Fic (GW 1x5: Almost Macabre)
Title: Almost Macabre
Author: playpossum
Fandom: GW
Pairing: 1x5
Rating: G
Written in response to: 55themes' Halloween Challenge.
He stops walking, reaches up slowly instead to finger the heavy silver pendant on its black twine string around his neck.
In the distance, he can hear Duo shouting, “Alright, one hundred! Ready or not, I'm coming!” A fair few feet to his left, there's a childish snicker of delight, hastily muffled.
He starts walking again.
The sounds of Quatre's pretend-owl hoots seem to echo in the still night. In almost orderly intervals on the street, Jack-o-Lanterns glow and wink at him. There is a scramble in the bushes behind him a-ways off and then a high-pitched shriek. A triumphant 'Aha!' from Duo later, and Relena's helpless laughter, a young petulant voice complains loudly, “Mo-mma! Why'd you have to go and stick your head up like that?!”
He continues to walk, faster, away from the noise and the cheer. What is he doing here, again? He never enjoys himself, never has any news to exchange, he doesn't want to carve pumpkins and play hide-and-seek for five years running, and-
“I knew it. Where are you heading to this time?”
His footsteps slow, then jerk completely to a halt. The voice is familiar, colored by that same tinge of arrogance, peppered with an unusual hint of something that wavers between characteristic disbelieving, and uncharacteristic somberness.
Heero closes his eyes, and turns around.
“Wufei.”
He feels the other boy step in beside him; senses rather than sees Wufei's lips quirk up into a short smile.
“Every year, Heero. You drag yourself along to Duo's crazy Halloween parties, and then you disappear during the games to wallow.”
He can't help the dry chuckle that seems to lodge itself in his throat. “Speak for yourself. You've never played.”
He knows that Wufei is frowning at him, even without having to open his eyes to look.
When the other man speaks next, it's soft, quiet, and almost gentle.
“Heero. It's over. It's been over for years.”
The sudden anger, that sleeps mostly dormant under his skin, most times, sparks to life. “I don't want to hear that from you,” he shoots back tersely. Immediately, he is disgusted at how puerile the words sound. He doesn't try to take them back, however; knows that Wufei will already have read him like an open book.
Wufei exhales, grumpily, and seems just about to start an argument when the admission leaves Heero's mouth without warning.
“I miss everything.”
It grows deathly quiet around them; Heero can't hear the voices behind him anymore. The wind whips the ends of his hair painfully onto his cheeks and his forehead, and he itches to turn the other way. He forces himself still, however, and the shock helps; he is unable to believe what he has just confessed to, unable to believe that, so many years after the war, so many years after that, he is still unable to...unable to...
A cool touch on his skin, smoothing the tendrils of his hair back. Despite himself, Heero leans automatically into the touch, distantly despairing at wanting even this barest illusion of comfort. He feels weak, and hates himself for it. He wonders if Wufei can see this part of him, and it makes him shake, and tremble slightly, to think that Wufei probably can.
There is the lightest brush of lips on his brow.
It unearths a landslide memory of hot, breathless kisses, and callused hands warm on his skin. The image of his own fingers tracing the outline of fine dark features, soothing lines of suspicion and worry and hesitant affection away. All of it, imprinted in the deepest recesses of his mind.
“Wufei-” he starts, and dimly, he is aware that his voice sounds broken.
“Shhh.” A fleeting embrace, and he feels Wufei's gaze, sharp and unbearably tender. “Heero. You have to let go. You can do it. You must.”
“I can't.” The denial is rising up like a tidal wave, and he catches himself beginning to shake his head wildly. “I can't.”
“Heero, you-”
“I can't!” he all but shouts, stepping back, and he opens his eyes before he remembers not to; all he knows is that he has to make Wufei see, make Wufei understand that it isn't his fault that the past lingers stubbornly to haunt him, that...that...
The pavement is empty. Wufei is gone.
His fingers tighten convulsively on the pendant, so hard that his knuckles turn white. He finds himself gasping for air; his head is suddenly swimming, and he feels as though he is drowning.
Slow, deep breaths. In, out. He calms himself down forcefully, dragging the tattered slips of his control back inch by excruciating inch. There is no help for the weakness of his limbs, however, and after a moment, he all but stumbles off the path, seeking the solid support of a tall gnarled tree whose branches rise pitch-black and threatening high above him, against the brightness of the moon.
Carefully, carefully, he brings the pendant up to his eyes, twisting the silver cap off.
White ashes, so fine that the particles seem to sparkle, safely ensconced within the delicate glass case.
It is all he has left. So inadequate, and so much more than he deserves. It is both a betrayal and a defiance [1] to a long-dead lover, and his willing bondage.
How long has he held onto these memories? They seem to fade a little more each passing year, and he is guilty and terrified that he will wake up one day and forget that he was the one at fault. He hadn't put his foot down, and he had let Wufei go alone. It'd been the last time he'd seen Wufei alive. And now.
Now, Wufei wanted him to do it again?
You don't understand! the thought is fierce and stricken, thundering in his chest. I can't let you go, I can't. Not anymore.
This necklace and its precious contents. It is the last and only physical reminder of something that he once had, something that he once called happiness.
The bark feels unyielding and bumpy through his clothes as he finally slides down to the ground, his legs giving way. He stares blankly out into the darkness.
Sometimes, he misses Wufei so much that his heart feels like it's never stopped breaking. Heero knows better than anyone, that this is something almost macabre, but he can't stop himself.
What is he doing here, again? He never enjoys himself, never has any news to exchange, he doesn't want to carve pumpkins and play hide-and-seek for five years running, and-
I still see you everywhere, Wufei.
God, why can't you come back to me?
* end *
[1] In a myriad of traditional Chinese customs, ashes are placed in urns, which are then placed in temples or on altars. To carry around a dead person's ashes is taboo; it is a show of extreme disrespect, as well as an act that prevents the dead person's soul from attaining peace, or rejoining the Wheel of Reincarnation to be born again.
Author: playpossum
Fandom: GW
Pairing: 1x5
Rating: G
Written in response to: 55themes' Halloween Challenge.
He stops walking, reaches up slowly instead to finger the heavy silver pendant on its black twine string around his neck.
In the distance, he can hear Duo shouting, “Alright, one hundred! Ready or not, I'm coming!” A fair few feet to his left, there's a childish snicker of delight, hastily muffled.
He starts walking again.
The sounds of Quatre's pretend-owl hoots seem to echo in the still night. In almost orderly intervals on the street, Jack-o-Lanterns glow and wink at him. There is a scramble in the bushes behind him a-ways off and then a high-pitched shriek. A triumphant 'Aha!' from Duo later, and Relena's helpless laughter, a young petulant voice complains loudly, “Mo-mma! Why'd you have to go and stick your head up like that?!”
He continues to walk, faster, away from the noise and the cheer. What is he doing here, again? He never enjoys himself, never has any news to exchange, he doesn't want to carve pumpkins and play hide-and-seek for five years running, and-
“I knew it. Where are you heading to this time?”
His footsteps slow, then jerk completely to a halt. The voice is familiar, colored by that same tinge of arrogance, peppered with an unusual hint of something that wavers between characteristic disbelieving, and uncharacteristic somberness.
Heero closes his eyes, and turns around.
“Wufei.”
He feels the other boy step in beside him; senses rather than sees Wufei's lips quirk up into a short smile.
“Every year, Heero. You drag yourself along to Duo's crazy Halloween parties, and then you disappear during the games to wallow.”
He can't help the dry chuckle that seems to lodge itself in his throat. “Speak for yourself. You've never played.”
He knows that Wufei is frowning at him, even without having to open his eyes to look.
When the other man speaks next, it's soft, quiet, and almost gentle.
“Heero. It's over. It's been over for years.”
The sudden anger, that sleeps mostly dormant under his skin, most times, sparks to life. “I don't want to hear that from you,” he shoots back tersely. Immediately, he is disgusted at how puerile the words sound. He doesn't try to take them back, however; knows that Wufei will already have read him like an open book.
Wufei exhales, grumpily, and seems just about to start an argument when the admission leaves Heero's mouth without warning.
“I miss everything.”
It grows deathly quiet around them; Heero can't hear the voices behind him anymore. The wind whips the ends of his hair painfully onto his cheeks and his forehead, and he itches to turn the other way. He forces himself still, however, and the shock helps; he is unable to believe what he has just confessed to, unable to believe that, so many years after the war, so many years after that, he is still unable to...unable to...
A cool touch on his skin, smoothing the tendrils of his hair back. Despite himself, Heero leans automatically into the touch, distantly despairing at wanting even this barest illusion of comfort. He feels weak, and hates himself for it. He wonders if Wufei can see this part of him, and it makes him shake, and tremble slightly, to think that Wufei probably can.
There is the lightest brush of lips on his brow.
It unearths a landslide memory of hot, breathless kisses, and callused hands warm on his skin. The image of his own fingers tracing the outline of fine dark features, soothing lines of suspicion and worry and hesitant affection away. All of it, imprinted in the deepest recesses of his mind.
“Wufei-” he starts, and dimly, he is aware that his voice sounds broken.
“Shhh.” A fleeting embrace, and he feels Wufei's gaze, sharp and unbearably tender. “Heero. You have to let go. You can do it. You must.”
“I can't.” The denial is rising up like a tidal wave, and he catches himself beginning to shake his head wildly. “I can't.”
“Heero, you-”
“I can't!” he all but shouts, stepping back, and he opens his eyes before he remembers not to; all he knows is that he has to make Wufei see, make Wufei understand that it isn't his fault that the past lingers stubbornly to haunt him, that...that...
The pavement is empty. Wufei is gone.
His fingers tighten convulsively on the pendant, so hard that his knuckles turn white. He finds himself gasping for air; his head is suddenly swimming, and he feels as though he is drowning.
Slow, deep breaths. In, out. He calms himself down forcefully, dragging the tattered slips of his control back inch by excruciating inch. There is no help for the weakness of his limbs, however, and after a moment, he all but stumbles off the path, seeking the solid support of a tall gnarled tree whose branches rise pitch-black and threatening high above him, against the brightness of the moon.
Carefully, carefully, he brings the pendant up to his eyes, twisting the silver cap off.
White ashes, so fine that the particles seem to sparkle, safely ensconced within the delicate glass case.
It is all he has left. So inadequate, and so much more than he deserves. It is both a betrayal and a defiance [1] to a long-dead lover, and his willing bondage.
How long has he held onto these memories? They seem to fade a little more each passing year, and he is guilty and terrified that he will wake up one day and forget that he was the one at fault. He hadn't put his foot down, and he had let Wufei go alone. It'd been the last time he'd seen Wufei alive. And now.
Now, Wufei wanted him to do it again?
You don't understand! the thought is fierce and stricken, thundering in his chest. I can't let you go, I can't. Not anymore.
This necklace and its precious contents. It is the last and only physical reminder of something that he once had, something that he once called happiness.
The bark feels unyielding and bumpy through his clothes as he finally slides down to the ground, his legs giving way. He stares blankly out into the darkness.
Sometimes, he misses Wufei so much that his heart feels like it's never stopped breaking. Heero knows better than anyone, that this is something almost macabre, but he can't stop himself.
What is he doing here, again? He never enjoys himself, never has any news to exchange, he doesn't want to carve pumpkins and play hide-and-seek for five years running, and-
I still see you everywhere, Wufei.
God, why can't you come back to me?
* end *
[1] In a myriad of traditional Chinese customs, ashes are placed in urns, which are then placed in temples or on altars. To carry around a dead person's ashes is taboo; it is a show of extreme disrespect, as well as an act that prevents the dead person's soul from attaining peace, or rejoining the Wheel of Reincarnation to be born again.