That's right kids. Beta'd by Mousewolf. This is one of the ones that's most important to me, and one of the pieces that received the most benefit from the beta... enjoy, guys.
::: Nightmare :::
He smiled as Axel painted him…bright light dances on the water…delighted laugh echoes for a second
And the scene shifts and now he's smiling up at Axel from the redhead's lap
He's smiling but OH GOD there's so much blood from the gash on his forehead, the blood is coming out of his mouth river down his ashen chin and cheeks. His eyes are bright and empty as the sky oh god there's so much blood…
Victim is 22 year old Caucasian male breathing is erratic and shallow
His eyes… he's going into shock, and Axel can't do a fucking thing to stop it.
The body in his arms is crushed.
Severe damage to the spinal cord almost total destruction of the right tibia and thighbone see if you can patch that lung while I hold this
(so much meat and chemicals)
The car is pulled off to the side and the man who was driving is wrapped around the steering wheel, sobbing like a little girl. The ambulance has been called.
Demyx lifts a hand weakly, presses it to Axel's cheek.
"I love you, babe," he says softly, all the color gone from his face. His eyes glimmer, now looking obscenely bright.
We're losing him people code red flatline where the hell is that cart
The body in Axel's arms goes completely limp. Demyx's lovely blond head lulls lifelessly to Axel's chest and the hand falls away.
"No, Dem! You have to hang on… come on, Dem!" he cries, "Wake up, Dem! Demyx! Demyx don't leave me here…"
But it's too late.
No breath.
No pulse.
Nothing.
Demyx is dead.
Time of death at oh-nine-hundred hours and forty-three minutes
--- ---
Just like every other morning after he's had this dream, Axel wakes, bathed in sweat, panting and tracing the tears down his cheeks with shaking fingers. He gets up to make sure it's only a dream, and just like every other morning, he pads silently into the living room where Demyx is curled up against a pillow like a small child. And just like he does every morning, Axel pulls the discarded blanket up around the blond's shoulders and places the tenderest kiss on his forehead while the boy is still asleep.
He's never had the guts to do it when Demyx was conscious.
"'S snowin' 'n' I dun wanna go to school, mum…" he mumbles in his sleep.
"You don't have to," Axel replies, and Demyx gives a little relieved sigh, a smile curling his mouth cutely.
It's been two weeks, and for the past week, Axel has had the same week. Two new paintings gaze at him: one, finished, of Demyx in his thick wool scarf, pulled from a photo. His breath is clouded around his face, and his eyes smile.
(light on water so much meat and chemicals)
The second is almost done now: Demyx lying on the couch, every inch of his sleek swimmer's body exposed, full sunlight lighting up each angle and casting deep shadows. He seems pensive in this one. Axel smiles and picks up his camera. He turns off the flash and quietly pulls down the blanket, tucking it around the boy's hips. He snaps the photo and returns everything to the way it used to be.
He turns his camera and makes his way to the shower silently.
It's his little secret.