Keeping Up

Waker becomes a shadow drifting down, a fallen bird. Seiji returns all four limbs gracefully to the earth and watches, black eyes tracing black feathers. Silence hangs around Waker even after he lands. Silence hangs between them both: some remnant of the moment before lingering in them still. Connecting them. Seiji breathes out, and something in his chest aches with a hollow hurt, a fist of pain squeezing over his heart. I am Seiji, he wants to say. Please remember my name. But here, in this place, he is no one. He breathes out again, a little ragged, and steps once to bridge the distance between them. An immeasurable longing in his eyes. Sorrow, as well. His nostrils flare as his long swan's neck reaches out. He doesn't want to touch Waker. He wants… something. Impossible to grasp. He hangs there in the moment, about to touch but not touching, and his eyes drift up to study in proximity the details of Waker's face. The blue lines skating over and around his eyes. The tines of the horns. The jewelry glinting in the wreathes of dark hair. And at the same time, Waker is looking at him. Looking as if words are locked up in his throat, as if he needs to ask something — Seiji understands. His features soften. Ironic, maybe, or just a different shade of sad. He drifts back, his steps light on the wet sand, and his tail flicks absently behind him. For the first time in what feels like half a year, he tears his gaze from Waker's face. They are not friends. He will not stay. It hurts… Seiji glances back, unable to leave just yet. Wanting, still — something. His lips part. The whisper of his breath moves past, and nothing else. He is not whole. He remembers it, now: a sledgehammer beating in his chest. He is not whole, and Waker will never know him whole. Loneliness rears up. Threatens to eat him alive.

img by Tildae @ flickr

@Waker