fic: evergreen
title: evergreen.
author: inflowers.
warnings: saad. sorry. :(
Dying doesn't feel like he thought it would. He thought it would be all epiphanies and finally a white light, welcoming him. Beckoning to him, just forget the past and live in the now.
But it's not, it isn't.
Dying feels like dying.
Like nothing on earth, in heaven, in hell. Like it's the only thing he's ever done before, like everything else has just been a fleeting moment and it's all been leading up to this one big finale.
There's no clarity, nothing is reaching out for him. It's dark, and it's cold though he wants it to be warm. There's no wash of feeling, his life flashing before his eyes. There's nothing but the noises and the smells, fading in and out around him. And he's trying to catch on to one, hold onto it without letting go, because he's not ready yet.
Wants to hold on, like Luke is holding on. Like Luke is holding a sieve, and he's streaming through it. Over and over, little pieces of himself being trapped each time. Until theres nothing left to run through, until he's nothing but rubble.
In this, in his death - he's a burnt out village. A demolition site.
A rainy day in a year of summers.
Inevitable, but it doesn't make it any less wrong. The trees hold onto the rain like Reid holds on to his life. Clutching at oxygen, at vitamins, at sunlight.
He doesn't see God, he doesn't see angels. There is no one waiting for him at pearly white gates with a laundry list of who is in, who is out. He's moving towards it, but he's not sure what it is. He just feels his body get heavy and his heart start to beat in his chest, and he knows that there's not much time left.
And Luke, Luke is there whispering things to him. Telling him about how they need more time, and Reid thinks to himself that time doesn't really mean anything.
He could have lived to a hundred and never have found Luke. He could have lived every day of his life miserably without knowing that somewhere in a nowhere little town, was a hand made for his.
So time doesn't mean anything, and he wants Luke to know.
He doesn't hear music, there are no crescendos and a violin is out of the question. What he hears is loud, it's deafening. It's Luke's sobs against his body, it's the machines as they beep and whirr and try, try, try to keep him alive.
It's his own voice as he struggles to tell Luke, to tell him about time. About how Luke made six months feel like sixty years.
He wants to tell Luke so much, he wants to ask so much of him. To tell him that in ways he can't explain, it's all going to be okay.
He wants to tell Luke that it's okay to miss him, that it's okay to feel something even when everybody else will tell him to just let go.
And he wants Luke to think of him, but only if it doesn't hurt. He wants Luke to remember him, but only until he feels like he's ready to start to forget. He wants to tell Luke that it's okay to forget one day, even if he doesn't mean to - that it's human nature to move on, to fall in love again. He wants Luke to know that it's okay.
But there's not enough air in his lungs to say all he needs to, so he grips a little tighter.
Reid hangs on, for as long as he can. He tells Luke he's not scared, and that Luke shouldn't be either.
Because what they had was life, but this. This is death.
It's a last kiss, a flatline and a realisation.
This is death.
Luke leaves. Walks for what could be miles. Watches as the leaves turn colours, seemingly right before him. Greens, reds and oranges. Browns. The dead ones, black. Charcoal.
It's spring - or is it summer?
He doesn't care where he started, and he doesn't care where he's going. Because he knows where it will end, in death. His life, like Reid's life, will end in death.
He's not so scared anymore, but for now - he doesn't care what colour the trees are.
How could anyone possibly care what colour the trees are.
author: inflowers.
warnings: saad. sorry. :(
Dying doesn't feel like he thought it would. He thought it would be all epiphanies and finally a white light, welcoming him. Beckoning to him, just forget the past and live in the now.
But it's not, it isn't.
Dying feels like dying.
Like nothing on earth, in heaven, in hell. Like it's the only thing he's ever done before, like everything else has just been a fleeting moment and it's all been leading up to this one big finale.
There's no clarity, nothing is reaching out for him. It's dark, and it's cold though he wants it to be warm. There's no wash of feeling, his life flashing before his eyes. There's nothing but the noises and the smells, fading in and out around him. And he's trying to catch on to one, hold onto it without letting go, because he's not ready yet.
Wants to hold on, like Luke is holding on. Like Luke is holding a sieve, and he's streaming through it. Over and over, little pieces of himself being trapped each time. Until theres nothing left to run through, until he's nothing but rubble.
In this, in his death - he's a burnt out village. A demolition site.
A rainy day in a year of summers.
Inevitable, but it doesn't make it any less wrong. The trees hold onto the rain like Reid holds on to his life. Clutching at oxygen, at vitamins, at sunlight.
He doesn't see God, he doesn't see angels. There is no one waiting for him at pearly white gates with a laundry list of who is in, who is out. He's moving towards it, but he's not sure what it is. He just feels his body get heavy and his heart start to beat in his chest, and he knows that there's not much time left.
And Luke, Luke is there whispering things to him. Telling him about how they need more time, and Reid thinks to himself that time doesn't really mean anything.
He could have lived to a hundred and never have found Luke. He could have lived every day of his life miserably without knowing that somewhere in a nowhere little town, was a hand made for his.
So time doesn't mean anything, and he wants Luke to know.
He doesn't hear music, there are no crescendos and a violin is out of the question. What he hears is loud, it's deafening. It's Luke's sobs against his body, it's the machines as they beep and whirr and try, try, try to keep him alive.
It's his own voice as he struggles to tell Luke, to tell him about time. About how Luke made six months feel like sixty years.
He wants to tell Luke so much, he wants to ask so much of him. To tell him that in ways he can't explain, it's all going to be okay.
He wants to tell Luke that it's okay to miss him, that it's okay to feel something even when everybody else will tell him to just let go.
And he wants Luke to think of him, but only if it doesn't hurt. He wants Luke to remember him, but only until he feels like he's ready to start to forget. He wants to tell Luke that it's okay to forget one day, even if he doesn't mean to - that it's human nature to move on, to fall in love again. He wants Luke to know that it's okay.
But there's not enough air in his lungs to say all he needs to, so he grips a little tighter.
Reid hangs on, for as long as he can. He tells Luke he's not scared, and that Luke shouldn't be either.
Because what they had was life, but this. This is death.
It's a last kiss, a flatline and a realisation.
This is death.
Luke leaves. Walks for what could be miles. Watches as the leaves turn colours, seemingly right before him. Greens, reds and oranges. Browns. The dead ones, black. Charcoal.
It's spring - or is it summer?
He doesn't care where he started, and he doesn't care where he's going. Because he knows where it will end, in death. His life, like Reid's life, will end in death.
He's not so scared anymore, but for now - he doesn't care what colour the trees are.
How could anyone possibly care what colour the trees are.