One-shot (b/c I got distracted from Hellbent)
Author: Cupid's Ichor
Title: When the sky falls
Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not nearly that good. Mystory though, all mine. -grr-
A/N: Team 7 comradery. Ambiguity, death in mild fluff.
They were all individuals and yet they were a team. -Team 7 friendship, comradery. . .love-
Sky, liquid onyx.
The shadows are overwhelmed in the stench.
And the night covers the crevices blind.
There are no stars.
Let it be silent, cold and dead. . .
He is a shadow moving amongst the trees, leaving no sound his breath comes out uneven, forced, jagged. He feels sick but continues to move and breath and live.
The wet sensation on his hands and he is almost certain he is dead.
But that would be too easy. . .too elaborate. He must suffer, he should suffer. . .he will suffer.
The sky is oblivious, the stars are nonexistent and he knows why.
He knows
There is no solace in watching the stars. Their celestial light shined in a myriad of different spectrums, bodies grouped together. . .assure his loneliness.
But it was his own doing, his own fault.
Everything
He sits now and waits for morning, for the sun. Even though he knows it'll never come.
Because of him, it'll never come.
Because of his stupidity it'll never come.
What the shadows hide in the perpetual night. They are connected.
. . .Because it is cold, silent and dead.
Sky, penciled gray.
The heavy clouds bellow in sibyl cries.
It's smothering, strangling,
the air, the pressure.
There is no sun.
Let it be painful, melancholy, inessential. . .
She is awake but her instinct tells her to lay still and grasp on to the sheets. But it's a force which pushes her out of bed. And it is that force that's knocking at her door.
Because she too has to suffer. . .because of him, because of them and her feelings.
Everything.
She gasps, and bits her lip. It bleeds and the sycophant in front of her places a patronizing hand on her shoulder. She mutters something inaudible, something hopeful, something meaningless.
In the silence there is no reassurance.
He lets her go, and she is certain that she would have went regardless.
What the trees full of life and vibrance feed off of. They are dying.
. . .Because it is painful, melancholy, inessential
Sky, sill in time,
It never sets far from us,
everything must come again.
The leaves bristle softly, slowly reaching.
There is no wind.
Let it be solemn, poignant, inexorable. . .
She never saw him as delicate or brittle. Like something so precious as a lover that could easily crumble without your touch. So as he lay there she hovered above him, afraid of what she would do to hug him, to hold him.
But she knew this was inevitable. He was slow to decay and his young looks and hopeful smiles were deceiving because he would have never let it go this far.
Not unless he gave up, gave in and knew the wiser.
He knew.
She knows now too.
Banal in crimson and dirt and ossified flesh he is beautiful and she refuses to cry in his presences. She traces a finger from the bottom of his mouth where she swears she could feel the warmth of his grin, those soft lips.
Her own lips quirk into a forced smile. And her hand floats higher up to his eyes which remain close. She wipes off dust, a trace of tears.
His golden hair, she remembers as silk tendrils. . .his innate crown or pseudo halo.
Which feels brittle and crunches under her fingers.
She tastes blood and looks away and cries.
For everything she knows will happen. Because the sky is falling she can't do anything but to fall with it.
She tells him to wait and touches his hand before she disappears.
What still guides them, keeping them close. They follow.
. . .Because it is solemn, poignant, inexorable.
Sky, perpetual night,
keeps them steady and quiet.
The shadows under the tree continue to waver.
Everything grows so slowly in the still of the night.
There is no moon.
Let it be unstoppable, indisputable, ambivalent. . .
He waits for her, because there is nothing left now, because he knows she will find him. When she does appear he keeps his words and trials to himself and gives her silence.
And he cannot look away.
She is beautiful heaving fire, poison emerald eyes and he remembers a similar look from his other companion. How it pained him to kill his best friend and how the golden haired teenager let him. At his quietus he wonders if he should tell her, but then again she probably knows.
To her eyes he is tainted as she will be, as they will be. His stoic jagged spiked hair and onyx eyes blend in so easily.
She doesn't need to see him.
She can tell, he's painfully handsome and she wants him dead. But she says mute, he already knows.
Both know what needs to be done. But for effect she walks up to him and slaps him across the face.
He grunts, sighs slightly in contempt
or maybe acceptance.
He can taste the blood.
. . .Because it is unstoppable, indisputable, ambivalent.
What it all comes down to, the two members most far away. They reach for the sky.
Sky, fallen
Because you were above me
And I cannot see you now,
And you cannot see me.
Let it be invincible, sublime, love.
She collapses somewhere in the distance he realizes as he lets himself stay stubborn. His feet shake to move. He wishes it didn't end like this, he wishes that all the choices he made were the right ones and that, that one simple fact didn't bother him.
He wishes that it didn't hurt as much.
His eyes look over to her and he doesn't think that it is fair. They are all so far apart.
He cannot reach her.
She who is winded and straining for breath smiles sightly. Warmth is all she can comprehend at the moment and she strains herself not to sigh deeply. Her eyes look upon the shadows which she can not sort out and she feels as if the electricity in her body was misplaced.
Eyes wide and dilated look beyond the grass and dirt and blood for the one. . .ones she cannot see. It would be foolish to lie to herself, she still holds him, both of them with reverence and respect.
She almost cries.
Almost.
Her eyes are open but she cannot see him. . . them. . .anyone.
He twitches, sighs and is left to comprehend everything. He feels nostalgic but cannot go past the images of a love jilted and torn in his own ignorance. He wants to say something but he knows it will never be heard.
He cringes,
and bleeds.
It's a comforting warmth that embraces him and he knows that everything he is thinking they probably thought too. He would never admit it, but his companions were smarter then he thought.
His last thought was of his team.
And he mutters, telling them so, even though he knows they'll tease him later on.
What makes us invincible and sublime, it's love.
So let the sky fall,
And I will follow.