forgive me please?
This took way longer than it should have, especially for something so short. My excuse is that there was more than one, and this is the only one I finished. It was written really late at night, too.
But.
smokexscribbles , I grant you more Ravix/Ilfiid.
Title: Same
Fandom: Surreality {Ravix&Ilfiid}
Worcount: 1,025
A/N: It's actually a direct sequel to Shame, which probably condemns the title. XD It was, however, written to Staind and way too early, which means that it's inexcusably angsty. But Ilfiid is angsty. I suppose he has cause.
Ravix is asleep now, crashed on the bed because Ilfiid didn't want to leave the sanctuary of the couch yet. It's an odd sensation, fearing his own bed - but he isn't sure he wants to see it alone, and he knows at least that he can't join Ravix at the moment. Maybe later, once the man has recovered from whatever's in his system now, and he can actually understand his surroundings. And there is the other motive, the guilty motive, that Ilfiid could not bear to see his friend in that state of degradation. He can't stand it now, lying on the couch, wishing he was tired enough to sleep again.
But eventually he gives up and paces miserably. He had thought that once Ravix returned, things would be all right again. But like each time before, this is not the case at all. Instead, Ilfiid can only wonder what will change now. He still has to yell at Ravix for being a damned fool, and then maybe return to relief and escape before he does something he will regret. Guilty pleasures. Things he feels are vaguely wrong, because the last thing they need between them is more dependence on each other. Or rather, onesided dependence. But Ilfiid also knows that the tension can tear them apart if he's not careful, so he goes ahead and gives up a little more of himself every time. He never actually acts on the things he thinks every time this happens.
Hours pass in brooding, in which Ilfiid thinks back to the explosive year after Ravix's return and glances at the windows a great deal. Even now that they have escaped the LORI for several years running and stand little chance of being caught - it was always a threat. And they are vulnerable, hung over and asleep. Demoralised. Caught up in themselves.
But the windows stay empty, and eventually Ravix wakes up. He stumbles out of Ilfiid's bedroom, rubbing his overgrown hair and smiling sheepishly at the owner of said bedroom. He says something about oversleeping, but Ilfiid does not catch it; he's too concerned with focusing around the rumpled beauty before him. He can't stand that, can't stand that Ravix has this sort of hold on him and rarely acknowledges it.
"I said I would yell at you," he says to divert his own attention, and Ravix flinches a very small amount. But Ilfiid knows how to see these things, and he almost decides not to. But no, this is something he needs to do, if only to keep it from bottling up inside him. He is angry, after all, even if other emotions keep trying to distract him. "I told you not to show up drunk on my doorstep. I thought you had promised sobriety. Every time, Ravix, every time you do this, you say the same thing! The same lies. And every time, you go and get completely wasted as soon as you leave my sight!"
Ravix doesn't bother to stick up for himself. He knows what he's doing wrong, and he doesn't have any reason to defend it. Ilfiid knows that the addiction isn't voluntary, that Ravix only uses these drugs because he has no alternative, because they dull his influence on the world. But Ilfiid also knows that they are slowly killing his friend, that there are other ways, that it might not be too late to stop the destruction from getting worse.
"I don't know how to stop this!" he bursts out, wishing that this were not the thousandth time that they have had this conversation and that he had something new to say. "We say the same things every time, go through the motions, and then nothing happens! What can I do to change these things? How can I save you this time, Ravix?"
"I don't know," Ravix replies hopelessly, quietly, guilt-ridden and genuinely sorry. "I wish you could."
"I try. I try, and you try, but nothing ever happens, and I can't stand watching you die like this." Ilfiid sags where he stands, giving up on his anger now that he's expressed it - though it came out less like anger and more like despair. It's the same argument, every time, and it's grown too achingly familiar to warrant the old fire. He remembers the first few times he found Ravix like this, and the explosive fights that resulted - the bruises that neither would speak of, the silence. The one day when blood stained the wall and Ilfiid had locked himself out of his own house for fear of what he might do. They have healed these wounds and smoothed these scars, and yet their argument persists and will not fade yet.
But for the love that Ilfiid will never let go of, there are no more impossible ultimatums. And he hopes that this is not an attempt in vain, that Ravix really does appreciate or even reciprocate the emotion. Or even that somewhere in that ravaged body is the capacity for desire, that Ravix might at least want him. The tension here is unbearable every time.
He doesn't try to find out, though. He reaches out and hangs onto Ravix for dear life, but the gesture is as platonic as they ever get. A confirmation of existence, of continued life, of affections that could be anything. There are no clarifications made. They simply say things in a vague sort of way and don't sort out the meanings.
Later that day, when the evening shadows return and both are tired from a day of lethargy and strained coexistence, Ilfiid gives up his sanctuary of the couch for the necessity of the bed; he's learned from experience that he can't sleep alone if Ravix is in the vicinity. It's a perverse sort of game of how close he can get before he backs down again; sometimes he wonders if the other man notices and is simply waiting for him to make it the rest of the way. But then again, maybe not. Or maybe it doesn't matter either way to Ravix.
He likes to think it does, though.
But.
smokexscribbles , I grant you more Ravix/Ilfiid.
Title: Same
Fandom: Surreality {Ravix&Ilfiid}
Worcount: 1,025
A/N: It's actually a direct sequel to Shame, which probably condemns the title. XD It was, however, written to Staind and way too early, which means that it's inexcusably angsty. But Ilfiid is angsty. I suppose he has cause.
Ravix is asleep now, crashed on the bed because Ilfiid didn't want to leave the sanctuary of the couch yet. It's an odd sensation, fearing his own bed - but he isn't sure he wants to see it alone, and he knows at least that he can't join Ravix at the moment. Maybe later, once the man has recovered from whatever's in his system now, and he can actually understand his surroundings. And there is the other motive, the guilty motive, that Ilfiid could not bear to see his friend in that state of degradation. He can't stand it now, lying on the couch, wishing he was tired enough to sleep again.
But eventually he gives up and paces miserably. He had thought that once Ravix returned, things would be all right again. But like each time before, this is not the case at all. Instead, Ilfiid can only wonder what will change now. He still has to yell at Ravix for being a damned fool, and then maybe return to relief and escape before he does something he will regret. Guilty pleasures. Things he feels are vaguely wrong, because the last thing they need between them is more dependence on each other. Or rather, onesided dependence. But Ilfiid also knows that the tension can tear them apart if he's not careful, so he goes ahead and gives up a little more of himself every time. He never actually acts on the things he thinks every time this happens.
Hours pass in brooding, in which Ilfiid thinks back to the explosive year after Ravix's return and glances at the windows a great deal. Even now that they have escaped the LORI for several years running and stand little chance of being caught - it was always a threat. And they are vulnerable, hung over and asleep. Demoralised. Caught up in themselves.
But the windows stay empty, and eventually Ravix wakes up. He stumbles out of Ilfiid's bedroom, rubbing his overgrown hair and smiling sheepishly at the owner of said bedroom. He says something about oversleeping, but Ilfiid does not catch it; he's too concerned with focusing around the rumpled beauty before him. He can't stand that, can't stand that Ravix has this sort of hold on him and rarely acknowledges it.
"I said I would yell at you," he says to divert his own attention, and Ravix flinches a very small amount. But Ilfiid knows how to see these things, and he almost decides not to. But no, this is something he needs to do, if only to keep it from bottling up inside him. He is angry, after all, even if other emotions keep trying to distract him. "I told you not to show up drunk on my doorstep. I thought you had promised sobriety. Every time, Ravix, every time you do this, you say the same thing! The same lies. And every time, you go and get completely wasted as soon as you leave my sight!"
Ravix doesn't bother to stick up for himself. He knows what he's doing wrong, and he doesn't have any reason to defend it. Ilfiid knows that the addiction isn't voluntary, that Ravix only uses these drugs because he has no alternative, because they dull his influence on the world. But Ilfiid also knows that they are slowly killing his friend, that there are other ways, that it might not be too late to stop the destruction from getting worse.
"I don't know how to stop this!" he bursts out, wishing that this were not the thousandth time that they have had this conversation and that he had something new to say. "We say the same things every time, go through the motions, and then nothing happens! What can I do to change these things? How can I save you this time, Ravix?"
"I don't know," Ravix replies hopelessly, quietly, guilt-ridden and genuinely sorry. "I wish you could."
"I try. I try, and you try, but nothing ever happens, and I can't stand watching you die like this." Ilfiid sags where he stands, giving up on his anger now that he's expressed it - though it came out less like anger and more like despair. It's the same argument, every time, and it's grown too achingly familiar to warrant the old fire. He remembers the first few times he found Ravix like this, and the explosive fights that resulted - the bruises that neither would speak of, the silence. The one day when blood stained the wall and Ilfiid had locked himself out of his own house for fear of what he might do. They have healed these wounds and smoothed these scars, and yet their argument persists and will not fade yet.
But for the love that Ilfiid will never let go of, there are no more impossible ultimatums. And he hopes that this is not an attempt in vain, that Ravix really does appreciate or even reciprocate the emotion. Or even that somewhere in that ravaged body is the capacity for desire, that Ravix might at least want him. The tension here is unbearable every time.
He doesn't try to find out, though. He reaches out and hangs onto Ravix for dear life, but the gesture is as platonic as they ever get. A confirmation of existence, of continued life, of affections that could be anything. There are no clarifications made. They simply say things in a vague sort of way and don't sort out the meanings.
Later that day, when the evening shadows return and both are tired from a day of lethargy and strained coexistence, Ilfiid gives up his sanctuary of the couch for the necessity of the bed; he's learned from experience that he can't sleep alone if Ravix is in the vicinity. It's a perverse sort of game of how close he can get before he backs down again; sometimes he wonders if the other man notices and is simply waiting for him to make it the rest of the way. But then again, maybe not. Or maybe it doesn't matter either way to Ravix.
He likes to think it does, though.