closed starter ft. @vanitatvm.
It’s 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 he’s feeling as whimsical as he used to be; when he’s not being crushed beneath the burden of his own decisions, and the bed that he’s made for himself to lie in. There’s 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.
This sort of feels like it could last forever, when it’s like him. Them.
“If you were going to write us into a scene --- you’re an actor, not a writer, I know, but just humor me here --- then what would I do next?” 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 that’s 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, bare --- that feels solid is Henry. Of course, Kai isn’t 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 haven’t 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, it’s been a long, long time since they were in London together. It feels simultaneously like home and like he’s homesick, just out of reach, always in his peripheral, never quite; when he casts his gaze over his shoulder to see Henry’s shape in the dark, he’s abruptly standing in his childhood bedroom. Or at least it feels that way.
God, goddess, deity of unknown origin --- it doesn’t 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 can’t see him properly. He wonders if he should talk about everything he’s ignoring to be here with him. He wonders if they should talk about everything they’re ignoring, rolling over each other and into each other and pretending. Pretending that Kai’s bruises are the only ones that stay on his skin. Pretending that he’s promised to be 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. “Make it a cliché.”
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
