* note ,

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It’s never been said.

It’s only a passing thought shared and understood for the futility it holds and pain it keeps. There’s nothing to gain from such a feeling. And yet, it kept appearing in brief moments of possibility.

They could see it in each other ; where the cold and fire makes room for the other, just enough to pass, only ever scratched but not truly harmed. Annoyances pass easier, emotions flow through without cover, mistakes paid for with one grain less of salt to rub in the wound. It’s a small allowance, but its existence rings volumes to those that are trained to listen. The shadows cover it all. The shadows know better than to throw it to light. It’s a natural progression, not surprising but neither predicted.

Evolution took its course over the years. Less mistakes made in technicalities but more in their understanding. Too close, became the overarching judgement, too close. Far too late to stop. The boiling energy that runneth over into airless practice of old finds a course to shaking breaths of desperation. In those moments a fragment of possibility exists, a hint of that which is unspoken allowed some movement. Any glance away breaks it. Duty rests heavy upon broad shoulders, and feigned ignorance upon the other’s. Hope has no place in them.

There is only what should happen and what is meant to happen - they have no part in that as one. The allowances of one another must be the remaining brittle almost of what they could have been. Every passing glance, every softer mistake, every share of breath is a look into maybe.

Fate does not allow it - a cruel and stubborn course of nature it is. They can seek each other but not revel in it ; have each other but not name it. The feeling in one threatens to strike, and the other tells them where.

This pain will kill them both.

                  - He loves him, but it must not be. And him loves he, but it cannot be. But they want. And that, that can break itself free.