[Week 9, Day 1, Early Morning][Dream] Dust
Warning: um, angst? >> Also, NC-17 in comments (It's all Yoite's fault!)
Your tie is crooked.
It's bothering you, because your hands are full and you can't reach up to fix it. It's a stupid thing to be thinking about, in this moment, your fingers twisted tight in the sheets that you're carrying, your eyes red from crying, your entire body feeling pained and numb by turns. It's stupid that you're rolling your shoulder in, sucking your chest in, trying to get it to shift by itself.
Because it's not the tie, it's got nothing to do with the tie. It's got nothing to do with the fact that you haven't bathed all day and you feel disgusting and your eyes feel like they're swelling shut.
It's what's on those sheets.
It's the fact that what's on those sheets is all that's left of a human life, a human life that was precious to you. More precious to you than your own, just as precious as your lover's life, as your mother's life had been when you were a child.
And that's just one more dead body along the way, now, isn't it? But at least she left a body and you sat there stroking her hair, staring down into her blank eyes and begging her to move as if you didn't know that she wasn't there anymore.
This particular death didn't leave a body.
Dust. The other Yoite, the one you knew in your world, didn't even leave dust, because it blew away in the wind and by the time you made it to the house, there was nothing but the clothes resting on the rocking chair, and he was just gone, your precious friend...
That loss is nothing next to this one.
This Yoite was so much more than that. And so it's not your tie, however you muck with it, and it's not your red eyes or your exhaustion or the sweat you haven't washed off your body.
It's that single smudge of dust on your hand, and a sick morbid part of you is wondering what part of him that was, if it was a bright blue eye or a lock of the hair you played with so often, if it was that rare smile you sometimes managed to get...
He's coming back, and the part of you that knows this is a dream supplies that he already is back, but you can't believe it, you can't.
The hat he left you is sliding forward on your head, a little, as you bow it. As you set the sheets down upon the ground, everything seems to just spin for a second, as if the heavy weight of it coming off you might have taken too much out of you, might have taken too much of your mind, your focus, with it.
You know they're there -- they were there, when this happened, they were with you -- but you can't see Raikou or Miharu, now. It's as if they've faded out of the picture, somehow, the memory shifted and changed within you.
The fire is bright.
It's so bright that it hurts your eyes, so hot that it heats your skin. Or is it just that you're standing too close? There are hands on you, trying to pull you back a bit, to make you safe, but you're not wanting to move. There are noises -- and if you think about it, you know who you can hear crying, but it doesn't matter now, gone, gone, the devil-boy -- behind you, but for you, for you there is only the flickering of flame and the devouring of everything.
Family.
Meguro Yoite. The giving of a name.
Touches, soft in darkness, softer still in the light of day. Hesitant, tender touches. Your hand on blackened skin, your hand in his.
The dust on your hand needs to be in that fire. You need to burn him all up, to set him free, as if he could somehow be trapped in the dust.
You bring your hand to yours face instead. No one is looking, no one can see. Or maybe they are, maybe they think you're trying to hold back a gasp or tears or something altogether different.
But when you press that dusty smudge against your lips, you know.
One last kiss.
[He wakes crying, and though he knows that it was a dream, that it was a memory, that Yoite is here now, he also knows -- he knows, yes that this won't be the last time he sees Yoite die.
Only next time, he'll be standing there alone.]
(OOC note: yeah, I know I just said I was going to slow down, but I already had this written... all replies will be responded to in a reasonable amount of time.)
Your tie is crooked.
It's bothering you, because your hands are full and you can't reach up to fix it. It's a stupid thing to be thinking about, in this moment, your fingers twisted tight in the sheets that you're carrying, your eyes red from crying, your entire body feeling pained and numb by turns. It's stupid that you're rolling your shoulder in, sucking your chest in, trying to get it to shift by itself.
Because it's not the tie, it's got nothing to do with the tie. It's got nothing to do with the fact that you haven't bathed all day and you feel disgusting and your eyes feel like they're swelling shut.
It's what's on those sheets.
It's the fact that what's on those sheets is all that's left of a human life, a human life that was precious to you. More precious to you than your own, just as precious as your lover's life, as your mother's life had been when you were a child.
And that's just one more dead body along the way, now, isn't it? But at least she left a body and you sat there stroking her hair, staring down into her blank eyes and begging her to move as if you didn't know that she wasn't there anymore.
This particular death didn't leave a body.
Dust. The other Yoite, the one you knew in your world, didn't even leave dust, because it blew away in the wind and by the time you made it to the house, there was nothing but the clothes resting on the rocking chair, and he was just gone, your precious friend...
That loss is nothing next to this one.
This Yoite was so much more than that. And so it's not your tie, however you muck with it, and it's not your red eyes or your exhaustion or the sweat you haven't washed off your body.
It's that single smudge of dust on your hand, and a sick morbid part of you is wondering what part of him that was, if it was a bright blue eye or a lock of the hair you played with so often, if it was that rare smile you sometimes managed to get...
He's coming back, and the part of you that knows this is a dream supplies that he already is back, but you can't believe it, you can't.
The hat he left you is sliding forward on your head, a little, as you bow it. As you set the sheets down upon the ground, everything seems to just spin for a second, as if the heavy weight of it coming off you might have taken too much out of you, might have taken too much of your mind, your focus, with it.
You know they're there -- they were there, when this happened, they were with you -- but you can't see Raikou or Miharu, now. It's as if they've faded out of the picture, somehow, the memory shifted and changed within you.
The fire is bright.
It's so bright that it hurts your eyes, so hot that it heats your skin. Or is it just that you're standing too close? There are hands on you, trying to pull you back a bit, to make you safe, but you're not wanting to move. There are noises -- and if you think about it, you know who you can hear crying, but it doesn't matter now, gone, gone, the devil-boy -- behind you, but for you, for you there is only the flickering of flame and the devouring of everything.
Family.
Meguro Yoite. The giving of a name.
Touches, soft in darkness, softer still in the light of day. Hesitant, tender touches. Your hand on blackened skin, your hand in his.
The dust on your hand needs to be in that fire. You need to burn him all up, to set him free, as if he could somehow be trapped in the dust.
You bring your hand to yours face instead. No one is looking, no one can see. Or maybe they are, maybe they think you're trying to hold back a gasp or tears or something altogether different.
But when you press that dusty smudge against your lips, you know.
One last kiss.
[He wakes crying, and though he knows that it was a dream, that it was a memory, that Yoite is here now, he also knows -- he knows, yes that this won't be the last time he sees Yoite die.
Only next time, he'll be standing there alone.]
(OOC note: yeah, I know I just said I was going to slow down, but I already had this written... all replies will be responded to in a reasonable amount of time.)