Rating : T
Warnings : some illustration of mental trauma
Pairing : toonshipping
Colour : monochrome
Musical inspiration : Memories of Childhood - Alexandre Desplat / Cry - TSFH
Requested by: (requester has asked to remain anonymous)
Bits and inspiration taken from another piece I may not finish.
It echoed.
His name.
The sounds of a thousand hands coming together and beating in the same meaningless ritual.
Polite urgency.
The sliver of light between the curtains.
Wavering.
Like the grand thing it was.
Just outside.
A quivering mirage.
He wouldn't reach it this time.
He would only thank whatever god responsible for the pillar here.
It's being made of marble.
Unpleasant cold against his palm just enough to keep him here.
Not here.
Not this stage.
The boards were still worn with age, bound to creak with every other step up to the part in the curtains. There was another face up in the rafters, waiting for the cue. Just like…
That day.
His hand slipped from the wall.
Seconds later.
Hours later.
There was no time.
No sound.
Except from him.
His heart battering the inside of his ribs.
Some desperate bird uselessly flying into the bars.
Over and over.
He took one step.
The last step.
The world closed in.
That day.
This same feeling.
I can do this.
A mantra in his head.
Growing ever quieter.
If the whole of the roof came down.
On him.
On everyone awaiting him.
That was alright.
The sliver of light between the curtains was gold.
Wavering.
Parting.
"Seto."
Two syllables. Two knocks. His chest broke open and everything came out.
Flooded in harsh colour.
"I can't."
He felt the rest of the words sting as they stuck in his throat.
"What's wrong?"
A head tilting.
Silver sliding.
I can't.
Warm hands took his face.
Lifted it so that he would see.
A dark eye wide and searching his.
He thought to claw away the fingers just there on his jaw but his own wouldn't reach, too firmly gathered into shaking fists.
This stage.
All those people.
"Enough now!"
Something was shaking. His shoulders. Everything.
A phantom's hands.
"Boys don't cry."
It had never been just tears.
"Seto."
Memory washed away.
Shadows in murky sunlight.
"I can't do this."
He hated it.
Everything.
The way his own voice was crushed into a whisper.
The way his own hands latched onto his face.
The way their foreheads touched.
A long moment went by.
"I know you can."
The words spread over him in strange warmth.
Calm gaining.
And him fearful of it.
"You can."
Insisting.
But the weight of truth in it.
He didn't hear but felt.
Steps towards the bar of light between the curtains.
Velvet against the back of his hand.
Gaze on him from somewhere in the wings crinkling at the edges.