Upon learning how to read, how the stories and poems espoused about love, versions that painted pictures without black shrouds, without sickly films. Although, his would ultimately be rejected as closer to the latter than the former. Does it count, if all he does is erase the mistake of his existence? Living inside, somewhere, everywhere, deep stains that can't be removed.
Gaelio, his unsettling and zombified self, lifts his head as if the answer matters. As if it could possibly still matter -- with that, hope flickers. His first and only act. Gaelio clutches at the ground, twitching away, and McGillis can feel it. He sighs, coughing red with it. The air around them coughs, sighs.
He hopes the dark in his vision grows and grows and grows. It grows, pulsing, until the shock of a hand on his shoulder chases it away. Another touch, painfully gentle on his face, forces clarity to the front of his vision.
He looks for him. Green eyes widen slightly to absorb, from this distance, the distressing sheen in those blue ones. White, black, blue. The striking presence of water gathering in them and soon to fall. He was always the type to cry easily -- does that keep? Does that keep about him? Even after that after?
His lifts his fingers to curl onto the wrist that swipes at blood. ]
Why are you crying?
[ Those same fingers graze partly along his sleeve, perching curiously as if they've never found a place to settle. Red imprints left behind on everything, everywhere, as if his flesh itself will become an open and gaping wound.
Is this his only act of love, and so ugly?
Gaelio doesn't seem comforted, nor do the white patches of scars begin to disappear from his face. Nor does he become the person McGillis wanted to revive. He tilts his head, regarding the face in front of him with a more disquieted expression.
His voice is hoarse with liquid. It continues to pool from his mouth, from the corners of his eyes and the bottoms of his ears. From the trail of his palm as it lifts again and seeks to shape itself against Gaelio's cheek. ]
no subject
Upon learning how to read, how the stories and poems espoused about love, versions that painted pictures without black shrouds, without sickly films. Although, his would ultimately be rejected as closer to the latter than the former. Does it count, if all he does is erase the mistake of his existence? Living inside, somewhere, everywhere, deep stains that can't be removed.
Gaelio, his unsettling and zombified self, lifts his head as if the answer matters. As if it could possibly still matter -- with that, hope flickers. His first and only act. Gaelio clutches at the ground, twitching away, and McGillis can feel it. He sighs, coughing red with it. The air around them coughs, sighs.
He hopes the dark in his vision grows and grows and grows. It grows, pulsing, until the shock of a hand on his shoulder chases it away. Another touch, painfully gentle on his face, forces clarity to the front of his vision.
He looks for him. Green eyes widen slightly to absorb, from this distance, the distressing sheen in those blue ones. White, black, blue. The striking presence of water gathering in them and soon to fall. He was always the type to cry easily -- does that keep? Does that keep about him? Even after that after?
His lifts his fingers to curl onto the wrist that swipes at blood. ]
Why are you crying?
[ Those same fingers graze partly along his sleeve, perching curiously as if they've never found a place to settle. Red imprints left behind on everything, everywhere, as if his flesh itself will become an open and gaping wound.
Is this his only act of love, and so ugly?
Gaelio doesn't seem comforted, nor do the white patches of scars begin to disappear from his face. Nor does he become the person McGillis wanted to revive. He tilts his head, regarding the face in front of him with a more disquieted expression.
His voice is hoarse with liquid. It continues to pool from his mouth, from the corners of his eyes and the bottoms of his ears. From the trail of his palm as it lifts again and seeks to shape itself against Gaelio's cheek. ]
I'm sorry.
[ Scar pulsing beneath his touch. ]