[ the words trip and fall out, clumsy, stumbling like hani's still not ready to fully believe that they've found mithrun. it's been a little over seven days, more than a week, not even close to two. but seven days is enough for a world to be born; each sunset without their third felt like another star dying. and the drag of each day is still felt, rubbed raw on their hands and knees.
following their words are more tears; they fall and fall, and hani does nothing about them at first. they've only cried three and a half times in their life now, and never once have they learned to catch their own tears. though - there's no need to catch them now that everything that matters has been found and put back, emotions as all-consuming as planets slotting back into perfect rings. and grief, it stays at the edge of everything, small and distant, but forever there now that they've learned it.
but at a very center: a planet with its sun and its moon. and the seasons continue, sudden.
the relief is almost as crippling as the grief they had felt the day before. winter's departure leaves too many tears, ice melting rapidly from their eyes. it's overwhelming, so much, and they don't - don't want to show it. so they hide behind justy, pressing their face into his back. splotches of tears paint the canvas of his shirt in shades of relief and hope and love; a painting dried and sealed by the breath of their quiet sobs. it's not beautiful, foiled by their shaking shoulders, miniscule yet too much for their small body.
but they hope - they hope that, unlike the impression on fabric that will inevitably fade into nothing, everything here in this room will last forever.
it's hope that keeps hani from hiding forever, and mithrun's words that draw them out, draw them closer to grab his hands.
each pale, fragile appendage held up to hani's face for fear that one of them might reach for mithrun's own throat again, single eye wide and empty. hani would rather he reach for theirs. they kiss the palm of each, where the lines of life continue to run, then the inner lines of his fingers, the tips, the scars. ]
I never stopped wanting to be close.
[ never stopped trying to find him. even in that moment when he had logged out (seconds too soon, seconds too late), and all hani was left with was this black hole of loss, they used their tears to soften the grave, to dig for all the remaining parts of him they couldn't let rot. ]
[ Tylor's eyes still don't leave their third star, the one to look for to be guided home. A molecule, a universe, restored. Reality rushes to greet him, the welcome tug of gravity and longing. His expression softens as Hani's grief, relief stains the back of his coat.
He had been so confident that Morgan was okay, his gut triumphant. But every day that passed in his absence was a greater ache than the last, a compounding and familiar feeling, ready to bury him. Loss was a harsher and darker beast than simply being ignored. Unfair to thr progress they'd all made in communicating with one another.
It's these moments that smooth the wrinkles most, that allow each star to shine brightly, twinkling with succor and longing to be one. And Tylor feels hope tangled up in his own relief.
Caught up easily in the present, it's easy to forget the little things that had reminded him of Morgan. In game and out, alcohol, distraction, and unbridled optimism can only placate the crater of loss so many times before it etched a permanent design on his heart. A Morgan shaped piece of him, cut and ripped out with increasingly jagged edges.
It's effortless to fall back into orbit with their missing star. The hot and outsized atom, hungry and molten and clueless about the field of gravity he creates in his only want beyond revenge to understand more.
This feeling, warm and blooming, is a willing sacrifice to the monster called grief, lying in wait to consume Tylor wholly when he finds himself alone again. For now, it is pinned to the depths by the love held in his hands. Darkness pushed back by presence, the wholeness of three, Tylor feels it when Hani kisses at Morgan's hands. But he doesn't dare tear his glossy eyes away.
A sweet sigh escapes him at Morgan's words. Tylor moves closer, drawn up by the single knee on Morgan's bed and the pull of his proper place in orbit. The shift to slip in beside Morgan is languid and slow, in the careful way reserved for important and fragile things. His arm falls over him, protective around his waist as he pulls Morgan close to press chaste lips to his temple.
He keeps his answers simple, slow, and full of love so thick it drips from his words like honeyed balm so the meaning is simple, even if one doesn't understand the words. ]
Don't worry. We're here, M&M. Morgan. Always.
[ His kisses travel between hushed words; a light brush of lips to lips and then to his closed eye, his hair, reveling in the fact that this is real. There is no heat to it, in this pure celebration of life and renewed bonds. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2023-09-12 10:15 pm (UTC)[ the words trip and fall out, clumsy, stumbling like hani's still not ready to fully believe that they've found mithrun. it's been a little over seven days, more than a week, not even close to two. but seven days is enough for a world to be born; each sunset without their third felt like another star dying. and the drag of each day is still felt, rubbed raw on their hands and knees.
following their words are more tears; they fall and fall, and hani does nothing about them at first. they've only cried three and a half times in their life now, and never once have they learned to catch their own tears. though - there's no need to catch them now that everything that matters has been found and put back, emotions as all-consuming as planets slotting back into perfect rings. and grief, it stays at the edge of everything, small and distant, but forever there now that they've learned it.
but at a very center: a planet with its sun and its moon. and the seasons continue, sudden.
the relief is almost as crippling as the grief they had felt the day before. winter's departure leaves too many tears, ice melting rapidly from their eyes. it's overwhelming, so much, and they don't - don't want to show it. so they hide behind justy, pressing their face into his back. splotches of tears paint the canvas of his shirt in shades of relief and hope and love; a painting dried and sealed by the breath of their quiet sobs. it's not beautiful, foiled by their shaking shoulders, miniscule yet too much for their small body.
but they hope - they hope that, unlike the impression on fabric that will inevitably fade into nothing, everything here in this room will last forever.
it's hope that keeps hani from hiding forever, and mithrun's words that draw them out, draw them closer to grab his hands.
each pale, fragile appendage held up to hani's face for fear that one of them might reach for mithrun's own throat again, single eye wide and empty. hani would rather he reach for theirs. they kiss the palm of each, where the lines of life continue to run, then the inner lines of his fingers, the tips, the scars. ]
I never stopped wanting to be close.
[ never stopped trying to find him. even in that moment when he had logged out (seconds too soon, seconds too late), and all hani was left with was this black hole of loss, they used their tears to soften the grave, to dig for all the remaining parts of him they couldn't let rot. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-09-13 12:39 am (UTC)He had been so confident that Morgan was okay, his gut triumphant. But every day that passed in his absence was a greater ache than the last, a compounding and familiar feeling, ready to bury him. Loss was a harsher and darker beast than simply being ignored. Unfair to thr progress they'd all made in communicating with one another.
It's these moments that smooth the wrinkles most, that allow each star to shine brightly, twinkling with succor and longing to be one. And Tylor feels hope tangled up in his own relief.
Caught up easily in the present, it's easy to forget the little things that had reminded him of Morgan. In game and out, alcohol, distraction, and unbridled optimism can only placate the crater of loss so many times before it etched a permanent design on his heart. A Morgan shaped piece of him, cut and ripped out with increasingly jagged edges.
It's effortless to fall back into orbit with their missing star. The hot and outsized atom, hungry and molten and clueless about the field of gravity he creates in his only want beyond revenge to understand more.
This feeling, warm and blooming, is a willing sacrifice to the monster called grief, lying in wait to consume Tylor wholly when he finds himself alone again. For now, it is pinned to the depths by the love held in his hands. Darkness pushed back by presence, the wholeness of three, Tylor feels it when Hani kisses at Morgan's hands. But he doesn't dare tear his glossy eyes away.
A sweet sigh escapes him at Morgan's words. Tylor moves closer, drawn up by the single knee on Morgan's bed and the pull of his proper place in orbit. The shift to slip in beside Morgan is languid and slow, in the careful way reserved for important and fragile things. His arm falls over him, protective around his waist as he pulls Morgan close to press chaste lips to his temple.
He keeps his answers simple, slow, and full of love so thick it drips from his words like honeyed balm so the meaning is simple, even if one doesn't understand the words. ]
Don't worry. We're here, M&M. Morgan. Always.
[ His kisses travel between hushed words; a light brush of lips to lips and then to his closed eye, his hair, reveling in the fact that this is real. There is no heat to it, in this pure celebration of life and renewed bonds. ]
We love you.