(no subject)
He looks as if he would taste like rain and blood when he comes to the window late at night. He brushes bits of flesh from his hair, but he could still smell golden; smell like sunrise. He hurts and he quakes and he would feel like no other… It’s personal and he’s in pain.
He’s staring now, but the window never opens. He hangs about outside and just stares, shivering in the weather, still clothed in well-worn jeans, shoeless, in a shirt that he’s been wearing for too long now. His hand hovers over the latch, hesitating. He’s still staring, a quantifying look through glass that could stop bullets, but couldn’t stop his eyes if it tried.
Nothing could stop those eyes. His soft, brown eyes, amber-flecked and full to the brim with promises.
But he can’t keep any of them. Not when he knows who I am-who we are.
I imagine opening the window for him, helping him clamber inside and tasting his skin like I ought to; like I’m entitled to. He might fight me-he always fights. But I could have him against the wall, my mouth on his, in a matter of seconds. That dust on my tongue, that iron flavor that I we have wrought.
He would smell of grief and would taste bitter for it; would leave claw marks down my side as I moan and cry into his lips. And I could cord my fingers in those thick curls and lose my identity to his touch.
As he walks away, I almost do open the window-tell him my name is Gabriel.
But this is temporary.
There is a disconnect that’s slowly mending. I created this-a monster. I brought him to wreak havoc on the Earth.
Maybe it’s good-I don’t have the right to judge good from evil anymore.
But he’s Mohinder and I was Zane, and as Zane he would let me close-close enough to whisper in his ear, close enough to touch.
He knew we were never Zane.
He saw-I know he did.
So why now-why is it now that he truly realizes…
Why can’t he save me?
He’s staring now, but the window never opens. He hangs about outside and just stares, shivering in the weather, still clothed in well-worn jeans, shoeless, in a shirt that he’s been wearing for too long now. His hand hovers over the latch, hesitating. He’s still staring, a quantifying look through glass that could stop bullets, but couldn’t stop his eyes if it tried.
Nothing could stop those eyes. His soft, brown eyes, amber-flecked and full to the brim with promises.
But he can’t keep any of them. Not when he knows who I am-who we are.
I imagine opening the window for him, helping him clamber inside and tasting his skin like I ought to; like I’m entitled to. He might fight me-he always fights. But I could have him against the wall, my mouth on his, in a matter of seconds. That dust on my tongue, that iron flavor that I we have wrought.
He would smell of grief and would taste bitter for it; would leave claw marks down my side as I moan and cry into his lips. And I could cord my fingers in those thick curls and lose my identity to his touch.
As he walks away, I almost do open the window-tell him my name is Gabriel.
But this is temporary.
There is a disconnect that’s slowly mending. I created this-a monster. I brought him to wreak havoc on the Earth.
Maybe it’s good-I don’t have the right to judge good from evil anymore.
But he’s Mohinder and I was Zane, and as Zane he would let me close-close enough to whisper in his ear, close enough to touch.
He knew we were never Zane.
He saw-I know he did.
So why now-why is it now that he truly realizes…
Why can’t he save me?