[drabble for _chibidragon_ and for sunday_reveries]
It was just needed after our overflow thread. IDK. Kittens. -__-
483 words
Mentions of Elizabeth, used with much love.
Josef Soltini always finds time in the night to slip away from the bed soundlessly and stand beside the window. It is unclear what he thinks of, what is so pressing of his time that he must allow himself to sort through it alone, the moon beckoning him to be alone with those thoughts.
The funny thing is he now returns from that spot at the window because there is someone waiting for him. Someone who has seen the darkest side of him, lived it, and has remained by his side. Maybe because she doesn't know better. Maybe because she does. Youth is no longer an excuse he lets himself use, because it's possible that Elizabeth's soul is older than his.
It was strange, at first, to discover certain mornings there was a body lying next to him. And in his room whom he has never shared with anyone else, no less.
It isn't that he's uncomfortable with Elizabeth discovering the cage of his youth, bare save for the majestic wooden bed and dark blues of the walls, an oak desk and the large tail black piano by the window. For all his vain and ostentatious ways he displays to the world, it's all he'd needed, he explained to her when she asked in one of her long, ramble-induced tangents.
She'd smiled timidly at his answer, a profuse blush dusting her cheeks and Josef doesn't know how a smile can be soft but hers is, and it always makes his chest constrict, makes him want to smile back when he's rarely found reasons to smile and mean it.
Elizabeth is burrowed deep into the covers, sleeping soundly as long bright hair fans about her face. He marvels at this for a moment, figures, this is how it feels to not wake up alone.
She loves him, and the knowledge of it scalds him only it's also okay, because he returns it in what twisted, fractured pieces he can. And more nights like these, where he gets to keep her for himself is alright with him.
Elizabeth stirs from her spot, sighs deeply once, before turning on her back.
Josef hides an amused smirk by rising from the bed and walking to the piano. The keys look at him invitingly, as they do every night only this time he's not in the mood for the tragic and the anger and the endless misery. He sits, in his pants alone, tousled hair and weightless hands as they skim over the ivory keys.
A small, tinkling sound keeps playing in his head. He obeys it, quietly tries putting it into sound, and after an hour he thinks he has some sort piano piece.
The piano keys meld together to form music, and suddenly it seems like it's always been a song, that there wasn't a time or place in the world where it wasn't.
He'll call it Elizabeth.
483 words
Mentions of Elizabeth, used with much love.
Josef Soltini always finds time in the night to slip away from the bed soundlessly and stand beside the window. It is unclear what he thinks of, what is so pressing of his time that he must allow himself to sort through it alone, the moon beckoning him to be alone with those thoughts.
The funny thing is he now returns from that spot at the window because there is someone waiting for him. Someone who has seen the darkest side of him, lived it, and has remained by his side. Maybe because she doesn't know better. Maybe because she does. Youth is no longer an excuse he lets himself use, because it's possible that Elizabeth's soul is older than his.
It was strange, at first, to discover certain mornings there was a body lying next to him. And in his room whom he has never shared with anyone else, no less.
It isn't that he's uncomfortable with Elizabeth discovering the cage of his youth, bare save for the majestic wooden bed and dark blues of the walls, an oak desk and the large tail black piano by the window. For all his vain and ostentatious ways he displays to the world, it's all he'd needed, he explained to her when she asked in one of her long, ramble-induced tangents.
She'd smiled timidly at his answer, a profuse blush dusting her cheeks and Josef doesn't know how a smile can be soft but hers is, and it always makes his chest constrict, makes him want to smile back when he's rarely found reasons to smile and mean it.
Elizabeth is burrowed deep into the covers, sleeping soundly as long bright hair fans about her face. He marvels at this for a moment, figures, this is how it feels to not wake up alone.
She loves him, and the knowledge of it scalds him only it's also okay, because he returns it in what twisted, fractured pieces he can. And more nights like these, where he gets to keep her for himself is alright with him.
Elizabeth stirs from her spot, sighs deeply once, before turning on her back.
Josef hides an amused smirk by rising from the bed and walking to the piano. The keys look at him invitingly, as they do every night only this time he's not in the mood for the tragic and the anger and the endless misery. He sits, in his pants alone, tousled hair and weightless hands as they skim over the ivory keys.
A small, tinkling sound keeps playing in his head. He obeys it, quietly tries putting it into sound, and after an hour he thinks he has some sort piano piece.
The piano keys meld together to form music, and suddenly it seems like it's always been a song, that there wasn't a time or place in the world where it wasn't.
He'll call it Elizabeth.