a|n: So 2/3 of this was already posted to tumblr ages ago but never made it's way here. SO I decided to tidy them up a bit, quickly write a third to make the pieces cohesive and post them here. If I write more snippets I may post them here as new chapters so I won't mark this as complete, but I won't promise that I will add anything else either. For now, as these fragments are, I hope they add something to your day.
-E
one.
Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine—tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled front
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by the sun.
from (The Floating Poem, Unnumbered) | Adrienne Rich
Leon always knows when Cloud is going to leave.
The other thinks he's leaving quietly, un-missed; He doesn't know the words not said hang in the air around him like fog, replacing all the oxygen with self loathing and regret.
Leon never lets on that he knows.
When night falls, in their shared bedroom he makes sure Cloud comes twice. The first time is a plea, the second a promise. Immediately afterwards he wraps both arms tightly around him as if he could somehow absorb Cloud into his body and make him stay. In the pitch black darkness there is no pride and no pretending; He is not a hero or a leader but a man, and he has not asked for much in his whole entire life and he'll never ask for anything again but please please don't take this away from him. To his surprise the blond wraps his arms around him just as tightly and Leon wonders what he is praying for.
In the afterglow they lay facing each other, and Cloud traces the planes of his face and how could he think that he was being discreet? His eyes are clear and wet and there are no traces of the soft, shy smile usually saved for this moment.
"How long?" Leon asks, his hand reaching up to catch Clouds.
The blond shakes his head, "Until it's done."
This is how it always is. Leon feels like they are running lines at this point but he can't bring himself to break this ritual.
Leon drifts away from a sleep he doesn't remember entering just as Cloud straps his sword to his back.
He sits up just slightly, the blankets pooling around his lap. He is never awake when Cloud leaves. He never realized the blond looked back. But he does. He always looks back (that is the root of his problem after all).
Blue locks on to Blue.
"Don't go," he can't help but say.
"Don't wait," Cloud says half a heartbeat afterwards.
Leon is enraged at the idea. He looks up at the blond with fire in his eyes, "I have to." he says, determined. But what he is really saying is how could you ask that of me, after everything?
Cloud gently touches Leon's chin and he understands more than he lets on. Leon thinks he is going to kiss him, but he doesn't. Instead he says,
"Me too,"
and leaves.
:::::
two.
that without tenderness, we are all in hell.
- from X of Twenty One Love Songs | Adrienne Rich
On any given night, it wasn't unusual for one of them to have the disposition of a cornered, wounded animal. They would retreat into their own pain and their guard would rise and love would be impossible.
Sometimes it was Leon, sometimes it was Cloud but without fail one of their demons, their perceived failures, their old terrors would come and sit in the space where the other of them should have (used to) fit.
More often than not it is Cloud but tonight it is Leon.
When they get to the bed his blue grey eyes are wide and distant, seeing something old happen over and over and over.
He didn't save them.
He couldn't.
He was too weak.
So pathetic.
He doesn't deserve—
"Hey," is the quiet, smooth stone in the pond of their heavy silence. "Come back," Cloud says, his voice a gentle ripple in the night.
Leon looks back at him for the first time since laying down to sleep and Cloud can see his pupils dilate as he registers where he is physically in relation to the place his mind has retreated to. Cloud can feel Leon returning to him but for insurance he places a hand on the side of the others face, gentle in a way not even Aerith would expect for him to know.
He runs a thumb back and forth across the curve of Leon's jaw. "Come back," he says again.
And as if he really has just snapped back into his body from somewhere else Leon is suddenly there again behind that stormy gaze. He inhales laboriously, the breath climbing steps into his lungs as he locks eyes onto Cloud's clear day blue and silently communicates his loss.
Cloud understands as much as he can, having been on the other side of this exchange many times. It was Leon himself who, in his own way, taught him what to do, taught him how to save, to help.
Perhaps one day they will talk about it, with actual words.
But tonight Cloud kisses him softly on the mouth, as if he could absorb it all, the words, the past, the guilt. Kisses him to demonstrate all the wonderful ways to, if only for a moment, forget.
:::::
three.
I touch you knowing we weren't born tomorrow,
and somehow, each of us will help the other live,
and somehow, each of us must help the other die.
- from III of Twenty One Love Songs | Adrienne Rich
When he returns it is always quietly, like the leaves changing color in Autumn.
Leon returns from the restoration site, a quiet dread sitting in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his empty home. The too loud ticking of the clock, the dripping faucet, the hyper awareness of his own breath in the darkness. But when he goes to turn the lock the door is already opened and his heart leaps to his throat, demanding release.
Inside the oft empty house the sound of the shower reverberates in the stillness. It is as if the whole house is coming back to life and Leon wants nothing more than to take the steps two at a time, throw open the bathroom door and fall to his knees and weep. There are tears of joy, and anger, frustration, and relief and they cannot decide which to be so instead they disappear, settling into a lump at the base of his throat. Leon takes the stairs step by step, but only after he has first stopped to remove his boots and put them in the closet. Only after he has taken off his jacket and hung it behind the door with his keys.
At the top of the stairs he turns left to the bedroom, not right to the bathroom and the lump vibrates in his throat. He places his gunblade in it's case and only then prepares himself for their reunion. The shower seems so loud and he takes several breaths before he is ready to cross the hallway.
The bathroom door is open and Cloud's clothes are a crumpled, bloody heap under the sink. There is blood on the white tile floor and the stucco walls, even the high ceiling has a murder scene splatter of red. The mirror is completely fogged and the curtain is thrown open.
Leon finds his lover sleeping in the tub, curled up like a child. His heart softens and the lump rises. Leon enters the bathroom and kneels down at the tub. He places one hand on the others shoulder and Cloud jerks awake violently, his black leathery wing bursts out with a force that causes Leon to jump back to avoid getting hit.
His bright blue eyes are wild with some lingering torture and Leon leans forward, bringing a hand to curl at the base of blond hair in a gesture that he hopes is soothing, "Hey," he says quietly, and when Cloud turns to him, his mind stretched between two places Leon brings the other hand to smooth some hair behind Cloud's ear. Holding his face in both hands Leon quietly but sternly says, "It's me. You're in our bathroom. You're back"
And like a rubber band snapping back, the life returns to Cloud's eyes, the wild disappearing along with the torn wing.
Cloud registers Leon and there is something in his eyes that Leon can't place.
"I'm back…" Cloud says quietly.
Leon nods and swallows the stubborn lump, "And getting blood everywhere. And using up all the water, as usual."
Cloud mouth twitches with the force of the smile he's holding back and he tries to stand up, wincing as pain shoots through his entire body.
Leon moves one hand to his chest, forcing him back with a firm touch, "Don't move. You're injured"
The scar on his chest has been opened again. Leon could picture the sword piercing through Cloud's chest, his shoulder, his bicep. All the places where blood leaks through makeshift bandages wrapped carelessly.
The feelings are all there again. Anger, relief, sadness, fear. He bites them back and reaches out to grab a washcloth from the cupboard beneath the sink. The water is too hot but he doesn't lower the heat after soaking the wash cloth.
Steam rises off Cloud's body and Leon drags the cloth over the skin, doing his best to help Cloud, for a moment, feel clean.
The look is still there in Clouds eyes as he watches Leon bathe him, but he doesn't protest. And when the hot water is gone and the bath done, Leon turns off the water and helps support Cloud's weight as they walk, slowly towards the bedroom. Cloud sits, dripping water all over the bed, watching Leon rummage in the dresser for their first aid kid.
The brunette makes quick work of redressing the others wounds, sewing and wrapping what needs to be sewn and wrapped with the skill and efficiency that suggests a certain type of lifestyle. When it is done he grabs Cloud's towel and watches Cloud watch him towel down his hair until it is no longer dripping. When it lays wet and flat against his forehead Cloud looks young, like the boy he was before all this began and Leon fights the lump again, tosses the towel into Clouds face to give himself time to recover.
Cloud dries himself off as Leon brings him a change of clothes and then they climb together, into the bed. They each lie on their back, facing the ceiling and there is a small smile on Cloud's face.
"I missed you."
Leon turns to face the blond, hating himself for asking the question but needing to ask it anyway. "Is it over?" he asks.
Cloud looks at him, patient and sad and content, "It's never over."
Each sees in the others eyes questions that will never be answered.
Neither of them mention how much worse this time was then the last one.
Neither of them mention how one day Cloud may not come back at all.
For now, Cloud is alive and warm in bed next to Leon, who is also alive and warm and the idea that one day they might not be is all too real to people like them.
So they live simply, one hand over the other until night.