a walk on a winter day leads to a talk which leads to things uncovered which leads to temporary contentment
"when I was younger… people would come up to the mountains wearing cloaks and give me books to give to my father."
his voice is strained, and your arm around his waist tightens. a snowflake lands on his eyelash, delicate like dandelion fluff, and then promptly melts and trickles down his cheek, staining it like satin. you press a gentle kiss where it ends, and wait for him to continue.
"and then… when he died… the same people… they came and took his corpse."
his voice cracks at the and and you freeze
"They put him on a board and carried him away… they never spoke, or acknowledged me…. or anything."
He pauses for a shuddering breath
"I screamed at them. i wanted to be heard… "
your hands tighten around his arms, pulling him to face you. He won't meet your eyes.
"and then… when…when I was 11…. they came back and the finally spoke to me. they said I needed to become the next prophet, because my father had passed, and they needed a new one, and then,"
another shuddering breath. you don't dare to breathe yourself.
"They cut me.. and took my blood, and they wouldn't let me speak, they blindfolded me, and gagged me, and chanted things i didn't understand…
his voice rises in pitch and he is visibly shaking. you can't stand not to move, to just watch his tears mingle with melted snow on his face, clouding his eyes. you lurch forward and grab onto him tightly, and he returns the embrace with equal desperation, choking into your shoulder
"i was so scared"
you grip him tightly, one hand tangled in his damp hair, the other against his back. his hands knot themselves to the front of your jacket, shaking.
"im so sorry…"
"you whisper
"they told me… after they untied me… then if i didn't learn how to become a prophet they would kill me and find someone else.
he suddenly lurches away from you, and shrieks
"I never wanted this! I had no choice! i didn't ask to be cut, and have visions every night, and draw ruins until my fingers bled!
you do your best to gain back control over his limbs, tugging his fingers from their sudden seemingly permanent places in his hair, shushing him gently as you draw him back into you, a caring hand steadying his lurching back.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,…"
he rises and retreats like a tide, sobs turning into choked breaths and sheiks back into silence. you repeat yourself, rocking him. the same two words mean a different thing each time you say them, feelings and memories and his words, mixed together into a mass of something you can only convey through the tone of your voice and they way you hold him
the time it takes for him to come back down, to dissolve into a tired and silent mess is measured in snowflakes against the back of your neck, in freezing kisses pressed to his forehead. in time he is exalted, and you gather him up and lead him back home, stepping in time with no shadows cast from the steel sky.
your apartment is small, but its yours, and warm, with blankets piled on the couch and two space heaters and Yu's drawings stuck on the fridge from when he comes over and you have to watch him. your soaked jackets and hats and gloves and socks come off, and your conversation from before is left at the door, a button dropped from Dynamis's coat, waiting on the steps until he will curiously pick it up again and put it in his pocket, to haunt him again.
his memories and thoughts aren't as tangible as a button, though. they're smoke, and drift and twirl through his mind, and the space he occupies. you blow it away and watch it disperse, but it will be back, landing on his back like a freezing snowflake, making him shiver./div
FIN/div