BLEEPIE 💤

Love is difficult for you and I, with unsung whispers flittered through the air, blanketing the entire household. Empty, cold, and dark. I see you enter the house, a loud creak resounding throughout the walls of this abode.

"M'Home..." You said with a sigh, you ate your words as you did so, a common thing you do after work. You run your fingers through your salt and peppered hair, the bags under your eyes felt heavy, and thinner were you than when you've last stepped out the house.

"Welcome back, I still have food there by the dining table." I bit back my worry, thoughts of him dying countlessly in the dungeon filled my head, it makes me sick to the stomach. But I dare not complain, the several evenings of us arguing about your work had filled our bedchamber with bitter fruits one too many times.

Silence echoed the house once more as you ate, I feel your eyes bore through the back of my skull for a moment before looking away, but I paid you no mind. If you want something, speak up. Simple as that. To expect me to know what you're thinking of all the time is just wrong.

At least he has the decency to clean his dishes.

I hear your soft footsteps, I slowly stood up as it slowly fades at a distance with muted clicks of a door. Our bedroom.

Our love has not faded, that I am sure of.

I followed you, pressing my lips to a thin line as I held the door handle tightly. What should I even say to him at this point? He doesn't tell me anything. I cracked the door open, its loud creak stole your attention from whatever you were doing. Strings and pins scattered the wooden table, small boxes littered about, both opened and not. You're still working even at home.

I walked closer, with each step felt heavier to lift than the other. I gently brush the strands of hair from your forehead, your eyes flicker to mine, tired. I kissed it, my lips pressed on your temple. A relieved hum came from you, only then did your body relaxed.

I pulled away, lipstick painted my worn out canvas. My eyes bore through your soul, and my heart felt so heavy.

I am a vulture, a scavenger. And you are my meal, as my thumb wrote circles on your cheek, I leaned in once more. I met your lips and tasted it with much fervor, your hands wrote roadmaps on each vein of my skin, for the first time in a while, you held me tightly.

For years, I have abstained. But this year, I could not take it any longer. My stomach churned and growled, this year let me devour you with no guilt, I beg of you. This year, let me eat you, let me drag my teeth across your beating heart.

I beg of you. Let your heart out for me.

There is a fine line between love and cannibalism, I think; there's a feeling, an urge to consume everything they are, and the act of offering yourself up to be consumed. As love, at its core; Love is consumption. And I have been through and experienced both.

I am a vulture. I stalk my dying prey, I eat what little meat they have and convince myself that I am satisfied. However, I am merely fed but not nourished.

I bite down your neck, please do the same.

Please, sink your teeth into my wrist and scrape your fingers against my bone, and please... Please tell me you still need me.

"Hey... You okay?" Your voice snapped me out of my trance, oh. It was all in my mind after all.

I shook my head with a small smile, softly rubbing away the lipstick staining your forehead. My fingers glided to your cheeks, I pressed my lips to it one last time.

"Don't stay up too late again." I whispered, turning my back away from you, my feet guided me to the soft cushions of our bed. "No promises, I got hired right after. I'll leave again by sunrise."

"I see."

It hurts, I am stuck in a viscous cycle and I am getting older. My chest feels like an old swollen piece of fruit split open with wet rot.

Morning came to greet me, but my husband did not. That I much I expected. And so I, alone stay in this house, emptier than yesterday.

I weep, I weep and I weep and I weep.

In sooth, I am a vulture, and thy flesh is no more. Verily, like unto every scavenger, abiding here shall but bring detriment upon me.

For a long time, this place had not felt like a home for years, to even call this a home tasted like bitter licorice on my tongue. I smiled dryly, "But you'd like that, no?" I whispered through broken song.

Mistria is, despite its constant activity, a very small town with a very close knit community. It’s one of the things that made him love it there, that and the quiet that let him hear birdsong with more clarity and variety. Everyone knew each other and everyone had some manner of bond that had existed for at least a year or two, so it made sense that the arrival of a new member of the community would spark interest in everyone. Ryis wasn’t exempt from this, after all the last time someone new came it was him, but he liked to think himself a little bit chiller about it than some others.

Chiller than March, he means.

March is, as much as he likes to hide it, a pretty good guy underneath all his bluster. He just doesn’t like change, when Ryis first moved in it took March a week to stop sulking and talk to him. It was only once Friday came along and Olric dragged his brother to the inn that he and Ryis actually got to have a conversation and that (Plus one or two of Hemlock’s drinks) was all it took to spark a friendship that would surely last a lifetime. Because besides being craftspeople and their mutual adoration of Mistria and its citizens, the quality Ryis and March shared in the highest quantity was their loyalty. 

Which is why Ryis can’t acknowledge his growing fondness for the new farmer. 

You see, after the earthquake a lot of things needed repairing and the citizens of Mistria needed a distraction, so a new face was just what the town needed. Ryis, on his part, was eager to welcome the new farmer into town, after all he knew better than anyone what it was like to be the new member of a well established community. Besides, he knew they would be working together on the myriad of reconstruction projects, so it was only natural that they get along outside of work. It helped that they were very easy to get along with. 

March, as is his wont, was not as receptive to this newcomer. No one was surprised when any conversation with him eventually led to him grumbling about the no good farmer who was only here for their own gain and totally wasn’t going to last the season. Ryis, at least, was surprised when these grumblings continued past the first week of the farmer being there. 

After all, the farmer went to very great lengths to talk to everyone frequently, March included, and usually once he got to know someone he mellowed out at least a little. But no, it seemed that March’s ire only grew with every attempt to make peace the farmer made. Ryis tried to reassure them that March would warm up to them eventually, (He had to, they were just too charming even for March to hate for long), but his reassurances could only go so far when March seemed to go out of his way to antagonize the farmer. It wasn’t until late spring that Ryis found out why March was being so… like that. 

For all his guardedness it only takes a couple drinks to get all of March’s walls to crumble like a termite infested fence, and once they did the blacksmith was the most open book in the world. There was no such thing as secrets with drunk March, so Ryis got a front row seat as March got to rambling about the farmer once more, and it instantly became plain as day that March’s blush that night was not caused by the beer. 

Ryis couldn’t remember a time March was ever so enthralled with someone. He sat there and listed out Ryis’ thoughts verbatim about how interesting and capable the farmer was, how helpful and hardworking, and Ryis realized two things simultaneously.

One: He was developing a crush on the farmer.

And Two: He could not, under any circumstances, let it continue to grow.

When was the last time March was so enamored with anyone? When had he ever been this animated when talking about something that wasn’t made of metal? March had always been a happy drunk but this was beyond anything that Ryis had ever seen from his friend and he wanted desperately for that happiness to continue.

So he resolved himself to try and help March realize the feelings he had while he was sober as well as pushing the farmer in his direction whenever possible. It was easy for Ryis to ignore his own feelings, at first, after all the farmer hadn’t been there long and was always running around going who knows where to do who knows what. Out of sight out of mind and all that, and when they were not out of mind Ryis could always find a project to take his mind off them for a little while. And when that failed to work he could always tell himself that once their novelty wore off so too would his unfortunate crush.

And then the general store was ready to be remodeled and all that flew out the window. 

Unlike with the bridge Ryis couldn’t do the whole thing alone in a single day, and aside from his uncle (Who he loved very dearly and wanted to enjoy his retirement as much as possible) the only person qualified to help was the farmer. So the two of them set to work and Ryis tried very hard not to think about how every time their hands touched when exchanging tools a shock would go up his arm and send his heart racing, or how every so often he’d look up from his work and see them so deeply focused that he fell just a little deeper in love. 

That, he thinks, is what finally broke the dam and now when he aims the farmer in March’s direction (Because he still does, because he loves March) it is accompanied by a horrible pang in his chest that he knows he’ll never be able to get rid of. 

‘It’s fine.’ He tells himself. He’ll make do with what he can get and he’ll blame the work on why he’s so flushed every time he joins the farmer on a project and when March can finally admit to himself that he doesn’t hate them Ryis will look on as two of his favorite people can freely admit their love for eachother and it will be because of him and maybe the ache in his chest will get a little easier to live with. 

The next time he sees the farmer, Ryis wants to hide in his scarf. They’re sweaty and out of breath and he can tell why when they hand him a stack of hardwood so big he wonders how they fit it all in their bag. They smile so wide when he accepts it and their face makes him want to melt. That doesn’t stop him from inviting them to the shop, of course. After all, it's hot and he can’t move all of that himself (he can) and wouldn’t they like to sit down and cool off for a second after all that work? Really it’s the least he could do after everything they’ve done for the town (for him). 

And now they’re alone in the shop and the wood is all put away and Ryis would talk about all the projects he has planned for it except the farmer makes it really hard for him to think and of course Landen is gone and can’t distract the farmer from him so they’re just watching him stammer with those intensely beautiful eyes of theirs and Ryis realizes a little too late that he said that last part out loud. 

Mortified, Ryis looks away and it takes him a minute before he can bear to take his eyes off the pile of sawdust they landed on and return them to the farmer. The sight that greets him when he does is not what he expected; The farmer is staring at him with a sort of half-smile and did they get closer? Their face is definitely closer to his than it was when he looked away. He bashfully tells them that he’s sorry and they should probably forget what he said and after a second they say that maybe they don’t want to. Maybe they gave him all that hardwood because to them his smile is the prettiest thing in the whole town. 

And every plan Ryis ever made to play matchmaker for March goes in the trash because hearing that makes his heart stop and when the farmer kisses him it is the most right anything has ever felt. And soon they’ll have to leave because it’s late and their chickens are still outside and then Ryis will have to grapple with the fact that he just kissed the person his best friend is in love with but for now none of that matters because after a season and a half of pining and pushing his feelings down it feels like he can finally breathe.