fragileprophet | Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

[That he gets any sleep is a miracle, and it certainly isn't restful. Even in sleep, he can't seem to escape a certain level of torment.

(But that's just what he deserves.)

This time, he snaps awake, his body jerking upright the instant he regains consciousness. What was a burning sting on his palm now feels distant and numb as he clenches his fists around their shared blanket. Beads of sweat dot his temples, and he struggles, wide-eyed to remember how to breathe. Overwhelmed by the pain and yearning before the dream's abrupt end, he makes nary a sound.

What time is it? This is a natural awakening. It can't be time for the investigation yet . . . ]

[It's over...it's over...so why is he awake again?

Ion's already coiled on his side, facing away from Sandalphon as he comes to. He's never felt anger before. Was that what that was?

No, not really. It wasn't anger at all, was it. It was just so lonely, so desperate, so wanting. A call, a plea, to just please be seen...to be heard.

Ion doesn't want to fade away. He doesn't want Sandalphon to fade away. He clenches his eyes shut again as he feels his lashes grow wet, and covers his mouth with a hand.

If everyone must die, why must they seem to die so suddenly, without a chance to find the things they so desperately crave? If life is so beautiful, so fleeting, why is it so unfulfilling?

In the end, are they doomed to always feel so separate, so alone, so in need?]

[When Sandalphon regains the ability to breathe, it isn't a cleansing breath that he takes. There's a knot in his throat and he lets out a convulsive gasp in a pitiful effort not to cry.

Death. So much death. His (Ion's) death, that boy's—Sandalphon doubles over and buries his face in his hands, tugging on his hair. His shoulders tremble.

He doesn't know whether to cry or to laugh. He can't tell if these many emotions are just his, or a sick mixture of his wretchedness and Ion's sorrow. Something in him feels like it's about to snap.]

[It takes Ion another moment--he's not sure how long, exactly--before he's able to shake himself just enough out of the roiling emotions of the dream to realize that Sandalphon's also awake. He quickly rubs his eyes and sits up, whirling around to look at him.]

You're still...you're still here.

[It's enough to make him want to cry again. What he sees renders in his brain in groggy, disjointed thoughts. His posture, his silence, what he might have seen--what's even left?

But Ion reaches for his arm with both of his hands, wanting to hold on, wanting to make sure that he's really there, that he's not alone, that he's alive, they're alive.]

I'm...I'm so...

[Happy? Glad? No, that's such a dramatic oversimplification that he can't even say it. It's so much more than that. So much that he doesn't even have a word.]

[Sandalphon is still. Several beats pass and the tension in his fingers loosen, releasing the iron grip on his fringe. He doesn't raise his head. Ion's awake and reaching for him, but he finds himself trapped in his crowded thoughts and emotions.

Ah . . . Is that how mortals experience death? Is it truly so unfulfilling to fulfill one's purpose to the bitter end? Then why does it hurt so much to not have a purpose?

What did Ion do that was so wrong, to face such a miserable demise?]

[Even without a response, Ion keeps going, his wrenching heart and his spinning head propelling him thoughtlessly forward until his arms wrap around Sandalphon's, holding onto him like a child.

And that's all that he is, ultimately.

Here, without his artes, with a meaningless title, losing more and more what feels like by the day, he feels smaller than ever. Weaker than ever.

He tightens his hold instinctively, as if he fears that Sandalphon will dissipate into light between his fingers. The thought is too much to bear.]

[The weight of Ion's arms is heavy on Sandalphon's. Whatever this gesture is, he's not familiar with it. He isn't mortal. He doesn't understand.

He doesn't understand.

Another fleeting moment goes by, and he shifts by a minuscule inch.]

What . . . are you doing?

I don't know.

[He knows what the gesture is, but not necessarily the why. Not what it will solve, what its doing for him, if this is even comforting on any level. But he can't stop. He can't unhook himself. Ion clenches his eyes shut.]

Please just let me stay like this for a bit longer.

[He takes a deep breath through his nose. If Ion doesn't know, then he has no hope of figuring this out. In a defeated tone, he replies:]

Do as you wish.

[As comforting as it is to know that Ion is still here, Sandalphon is uncertain as to whether he can look at his partner.]

Thank you.

[Slowly but surely, his body calms, his mind clearing. Ion still feels shaken, but he feels like he can contain it now. Bury it with everything else that hurts. He unwinds his arms, but stays close.]

I'm sorry...I just woke up feeling a little shocked, and I guess I reacted instinctively. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable.

[He peers down, past the gaps between his fingers, at the twisted fabric of the blanket draped over his lap. His arm is light now that it's devoid of Ion's grip, and the room feels bigger than ever around them.

Ion doesn't make him uncomfortable; however, his throat has closed up. He intends for his silence to be taken as a negative. He doesn't know what to say.]

[The continued silence sets Ion's heart pounding. What has he done so wrong now, he wonders.]

...I'm sorry.

[He only just apologized, but it feels like the only natural thing to say. To keep saying.]

I'm sure that was the last one.

[Slowly, his hands peel away from his face to rest on his lap. That was the last one. Of course—there can't be anything more than that.]

I don't understand . . . Why did it hurt so much?

Why did what hurt?

[Considering the dream he just had of Sandalphon, it wouldn't be too hard to put the pieces together, but...it's hard for him to immediately assume which painful part of his little life to zero in on.]

[Key thoughts from the dream echo in his mind. As Sandalphon recites them, he tries to understand.]

You wanted to live. You wanted to live for yourself.

[And that want ached.]

...oh.

[So that's where they are. How fitting, that the two of them saw each other die. Or at least, Sandalphon saw him nearly die. But it's definitive enough. Ion leans backward on an arm. His wrist is still bandaged, but he doesn't feel anything.]

I always expected to die soon, or suddenly. For most of my life...I was resigned to it. It wasn't until it was happening that I realized I was fooling myself. And I suppose it hurt...to have to face that when there wasn't any more time.

[Realizations always come too late.]

What's going to happen when this farce ends? Will you . . .

[The words die before in his throat. Does that mean that everything up till now has been pointless?]

Die, yes.

[Ion flashes one of those self-deprecating smiles.]

That’s why I asked you when we first met not to concern yourself with my well being. I have but one moment more to my name.

[He remembers. It feels like so long ago.]

No . . . If you're here, then there must be some sort of a way.

[A way to preserve this precious life, whose only desire is to live. There has to be.]

[It does. Strange how a few weeks can seem like the start of a whole new lifetime. But then, Ion's perception of time is a bit lacking.]

It would be nice if there was, but...

[His smile starts to fade. His expression says it all: it hurts too much to hope for what he wants just to find out that it won't matter. It's easier to just accept nothing now.]

I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound defeated, or like I don't appreciate what you're saying.

[He stares down at his hands, and his gaze is drawn to the fresh cut on his palm. Craning his neck, he finally sees Ion's expression—and something else.]

What happened to your wrist?

Hm?

[The question feels so sudden, it confuses him. He looks own at his wrist.]

Oh, this? Sorry, I forgot. Did I not tell you? I took one of Stephanie's injuries--from last week.

[Subconsciously, he curls his hands into loose fists, concealing the cut.]

How many more do you intend to take unto yourself?

As many as I can, for as long as I can.

[What would be the point of hiding it.]

That was my intention from the moment we received our assignments.

[That doesn't sit well with him, but he doesn't say anything. He has no right to Ion's actions. He doesn't have a right to anything.]

Even if it would mean your death?

Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)