Vanishing Points, by echo
Because several people have asked, and because I love it so dearly, I have typed up Vanishing Points. I DID NOT WRITE THIS. Credit goes to echo, whom I would link to if I knew her lj name. I will, however, take credit for any spelling mistakes/typos, since it was typed rather quickly. I assume this is acceptable, since the zine has been out for over two years now, and is no longer available for purchase. If you know otherwise, please let me know.
Vanishing Points
DM/OB
pg-13
by echo
Found in Lotripping, which I would link to if the site still existed.
Elijah tells Orlando, you are losing focus.
Elijah tells Orlando, sometimes I look at you, and you aren't really there.
He tells Orlando things like this all the time, random poetic shit, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees, squinting his eyes and tilting his head. Orlando is all bright lines and golden skin and sometimes Elijah has to shield his eyes from the sight of Orlando's smile.
Orlando tries to make things clear: we are not significant anythings, this will not be a thing of days and light. We are not seeing each other. He says these things kindly with a gentle smile, but he says them all the same.
Elijah tells Orlando, you are always blurry, you move too much.
And forgets that he means it.
In the shower, Elijah blames the fuzziness on steam.
On the streets, he accuses the cigarette smoke.
In his apartment, dim lighting.
One thing Elijah has learned after being in Hollywood for so long: there is always, always, someone else to blame.
When Billy and Dom come from LA to visit him, Elijah refrains from telling them that his vision has suddenly gone from barely bad enough to warrant glasses to nearly ineffectual. It is no longer a matter of focus but of light; everything looks as if the brightness and contrast have been turned down, blurring together into dark shadows.
He makes Dom Cook.
Enlists the help of Billy for cleaning the apartment.
Dresses and undresses in the dark to give himself an excuse.
They notice, of course, because Billy and Dom have conditioned themselves to notice things. They have stolen the role of caretaker out from under Sean's nose and he has made no attempt to get it back.
So they sit Elijah down one day on Elijah's futon, and say, together, we need to talk.
Dom: Something's off about you.
Billy: We're not sure what it is.
Elijah would ask to see their script, tell them they're doing quite a bad job of line reading, beg them to fire their writer. Elijah would tell them to stop watching daytime soaps. Elijah would say all this, if they gave him a chance, but they don't. They just keep talking.
We want to help, Billy says, taking Elijah's hand.
Dom, taking Elijah's other hand, says, just tell us how.
Elijah stands and pulls his hands away.
He says, you are not my parents.
He says, this is not your concern.
He says, there is nothing wrong.
And hopes they do not spot the lie.
Orlando drifts in and out of Elijah's life and sightlines. Comes storming up to Elijah's door at odd hours of the morning, hair waxy and stiff from too many styling products, voice bleak with too many cigarettes.
He never presents his best side to Elijah, and Elijah finds himself missing the days of New Zealand when Orlando had no one else to show it to. When Elijah was his chosen audience. It doesn't matter much though; he will take Orlando, any part of Orlando, if it is offered. If he is told that he can.
Elijah says, what I am for you is a refuge.
What I am for you is some sort of weird sanctuary.
No, says Orlando, looking up from the TV. You're just you.
Elijah accepts this, settles down onto the carpet by Orlando's knees. I'm going blind, he says.
Orlando laughs. Says, of course you are.
With the loss of one sense, Elijah has read, comes the sharpening of other senses.
The sense of despair.
The sense of horror.
The sense of solitude.
And so on.
Days pass in spirals of varying degrees of darkness.
Sometimes everything is lighter, a layer has been lifted, even if there are several still in place. These days he stays inside, refuses to make things worse for himself by reminding his eyes what things used to look like.
Other days the darkness is almost total, and Elijah spends hours making lists on whatever surfaces he can find of things he will never see again.
Orlando tells him that his walls have things like ocean, Wellington, snow falling, and grains of sugar written on them.
Billy's smile is written on the table.
Orlando's hair is written on a fridge shelf.
What do I care what I write on, Elijah says, ill-tempered. I can't fucking see it.
Is it hard, Orlando asks, moving something out of Elijah's way so he doesn't trip over it. Do you miss things.
It tires Elijah to answer these questions. He gets them from every direction: from his sister, his mother, Dom and Billy, Sean.
What do you think, Elijah says, and falls over something Orlando has just moved.
There are messages from Dom on Elijah's phone, one for every three hours, like:
Every day you don't get medical help, the chances of recovering your eyesight get smaller and smaller.
And, you are deliberately making this worse for yourself.
And, I used to think you were the most intelligent person I knew. Guess you proved me wrong, huh?
And, please pick up the phone. Please talk to me. Please don't do this to us.
All of which Elijah ignores.
Because he can, and because he wants to, and because he knows there is nothing Dom can do.
When Elijah finally opens his eyes to total darkness, all he feels is relief. He knows it is morning because he can feel sun on his face, can hear the purr of cars outside his window.
He had fallen asleep with Orlando's arm around his waist, Orlando's breath on the back of his neck. He had fallen asleep in sheets too hot from too much body warmth.
But there is no one with him now. He knows this for a fact.
He says, I thought we agreed that you would be my salvation if I had to be yours.
He says, just because I can't see you doesn't mean I don't know you're not here.
He says, I am tired of losing things. I want you to know, I am tired of all of this.
ETA: Thanks to ty_roo for providing the following information regarding the author of this fic. Echo can be found on livejournal at lux__aeterna. Much of her other work (which is also fabulous) is archived in her memories, at Mirrormere, and at Every Single One. The website for Lotripping, the zine in which this fic appeared, is now defunct; however, much of the fic is archived on livejournal at lotripping.
Vanishing Points
DM/OB
pg-13
by echo
Found in Lotripping, which I would link to if the site still existed.
Elijah tells Orlando, you are losing focus.
Elijah tells Orlando, sometimes I look at you, and you aren't really there.
He tells Orlando things like this all the time, random poetic shit, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees, squinting his eyes and tilting his head. Orlando is all bright lines and golden skin and sometimes Elijah has to shield his eyes from the sight of Orlando's smile.
Orlando tries to make things clear: we are not significant anythings, this will not be a thing of days and light. We are not seeing each other. He says these things kindly with a gentle smile, but he says them all the same.
Elijah tells Orlando, you are always blurry, you move too much.
And forgets that he means it.
In the shower, Elijah blames the fuzziness on steam.
On the streets, he accuses the cigarette smoke.
In his apartment, dim lighting.
One thing Elijah has learned after being in Hollywood for so long: there is always, always, someone else to blame.
When Billy and Dom come from LA to visit him, Elijah refrains from telling them that his vision has suddenly gone from barely bad enough to warrant glasses to nearly ineffectual. It is no longer a matter of focus but of light; everything looks as if the brightness and contrast have been turned down, blurring together into dark shadows.
He makes Dom Cook.
Enlists the help of Billy for cleaning the apartment.
Dresses and undresses in the dark to give himself an excuse.
They notice, of course, because Billy and Dom have conditioned themselves to notice things. They have stolen the role of caretaker out from under Sean's nose and he has made no attempt to get it back.
So they sit Elijah down one day on Elijah's futon, and say, together, we need to talk.
Dom: Something's off about you.
Billy: We're not sure what it is.
Elijah would ask to see their script, tell them they're doing quite a bad job of line reading, beg them to fire their writer. Elijah would tell them to stop watching daytime soaps. Elijah would say all this, if they gave him a chance, but they don't. They just keep talking.
We want to help, Billy says, taking Elijah's hand.
Dom, taking Elijah's other hand, says, just tell us how.
Elijah stands and pulls his hands away.
He says, you are not my parents.
He says, this is not your concern.
He says, there is nothing wrong.
And hopes they do not spot the lie.
Orlando drifts in and out of Elijah's life and sightlines. Comes storming up to Elijah's door at odd hours of the morning, hair waxy and stiff from too many styling products, voice bleak with too many cigarettes.
He never presents his best side to Elijah, and Elijah finds himself missing the days of New Zealand when Orlando had no one else to show it to. When Elijah was his chosen audience. It doesn't matter much though; he will take Orlando, any part of Orlando, if it is offered. If he is told that he can.
Elijah says, what I am for you is a refuge.
What I am for you is some sort of weird sanctuary.
No, says Orlando, looking up from the TV. You're just you.
Elijah accepts this, settles down onto the carpet by Orlando's knees. I'm going blind, he says.
Orlando laughs. Says, of course you are.
With the loss of one sense, Elijah has read, comes the sharpening of other senses.
The sense of despair.
The sense of horror.
The sense of solitude.
And so on.
Days pass in spirals of varying degrees of darkness.
Sometimes everything is lighter, a layer has been lifted, even if there are several still in place. These days he stays inside, refuses to make things worse for himself by reminding his eyes what things used to look like.
Other days the darkness is almost total, and Elijah spends hours making lists on whatever surfaces he can find of things he will never see again.
Orlando tells him that his walls have things like ocean, Wellington, snow falling, and grains of sugar written on them.
Billy's smile is written on the table.
Orlando's hair is written on a fridge shelf.
What do I care what I write on, Elijah says, ill-tempered. I can't fucking see it.
Is it hard, Orlando asks, moving something out of Elijah's way so he doesn't trip over it. Do you miss things.
It tires Elijah to answer these questions. He gets them from every direction: from his sister, his mother, Dom and Billy, Sean.
What do you think, Elijah says, and falls over something Orlando has just moved.
There are messages from Dom on Elijah's phone, one for every three hours, like:
Every day you don't get medical help, the chances of recovering your eyesight get smaller and smaller.
And, you are deliberately making this worse for yourself.
And, I used to think you were the most intelligent person I knew. Guess you proved me wrong, huh?
And, please pick up the phone. Please talk to me. Please don't do this to us.
All of which Elijah ignores.
Because he can, and because he wants to, and because he knows there is nothing Dom can do.
When Elijah finally opens his eyes to total darkness, all he feels is relief. He knows it is morning because he can feel sun on his face, can hear the purr of cars outside his window.
He had fallen asleep with Orlando's arm around his waist, Orlando's breath on the back of his neck. He had fallen asleep in sheets too hot from too much body warmth.
But there is no one with him now. He knows this for a fact.
He says, I thought we agreed that you would be my salvation if I had to be yours.
He says, just because I can't see you doesn't mean I don't know you're not here.
He says, I am tired of losing things. I want you to know, I am tired of all of this.
ETA: Thanks to ty_roo for providing the following information regarding the author of this fic. Echo can be found on livejournal at lux__aeterna. Much of her other work (which is also fabulous) is archived in her memories, at Mirrormere, and at Every Single One. The website for Lotripping, the zine in which this fic appeared, is now defunct; however, much of the fic is archived on livejournal at lotripping.