The little AU: Fallow: day five: rest
The little AU: Fallow: day five: rest
slashfairy
~~
It takes this long to relax, these days- it doesn't take any time, he's used to the place, the men, the time of year, the activities- but these days, to truly relax and just.be.here it's taken forever-.
He looks at his hands, where they're losing the pads of flesh over the thumbs, the tips of his fingers still round, where the knuckles are showing more predominantly; turns them over palm-side up, palm-side down, seeing the bones in his fore-arm slide over each other on the bones of his wrists. Watches the pulse in his elbow, sure sign that he is still alive, still blood flowing through his arteries, capillaries, veins, making its journey through his lungs, out to feed his cells, bring back the un-needed, give that up to kidneys, gut, lungs again.
Feels the air go in and out of his chest, imagines it entering his blood and leaving it, imagines each molecule becoming air, becoming part of all the other molecules that make up the atmosphere of the world, becoming part of the blood of other people, connecting them all, releasing them all.
Drops down into himself, into his muscles, his bones, his gut, his skin, moves from inside to out and outside to in, until he knows every cell, every bit of history, until he can predict the future from one breath, until he can't predict anything at all but can only enjoy this moment, this breath, this now.
He rises up out of himself, out of his body, out of this trance, out of this moment of connection, and loses himself in coming to, coming back to the separateness of being himself, of having his own way, of seeing things his own way, but before he can become lonely, before he is desolated by being himself and only himself, they are there to catch him.
They watch him, now- not closely, not like under a microscope- they leave him his privacy, his time to himself- but when he's public, when he's with them, they are there with him, also. A touch, a fresh cup of mate; a hand-rolled; something warm to wrap around himself because, as he loses body fat, he loses insulation, too... sometimes it takes the two of the, one on either side, to warm him.
For now, this week, he sleeps in the middle. When he wakes up, he wakes up rested.
~~~
The Air That I Breathe
Breathe (2 am) (live at VH1)
previously: day four: private
next: day six: turn
slashfairy
~~
It takes this long to relax, these days- it doesn't take any time, he's used to the place, the men, the time of year, the activities- but these days, to truly relax and just.be.here it's taken forever-.
He looks at his hands, where they're losing the pads of flesh over the thumbs, the tips of his fingers still round, where the knuckles are showing more predominantly; turns them over palm-side up, palm-side down, seeing the bones in his fore-arm slide over each other on the bones of his wrists. Watches the pulse in his elbow, sure sign that he is still alive, still blood flowing through his arteries, capillaries, veins, making its journey through his lungs, out to feed his cells, bring back the un-needed, give that up to kidneys, gut, lungs again.
Feels the air go in and out of his chest, imagines it entering his blood and leaving it, imagines each molecule becoming air, becoming part of all the other molecules that make up the atmosphere of the world, becoming part of the blood of other people, connecting them all, releasing them all.
Drops down into himself, into his muscles, his bones, his gut, his skin, moves from inside to out and outside to in, until he knows every cell, every bit of history, until he can predict the future from one breath, until he can't predict anything at all but can only enjoy this moment, this breath, this now.
He rises up out of himself, out of his body, out of this trance, out of this moment of connection, and loses himself in coming to, coming back to the separateness of being himself, of having his own way, of seeing things his own way, but before he can become lonely, before he is desolated by being himself and only himself, they are there to catch him.
They watch him, now- not closely, not like under a microscope- they leave him his privacy, his time to himself- but when he's public, when he's with them, they are there with him, also. A touch, a fresh cup of mate; a hand-rolled; something warm to wrap around himself because, as he loses body fat, he loses insulation, too... sometimes it takes the two of the, one on either side, to warm him.
For now, this week, he sleeps in the middle. When he wakes up, he wakes up rested.
~~~
The Air That I Breathe
Breathe (2 am) (live at VH1)
previously: day four: private
next: day six: turn