A/N: A ficlet on Twilight's identity.
Holding Water
It's a hard thing, to hold water, except when it is ice.
He tries to hold it liquid, yet he is liquid, never the same man twice. He's vapor. A vapor of persona, dissipating mist. When the mission evaporates, so does he—time to be the next thing. And for a moment, he's frozen there.
This March rainstorm is darker than twilight, ice-rain mix. He's late getting in, a too-long workday, drenched to the bone. He curses, stumbling in gutter puddles, freezing water splashing his laced black oxfords, icy water seeping into his sock.
He looks to his apartment window where a warm light shines.
His wife greets him, wiping sleep out of her eyes. He shakes out his umbrella. Cold droplets scatter. She urges him to sit and rest for a moment.
It's late—just for a moment.
Tea is water contained, brewed and steeped, water transformed by patience and time. He takes the hot tea his wife gives, its steam kissing his cheeks. He drinks, warmed to his very insides.
She offers to draw him a bath—a hot soak might feel might feel good after a long, cold day.
He accepts. She pours him more tea. How is it she moves with the same grace as a water-strider, suspended on the surface, never falling in?
Their daughter sleeps, carried by the waves of her dreams.
Already the bathroom is humid with the heat of the bathwater. He locks the door. No one will interrupt him, yet sometimes he feels safer behind a locked door. He enters the bath. In the steaming water, he shuts his eyes, He soaks, warmed to his very depths.
Tension melts.
He is pleased to find his core is not ice. He is flesh. He is solid.
He is here.
A/N: Hello, Dear Reader:
Sometimes I like writing little ficlets that capture a moment. Like a poem, they can say much.
I'm making progress with a longer Loid/Twilight POV story, hoping to have a chapter uploaded by the end of the month.
Hope you enjoyed that.
~Peace, K.