[ The bird smooths untrembling hands at the crook of his neck and shoulder, caressing him like self-comfort. John is blind except in all the ways that matter: he keeps his eyes shut beneath the binding and watches the cool stillness in every finger, the cellular silence. It's still beautiful.
Vanya. His lips part with a caught breath, and he leans into the press of the kiss like a man swaying drunk. In silence he reels with a sweet, confused anguish. Augustine hates this, and he can feel that bitterness just beyond reach, as counterpoint to the thing in his own chest. John is choked silent: for once in his life, he keeps his eyes shut and does not break the moment.
When they leave, he reaches up to gather Alfred close against him, and stays like that— blindly cradling yet another ghost— for a long moment. ]
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Vanya. His lips part with a caught breath, and he leans into the press of the kiss like a man swaying drunk. In silence he reels with a sweet, confused anguish. Augustine hates this, and he can feel that bitterness just beyond reach, as counterpoint to the thing in his own chest. John is choked silent: for once in his life, he keeps his eyes shut and does not break the moment.
When they leave, he reaches up to gather Alfred close against him, and stays like that— blindly cradling yet another ghost— for a long moment. ]