has been flickering, in-and-out fluorescence making his already bad headache worse. He feels pressure against his eyes, removes his glasses – it doesn't abate. Like a solid plate of heavy gold digging into his skin. He doesn't understand. ]
I don't know what I'll do when I lose you.
[ What? ]
If I lost you, I mean...
[ W̵̡̨̘̼̥͉̖͈͉̪̩͔͉̙̎̀̈́͜h̴̛̤͉͖̮̗̽͑̿̔̇͗͜ǎ̵̰̥̞̺̪̟͙̼͕̯̞̯̀̓͒ͅt̸͈͚̾̊̄̃́̂͆̎̏̇̂͘͝?̸̡̞͉̪̠̣̈́̽͂̒̇̅͛̑́͌̚͝ ]
I don't feel well. I'm coming home early.
Please be there.
no subject
I love you. I'll take care of you. That will always be true, no matter how mad you make me sometimes.
[It's not silent in that carbon copy apartment surrounded by liminal space. Their voices echo beyond it into a vision of Eden itself that surrounds all.
It's their home, it's nothing, it's a blooming field of vibrant flowers.
It can hardly be called an argument when only one party is speaking - her almost husband stoic on the couch. Silent. Arms folded over his knees. Slouched, like she suspected. He doesn't feel well, but this is all the time they have left. He doesn't feel well, and she wants him to know it's okay.
He doesn't feel well, even as the conversation dulls into nothing. Only the buzz of a too old refrigerator filling the gaps as she sits next to him.
Rumi doesn't know who starts crying first - him, her, it almost doesn't matter. He was always the more emotional one between them. That doesn't mean she doesn't have the capacity to hurt. He knows that - more than anyone. Tried to protect her from it. His rationale revolves around it. Her. All for her. A power she can't understand forming from more than her, but its depths are rooted in his memory of her.
It's silent again - confession after confession. It's quiet, until she breaks it with a crack about kicking his ass through her own tear stained face.
They wanted a family. A home. Her parents should have been in their lives until old age sent them to another world. They would inherit the house, live in the country, raise children who would one day live elsewhere, who would bring home grandchildren for them to adore in their final years.
She doesn't know where they are, but as the world around them starts to crack and shatter like Eden when a boy's hand slipped-
It's only their cognition that remains. It's only their hearts that exist. Wherever that led them-
She's grateful.
More than ever.
That her hand could clench his so tight as a perfect world of vibrant flowers falls again at the edge of their vision. That she could keep him on the couch with her, like a siren of death, as the liminal space starts to crumble in turn.I love you a whisper over the crumbling ruins, the rumble of their own small world being ripped apart.
I forgive you - I will always forgive you as an encroaching darkness takes over and-
I'll find you - I will always find you turning into a glimmering, blue butterfly to echo in every lifetime after.]