#detailing.

How long had it been since he last walked into that living room? No matter how hard Zion tried, it'd become a game of scrambling into his brain to differentiate weeks from days, from months, from hours and from anything else. Certainly, it felt as though he’s been living with Rickon for far too long. Both in comfort and from how distant the memory of having a place of his own was. 

When he first walked in, Zion noticed the furniture had been left pristine clean, properly set around the apartment and so sterile as to wipe out any signs that anyone had ever lived there. As if he had never been a prominent part of it.

It was... different, in any and all senses, in a way that made his heart sink. Was he in the right address? The coordinates on his watch confirmed that much, and the wide window, his favorite one across the room, still tried to let the last beams of sunlight pass behind the flowing curtains. Just like he used to love.

Someone had painted the walls a dull color, removed the fluffy rug Marble often napped on. Someone had replaced the coffee table, unaware of the irony behind touching what was already a replacement for the one Zion broke by crashing on it on the first days of living there. Someone had erased the history, the signs of it ever belonging to him.

Intimately inside him, it stung, made his heart sore from carrying that needle-like feeling without relief for so long. The three years he would always speak fondly of, of having left the Snake Island behind, had been overridden unnaturally, the sight of each room done to another's likings caused tears to well up and prickle behind his eyes in a way that was only relieved by a hand pushing them back before they spilled.

He wanted to disappear. Again.

He hated to reek of vulnerability, to feel worthless. That feeling would never leave, it was ingrained deep into him that he’d lost space in this world long ago, that there was nothing left of and for him. So why bother? He’d bothered multiple times already, getting back up each time he was struck down.

Then, right then, he was powerless, pathetically sitting on the floor, face hidden behind both hands as uncontrollable sobs overpowered his will to swallow them down and lock them behind gritted teeth.

He was tired. He was frustrated.

So much emotional turmoil numbed him to the frequent buzzing of the phone in his hand. People, possibly his boyfriend, worried about his whereabouts. But even in the face of being cared for as much as he craved, Zion found it hard to voice the southward spiraling his mind would latch onto at times.

As always, he’d get up at some point. At some point he did get up again.

It would help if he weren't so... short sighted.

Once his wishes had been read through a kiss on the forehead and the angel teleported out of their location, Zion froze in place, his eyes welled up but he was successful in choking back anything that dared to spill. It made the back of his throat burn, a fair exchange for not giving into his personal misery all over again. There was nothing to be scared of, it was going to be alright, everyone was going to be alright. Right?

He had never noticed how the gap between each tick of the clock was unbearably wide. One hour was far too long. With that much time in his hands, he paced around Gram’s house, tried to wait and behave on the couch before getting up again to meddle in his kitchen. Zion was frantic while opening the cupboards, taking pots and pans and ingredients to make something, anything. He forgave himself  before giving the house’s owner the chance to, atoned for his lack of manners by filling the room with the sugary scent of a well made apple tart.

It was still in the oven by the time Gram came back from his quest. Somehow, the distant sound of fire crackling had lulled Zion into nothing tinkering further with a place that was not his.

He lifted his head from the table, eyes expectant, though not as hopeful as they should be.

Send ⏪ to meet my muse in the past.

< 27/01/2009 09:13am Mãe: Rique, good morning. Are you coming home today? >

The soft buzzing on the nightstand causes Henrique to squeeze his eyes into a grimace. His hand reaches blindly all over everything on his right until it finds a phone. It buzzes again.

 < 27/01/2009 09:15am Mãe: You can bring Aninha*, we're going to prepare a special dinner. >  < 27/01/2009 09:16am Mãe: What do you think? >

Even though its brightness is down to its minimum, he still has trouble holding the luminous screen in front of his face. It’s his mother, she always texts before calling. The downside is that the gap between receving her messages and the ringing of a call is ridiculously short.

As expected, the ringtone plays before he has the chance to come up with an answer. Before he can come up with an explanation as to why there isn’t any Aninhas to take back home for his birthday “party” anymore.

“I'll be there before sundown, promise.” Henrique says, “I just... can't take Ana with me-” and looks over his shoulder once he sits up with his mom on the line. His smile is shameless; his touch, light over the man sleeping right next to him while shaking him awake. “Is it ok to take Gael instead?”

The transformation back to his original body was kind, happening at the last second of the spell's duration in a way that was, if anything, natural in its oddity. He didn't even notice! The tail was undone, fragmented into small fish made of light that swam away to uncover the lower half of him. Soon, his legs moved back and forth slowly to keep him afloat.

Zion lifted his head, face shaped in surprise to no one but himself. It was gone? He checked, hands pushing himself back, then close to the edge again before he hoisted himself up and sat by the lake, his legs -- legs! -- tormented the water and caused pretty ripples to dance away from their source as he observed their return.

It felt good. The peace of a quiet night with only him, the trees and that lake was healing; the breeze, slightly more relentless than its earthly friends, reminded him of the benefits of a leather-like skin.

The tingling came before Zion thought of opening his messages. Rubbing at his legs should suffice, he thought to himself, as if anticipating a bad cramp or alleviating the static-y feeling he would get when having them crossed for too long.

But magic would always find its way, it seemed -- and when it found him, it was quick and absolute.

A fish tail wouldn't ever have the right bones to hold him up straight, so to the floor he went. His phone was knocked far from his reach while both hands, in his way down, occupied themselves with shielding his face from the cold tiles. As a matter of fact, he knew what had happened, as warned by the strange note in his inbox, but it was entirely different to feel his body turn, pulse and change to accommodate an anatomy that shouldn't belong to him.

Needless to say, he was speechless. It's one thing to be promised gifts foreign to him, and it's another to actually receiving them.