Story; Affections

Feb 05, 2009 22:25



Finally! This damn thing has been bouncing in my head for the better part of the week, and I wrote it out a couple days ago and decided that it was utter shit--which lead me to rewrite it, just now, to a version I liked much better.

Also, to my sister, sorry this'll show up twice. o_o I guess that means you should read it, ne?

Title: Affections
Characters: Unnamed., but mine all the same
Rating: T+ for sortof?implied sexings and nasty scars.
Summary: "Stay with me." She knows he can't. "I love you." She knows he does.
Disclaimer: I actually own this. Amazing.

  It’s the same, every morning after. The same routine they’ve fallen into every time. He’s there when she gets home; unexpected, always. She feels like maybe she should be mad at him for appearing like this-out of the blue and always when she least expects it-but she can’t fight down the wave of relief that comes from seeing his face, alive and real and there.
   He’s there and everything’s alright again, just for one day.
   Because that’s how long he stays.
   She’s become accustom to seeing new wounds on him, always wrapped carefully and always minor. If there truly was such a thing as survival instinct, she has no doubt that he possesses it. There’s no other explanation for his aversions of death.
   She always insists on seeing them, cleaning them and re-bandaging them. He argues, but only for show. He allows her the small comfort of taking care of him while he’s there; while he’s hers.
   For a few random, unexpected days out of the year, she’s whole again.
   But it’s the same, every morning after.
   “Stay with me,”
   She knows he won’t.
   “I love you,” He tells her.
   She knows he does.
   “Then stay.”
   He kisses her forehead and rubs her shoulders.
   “I love you.” again.
   She knows it’s his way of saying “I’m sorry”. She knows it’s his way of saying “no”.
   She prods the quarter-sized scar on his exposed shoulder, harder than she means to. He watches her calmly. Sadly.
   She moves her hand to his side and feels where two identical scars lay, concealed beneath his shirt. She touches the jagged line beneath his chin. The dangerously straight scar on the side of his neck.
   “Stay.”
   She knows he won’t.
   “I love you.”
   She knows he does.
   “Stay.”
   She knows he can’t.
   He kisses her forehead. She closes her eyes.
   When she opens them, he’s gone.
   Slowly, she goes back to her life
 

original, write write write

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