[ it was distant as is, at meter’s length when he wanted to press his gooey face into paul’s chest to the point it was buried, where the vision behind his eyelids would go dark and his hearing would only pick up ruffled fabric first— then crackling flame from a bon on the floor following. magic. brilliant magic that had worn the face of a promise but exposed as a fraud. the smile is a glint of reassurance, but falco cannot smile back.
(what if he doesn’t find a way? what if he isolates himself for good? what if paul disappears—?)
his blood does not help his state, but settling with less gave him more, anyway. at the cave’s open mouth, falco respects the unseen boundaries by stepping around paul (never turning his back, always facing him), and finds a spot to fold his legs and rest his side against a jutted, slanted slate. he sets the book beside him and pulls his knees up and his arms over— whatever bottom side of his fabric already in contact with the sand picks up a crusty layer of mineral to wetness. at least, for a little while he’s give off the appearance of dryness. ]
Not alone, Paul . . . [ if doing things together could be nigh impossible, as he’s sadly realized, imagine doing things alone? it could be catastrophic. he’s never been so afraid of loss, and drops his eyes when they begin to sting at the flash of gritty, negative imagination. ] Where would we start?
no subject
(what if he doesn’t find a way? what if he isolates himself for good? what if paul disappears—?)
his blood does not help his state, but settling with less gave him more, anyway. at the cave’s open mouth, falco respects the unseen boundaries by stepping around paul (never turning his back, always facing him), and finds a spot to fold his legs and rest his side against a jutted, slanted slate. he sets the book beside him and pulls his knees up and his arms over— whatever bottom side of his fabric already in contact with the sand picks up a crusty layer of mineral to wetness. at least, for a little while he’s give off the appearance of dryness. ]
Not alone, Paul . . . [ if doing things together could be nigh impossible, as he’s sadly realized, imagine doing things alone? it could be catastrophic. he’s never been so afraid of loss, and drops his eyes when they begin to sting at the flash of gritty, negative imagination. ] Where would we start?