[ A bunched, white sleeve passes over his jaw. McGillis lifts his drooping head once he senses that, coming face to face with wet blue eyes as large as discs, and the sleeve wiping over his cheek.
Slowly, slowly erasing the streaks of red, some magical component in the cloth, or in the owner of the sleeve.
Gaelio crying, smeared in blood, one way or the other. He's always kept too close, never to his own benefit. The blood is lifting, though, McGillis's eyes crumpling and clearing when faced with his efforts. The only tenderness known in his life. The first, every first that ever provided a contrast to his overall existence, the fixed point, the gravitational center of it -- but there's a man's corpse on the ground, twitching with the terrible weight of knowledge. After all that, even the boy that emerged from him has flayed and silenced him, for the sake of someone who doesn't deserve the effort. He's always kept too close.
Tell me who you are and don't kill me.
So simple. Tell me who you are but he can't, he won't, he can't, he can't --
McGillis exhales, not with dying, instead with the terrible knowledge that he won't die. That terrible weight. A spark of life returning to his eyes.
But it's a nice thought. It's a nice dream.
It's all I want to know and you can't want to kill me and his fingers clutching, tightening over fabric, holding onto Gaelio when he hugs him and disappears into his shoulder. Hanging on to keep from trembling, a small tremble sweeping through him. Red all over him, red all over the both of them, then -- as quickly, none. As quickly, clean and breathing again, something inside snapping with the violent realization that he, also, wants to keep him. It snaps up all the blood.
It's not fair, it's not fair that he can't, that he won't, though that's too childish, too simple, and there are greater injustices, but -- but why his only friend?
Why be that cruel to the both of them?
He shifts small arms, away from clutching and into an embrace. Cupping the back of Gaelio's head and falling back into an endless, white backdrop, becoming the only shape that has form. Everything else blurs out and away -- tree, skies, buildings, corpse -- eaten up by the white landscape. He floats in it.
He takes the other boy with him. ]
Isn't it too late?
[ Something wet sliding from his eyes into that soft cloud of pastels against his cheek. Trembling that snakes through his young voice, not cracking it. ]
Let's stay here, where it's never too late. Let's not go back.
[ Not to waking, not to their families, that artificial world, that severe existence -- a warm body against his, here. A heartbeat against his.
No need to construct safety through any other methods. ]
Would -- would you --
[ But he doesn't know what he asks, trailing off on a shuddering breath. ]
no subject
Slowly, slowly erasing the streaks of red, some magical component in the cloth, or in the owner of the sleeve.
Gaelio crying, smeared in blood, one way or the other. He's always kept too close, never to his own benefit. The blood is lifting, though, McGillis's eyes crumpling and clearing when faced with his efforts. The only tenderness known in his life. The first, every first that ever provided a contrast to his overall existence, the fixed point, the gravitational center of it -- but there's a man's corpse on the ground, twitching with the terrible weight of knowledge. After all that, even the boy that emerged from him has flayed and silenced him, for the sake of someone who doesn't deserve the effort. He's always kept too close.
Tell me who you are and don't kill me.
So simple. Tell me who you are but he can't, he won't, he can't, he can't --
McGillis exhales, not with dying, instead with the terrible knowledge that he won't die. That terrible weight. A spark of life returning to his eyes.
But it's a nice thought. It's a nice dream.
It's all I want to know and you can't want to kill me and his fingers clutching, tightening over fabric, holding onto Gaelio when he hugs him and disappears into his shoulder. Hanging on to keep from trembling, a small tremble sweeping through him. Red all over him, red all over the both of them, then -- as quickly, none. As quickly, clean and breathing again, something inside snapping with the violent realization that he, also, wants to keep him. It snaps up all the blood.
It's not fair, it's not fair that he can't, that he won't, though that's too childish, too simple, and there are greater injustices, but -- but why his only friend?
Why be that cruel to the both of them?
He shifts small arms, away from clutching and into an embrace. Cupping the back of Gaelio's head and falling back into an endless, white backdrop, becoming the only shape that has form. Everything else blurs out and away -- tree, skies, buildings, corpse -- eaten up by the white landscape. He floats in it.
He takes the other boy with him. ]
Isn't it too late?
[ Something wet sliding from his eyes into that soft cloud of pastels against his cheek. Trembling that snakes through his young voice, not cracking it. ]
Let's stay here, where it's never too late. Let's not go back.
[ Not to waking, not to their families, that artificial world, that severe existence -- a warm body against his, here. A heartbeat against his.
No need to construct safety through any other methods. ]
Would -- would you --
[ But he doesn't know what he asks, trailing off on a shuddering breath. ]