Disclaimer: Not mine
Warning: Uh. 1x2 if you kinda squint? Religion (sorta) Attempts at… god, I dunno. A strange combination of introspection/observation/nothing. Mostly a writing exercise.
For the beads touch my
fingers, hear my prayers
Bruises only fade, they do not disappear
The rosary is supposed to be something private, something special. Duo shouldn't be sitting in front of me. Those beads shouldn't be caressing his fingers, lining up so perfectly. How can I still hear the murmurs under his breath? Why is he letting me see? Doesn't he know I'm awake? But my breathing hasn't changed, I haven't moved a muscle. He should know. He always knows. I close my eyes again when he moves, lids snapping closed until there's nothing but darkness behind them.
But his eyes are closed and the words are so soft, so soft. How can he pray like that? His voice… I didn't even know his voice could be the quiet. It's a whisper, it's less than a whisper. It's a breath. His voice is so soft I'm falling into it, I can't pull myself away. His prayers are filling all my thoughts. How can I let this happen so easily? What is it about Shinigami that draws me into him? Why can I resist?
Wonders, so many wonders, so many questions and I can't make out the words. I should be able to, all my focus has honed in on those words. Yet they're nothing more than sounds, his voice and no syllables focused enough to make out the letters. If I opened my eyes again, moved… if I looked at him… I could read his lips. But he'd stop if I moved, wouldn't he? This private moment. I'm an intruder, an interloper, transfixed by the tone of his voice that isn't mine to hear.
Why don't I want to wake up? All I have to do is twitch, move a finger, hitch a breath
and he'll stop and I'll get up. That'll be the end of it all. But I haven't moved yet. I don't know how long he's been murmuring; I don't know how long I've been listening. How can I stop? How can I break the hold that voice has over me? I can't let this rule me. I can't let myself be stopped by something so little, something so simple.
But my eyes don't open again until his prayers have fallen silent and I hear his beads rattling against each other, sliding into some secret pocket I'll never see and I'll never look for either. Only then do I let a little hitch in my breathing inform him I'm awake; only then do I let out the tension that I'd imagined in my arms and twitched my finger.
"Hn." That's the only sound I can make. I should make another sound, I should say something as my eyes open and see his braid, see the back of his head and the black expanse of his costume, it is a costume, isn't it? I sit up, I have to have sat up because the angle changed while my eyes were tracing up his hair, up his back. And before he can open his mouth, though only be a second, I'm on my feet and heading out of the room. My laptop's in my hand, my gun at my waist, my feet silent on the wooden floors as I leave him behind.
If I stop, turn around, look at him, hear him, pause for him, think about him… I'll never go.