closed starter ft. @vanitatvm.
Itās late. Late enough that the only illumination is that which floods in from the city, floor to ceiling windows perfect gateways for the thousands of sparkling lights. Kai fancies they could be stars, sometimes, when heās feeling as whimsical as he used to be; when heās not being crushed beneath the burden of his own decisions, and the bed that heās made for himself to lie in. Thereās something to be said about the way the night makes him feel, soft before the dawn breaks and floods him with warmth. When the whole world holds its breath, and although he knows that the collective body of who they are will have to exhale eventually, it sort of feels like it might last forever.Ā
This sort of feels like it could last forever, when itās like him. Them.Ā
Ā āIf you were going to write us into a scene --- youāre an actor, not a writer, I know, but just humor me here --- then what would I do next?ā For all intents and purposes, it seems as if Kai is asking this of his own invisible reflection. There are no lights on inside of his penthouse, a shadow to the world thatās more or less faded out from the reality that surrounds him, just the way that he needs. Just enough so that the only thing left in it --- an angel in soft sheets with softer skin, bare, bareĀ --- that feels solidĀ is Henry. Of course, Kai isnāt touching him right now for that grounding, and his head spins a bit, making him dizzy with possibilities as he brings a hand up, splaying elegant fingers over the cold glass.
Naked for days. They havenāt left in days. Two, maybe three, not that he can remember anymore. Sometimes he gets lost in the things that they are when they come back together, and oh, itās been a long, longĀ time since they were in London together. It feels simultaneously like home and like heās homesick, just out of reach, always in his peripheral, never quite; when he casts his gaze over his shoulder to see Henryās shape in the dark, heās abruptly standing in his childhood bedroom. Or at least it feels that way.
God, goddess, deity of unknown origin --- it doesnāt really matter. He worships at his altar nonetheless. A distinct pull rips him down the line, and Kai turns himself away from the window now so that he can face him instead, devastatingly stunning in his bed, even when he canāt see him properly. He wonders if he should talk about everything heās ignoring to be here with him. He wonders if they should talk about everything theyāreĀ ignoring, rolling over each other and into each other and pretending. Pretending that Kaiās bruises are the only ones that stay on his skin. Pretending that heās promised to beĀ the only one to stay, even when he never has. See, his mind is already wandering. His thoughts are already getting away. He needs to be tethered back down again.
So, he moves for it. Begs for it in the way that he climbs onto the edge of the bed, and the way that he sits there on his knees and looks at him and thinks, okay, shit. Wow.Ā āMake it a clichĆ©.ā
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