He dreams of melting gold.
The flame so easily spreads through the weak metal and it turns to burning liquid that runs over his fingertips. It burns - but it never scars him - the gold loved him too much to.
He hadn't the courage to tell the gold it was too easy to melt - too easy to break or be bent. He was too scared to tell the gold it was weak - even if it never showed.
Maybe he was scared to tell it that it was weak, because then it would have lost the one thing he loved about it.
He loved the fact it couldn't always win - it couldn't always have a happy ending. He loved the fact that he was always needed there to pick up the pieces. If the gold strengthened - stiffened - stopped running so easily across his fingertips - then the gold would be taken away from him forever.
How cruel - was it cruel for the gold, or for him?
He wanted to keep the gold close to him, never taken away, but was it cruel not to tell the gold it was cracked? Split?
He dreams of waking in darkness.
There is smoke everywhere but he can breathe easily - how unfair - he thinks vaguely. Shadows are scattered around him and yet they do not belong to him - they are abstract and unfamiliar, and yet he has no shadow of his own.
He dreams of waking in softness.
Opening his eyes, Roy sat up out of bed slowly. The first light of dawn spread across the bedroom, and dew still clung to the window to which he looked.
Edward sat beside the window, and untouched book in his lap as he rested his forehead against the glass.
The gold had that look in his eyes again.
Every so often the gold would see the cracks - the creases - and it would frighten him. It would frighten him so much the gold would fall silent.
Climbing out of bed Roy padded over to Edward in silence and sits in front of him - resting his forehead against the gold's. Edward smiled slightly and a tear rolls out of his eye.
Is it selfish of him not to tell him about the cracks so that he was still needed?
Was it selfish of him not to fix them himself?
He dreams of kissing gold.
