(no subject)
Prompt for 9th of November from
antistar_e : You want it written in Revelations, or trumpeted by angels, but what if I'm all you ever get?
Eyes directed firmly at the floor, because I wasn't meant to see this side of you. You are my friend, and even though we've been through hell and back, you were strong enough to keep your gaze ahead. When you finally cry, after playing the stoic in front of everyone else, I, the pillar of salt, melt.
Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, I toy with your hair while the tears that streamed down your face and onto my legs dry, leaving my skin taught and uncomfortable, but I refuse to move. While you finally rest, I imagine how things will play out from here. Eventually, you will move on, and I will remain forever in this moment, refusing to let go of the one time you let down your guard.
--
I knew you would react to this the way you always do when you make some grievous mistake. Silence follows in the weeks since you opened yourself to me. Shying away from my questioning looks, I only want to know what your thinking. Please let me in again, it's killing me to know that you keep yourself caged away, only released in baths of tears and sobs that shake memories out of your body.
The first time we speak about the incident, you refuse to look me in the eye.
"About that crazy night, yeah, I was really fucked up," you tuck your hair behind your ear where it is immediately picked up again by the wind.
"It's no problem, really. I know you've been through a lot," I skirt around what I want to do, which is yell at you that you can trust me, because I won't drop you.
"Yeah, it's been . . . a lot. But, hey, it's over now, so we can, just, you know, forget about it, right?" mumbles and sideways glances, searching for an escape route, I give it to him.
"I understand, it was a one night thing. Want to grab something to eat?" I try to make it sound offhand, but I want to spend more time with him, and part of me thinks he isn't eating.
"Nah, it's cool. I see you later, though," he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which are still pointed somewhere to the left of my forehead.
When he disappears into the crowd, I don't know if it's the last time I'll see him. I wouldn't be surprised.
--
The next time I see him, he is topless, shivering on my front step. I let him in without a thought, even though I haven't seen him in at least two years. Old habits die hard, especially old habits you never intended to lose.
He tells me tales of bad decisions made worse. Drugs and nights on hard floors. Girls and the diseases and addictions and children they brought with them. He lived that life, and now he'd like another. Because all he ever wanted was excitement, until he found out how exhausting it was not to care.
For the second time in our lives, I hold him in front of my fireplace while he cries. This time, he stays the night, and when I wake up, I find my TV right where I left it, and him, still shirtless, making be breakfast.
"You didn't change anything about this place did you? The pancake batter is still in the same place," he looks over his shoulder just long enough to take in my pajamas and bemused look before turing back to the stove.
"Why confuse myself by switching things up? Knowing me, I'd go into a drawer for a pen and end up stabbing myself," I make myself useful and grab place settings.
"It's nice, the stability, it feels like home," the corner of his mouth moves in a familiar way that reminds me why I introduced myself to him so many years ago.
"You wanted your life to be written in Revelations, or trumpeted by angels, but what if I'm all you ever get?" I ask the plates and silverware as I set them perfect and straight onto my cramped kitchen table. "What if, now that you're back, you never leave, and I don't want you to hate your life. Please don't feel like I'm holding you back, because all I want is for you to be happy."
"Hey, I am happy. For the last two years there was this constant feeling that something was missing. Now that I'm back here I know what it is. I need my best friend, I do. I need you to make me feel like I'm at home, and to keep me in check. And know this sounds incredibly sappy, but there's absolutely nothing in life that I want more than to sit down and eat breakfast with you like we used to," he hugged me, a big hug that we both needed, equal parts him hugging me and me hugging him.
We sit down to breakfast, the closest we've come to a family breakfast in about a decade. He asks me about my job, and makes sure I think he cooked everything okay. I ask him, carefully, about the last two years, and make sure he eats his fair share. We're quiet, and comfortable. For the first time in a long while, I feel the peace of knowing that the ones closest to your heart are safe. I feel at home.
antistar_e : You want it written in Revelations, or trumpeted by angels, but what if I'm all you ever get?
Eyes directed firmly at the floor, because I wasn't meant to see this side of you. You are my friend, and even though we've been through hell and back, you were strong enough to keep your gaze ahead. When you finally cry, after playing the stoic in front of everyone else, I, the pillar of salt, melt.
Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, I toy with your hair while the tears that streamed down your face and onto my legs dry, leaving my skin taught and uncomfortable, but I refuse to move. While you finally rest, I imagine how things will play out from here. Eventually, you will move on, and I will remain forever in this moment, refusing to let go of the one time you let down your guard.
--
I knew you would react to this the way you always do when you make some grievous mistake. Silence follows in the weeks since you opened yourself to me. Shying away from my questioning looks, I only want to know what your thinking. Please let me in again, it's killing me to know that you keep yourself caged away, only released in baths of tears and sobs that shake memories out of your body.
The first time we speak about the incident, you refuse to look me in the eye.
"About that crazy night, yeah, I was really fucked up," you tuck your hair behind your ear where it is immediately picked up again by the wind.
"It's no problem, really. I know you've been through a lot," I skirt around what I want to do, which is yell at you that you can trust me, because I won't drop you.
"Yeah, it's been . . . a lot. But, hey, it's over now, so we can, just, you know, forget about it, right?" mumbles and sideways glances, searching for an escape route, I give it to him.
"I understand, it was a one night thing. Want to grab something to eat?" I try to make it sound offhand, but I want to spend more time with him, and part of me thinks he isn't eating.
"Nah, it's cool. I see you later, though," he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which are still pointed somewhere to the left of my forehead.
When he disappears into the crowd, I don't know if it's the last time I'll see him. I wouldn't be surprised.
--
The next time I see him, he is topless, shivering on my front step. I let him in without a thought, even though I haven't seen him in at least two years. Old habits die hard, especially old habits you never intended to lose.
He tells me tales of bad decisions made worse. Drugs and nights on hard floors. Girls and the diseases and addictions and children they brought with them. He lived that life, and now he'd like another. Because all he ever wanted was excitement, until he found out how exhausting it was not to care.
For the second time in our lives, I hold him in front of my fireplace while he cries. This time, he stays the night, and when I wake up, I find my TV right where I left it, and him, still shirtless, making be breakfast.
"You didn't change anything about this place did you? The pancake batter is still in the same place," he looks over his shoulder just long enough to take in my pajamas and bemused look before turing back to the stove.
"Why confuse myself by switching things up? Knowing me, I'd go into a drawer for a pen and end up stabbing myself," I make myself useful and grab place settings.
"It's nice, the stability, it feels like home," the corner of his mouth moves in a familiar way that reminds me why I introduced myself to him so many years ago.
"You wanted your life to be written in Revelations, or trumpeted by angels, but what if I'm all you ever get?" I ask the plates and silverware as I set them perfect and straight onto my cramped kitchen table. "What if, now that you're back, you never leave, and I don't want you to hate your life. Please don't feel like I'm holding you back, because all I want is for you to be happy."
"Hey, I am happy. For the last two years there was this constant feeling that something was missing. Now that I'm back here I know what it is. I need my best friend, I do. I need you to make me feel like I'm at home, and to keep me in check. And know this sounds incredibly sappy, but there's absolutely nothing in life that I want more than to sit down and eat breakfast with you like we used to," he hugged me, a big hug that we both needed, equal parts him hugging me and me hugging him.
We sit down to breakfast, the closest we've come to a family breakfast in about a decade. He asks me about my job, and makes sure I think he cooked everything okay. I ask him, carefully, about the last two years, and make sure he eats his fair share. We're quiet, and comfortable. For the first time in a long while, I feel the peace of knowing that the ones closest to your heart are safe. I feel at home.