His Eyes
Title: His Eyes
Pairing: Chamber/Northstar
Disclaimer: Marvel's toys, not mine.
Rating: slash - implied
Author’s Notes: This was originally posted on x_slash on 4/29/05 ( here). I'm reposting it to my own journal for better record keeping.
I see him standing there, at the edge of the lake, every evening at sunset. Not by the docks, that’s where lovers go to hold hands and make out because they think it’s so romantic. He goes much further down the lakeside, in a secluded section where he thinks he can be alone. Some nights he stays there for hours, long after the stars come out, just standing there, staring at the still water.
Pretending not to watch, but I can’t keep my eyes off of him. It’s easier during the day, when the mansion is full of students and there’s always something to keep me occupied. During the day, he scowls at everyone, and he doesn’t speak to a soul. Not a single one of us. It’s often hard to look at him then, with all that pain and misery in those haunted eyes.
But when he stands by the lake, he reaches a certain state of peace. His face clears, those angry eyes soften. I never know what he thinks about, but sometimes I wish he would tell me his secret. He almost looks happy, those hours to himself. It’s hard to tell on him, he never smiles, but his eyes hold enough emotion to make up for the lack of a face.
For a moment, I have to close my eyes. I never see him as incomplete, despite half his body being destroyed. But I think he sees it different, and that’s why he wears a scowl as if it were a mask. Using his anger as a shield to keep people at a distance. Maybe even hoping that people will be so overwhelmed with his angst that they’ll forgot to take notice of his disfigurement; forgetting that appearances are the only thing worth noting.
On a good day, he’ll let those bandages fall, and I will watch his psionic fire blaze around that slender body. With the outline of his figure haloed against the velvet sky, he’s never been lovelier. If only someone could let him know that. If only that someone could be me.
The sound of leaves crackling nearby warns me a moment too late. I look up to find myself staring into golden brown eyes gazing curiously back at me, on the defensive. My stomach twists, mind working furiously for an explanation even as he speaks my name.
-Jean-Paul?-
As far as I knew, it was the first time anyone had heard that Cockney voice in their head in weeks. A slight smile reaches my lips, embarrassed, but pleased nonetheless.
“Good evening, Jonothon.”
His eyes are a clear golden-amber, piercing in their intensity, suspicious and wary. It doesn’t matter, as long as those eyes are on me.
Pairing: Chamber/Northstar
Disclaimer: Marvel's toys, not mine.
Rating: slash - implied
Author’s Notes: This was originally posted on x_slash on 4/29/05 ( here). I'm reposting it to my own journal for better record keeping.
I see him standing there, at the edge of the lake, every evening at sunset. Not by the docks, that’s where lovers go to hold hands and make out because they think it’s so romantic. He goes much further down the lakeside, in a secluded section where he thinks he can be alone. Some nights he stays there for hours, long after the stars come out, just standing there, staring at the still water.
Pretending not to watch, but I can’t keep my eyes off of him. It’s easier during the day, when the mansion is full of students and there’s always something to keep me occupied. During the day, he scowls at everyone, and he doesn’t speak to a soul. Not a single one of us. It’s often hard to look at him then, with all that pain and misery in those haunted eyes.
But when he stands by the lake, he reaches a certain state of peace. His face clears, those angry eyes soften. I never know what he thinks about, but sometimes I wish he would tell me his secret. He almost looks happy, those hours to himself. It’s hard to tell on him, he never smiles, but his eyes hold enough emotion to make up for the lack of a face.
For a moment, I have to close my eyes. I never see him as incomplete, despite half his body being destroyed. But I think he sees it different, and that’s why he wears a scowl as if it were a mask. Using his anger as a shield to keep people at a distance. Maybe even hoping that people will be so overwhelmed with his angst that they’ll forgot to take notice of his disfigurement; forgetting that appearances are the only thing worth noting.
On a good day, he’ll let those bandages fall, and I will watch his psionic fire blaze around that slender body. With the outline of his figure haloed against the velvet sky, he’s never been lovelier. If only someone could let him know that. If only that someone could be me.
The sound of leaves crackling nearby warns me a moment too late. I look up to find myself staring into golden brown eyes gazing curiously back at me, on the defensive. My stomach twists, mind working furiously for an explanation even as he speaks my name.
-Jean-Paul?-
As far as I knew, it was the first time anyone had heard that Cockney voice in their head in weeks. A slight smile reaches my lips, embarrassed, but pleased nonetheless.
“Good evening, Jonothon.”
His eyes are a clear golden-amber, piercing in their intensity, suspicious and wary. It doesn’t matter, as long as those eyes are on me.