#fleetingmuses

Jon couldn’t help the sharp look he turned away from his box of files towards Elias. Which one was it? Rest, or put ever more effort into this chase for breadcrumbs scattered about on a metaphorical forest floor, half of them already eaten by crows by the time Jon got to them? It was an endless task, and Elias - Elias wasn’t helping, he’d already proven that much.

“I am not resisting,” Jon replied rather sharply, “I am trying to -”

What was he trying to do? Keep himself together? Did that count as resistance? Giving in wasn’t an option. Of course he was resisting.

There was no time for me to come to you,

And think about our future.

I was fighting with death.

With heavy breathing, leaving all over my fate.

I'm sorry, we could have met, only if my eyes weren't wet.

A shiver ran through Jon’s spine. He looked away, took a firm hold of his mug and brought it to his lips, but the coffee was already cold; how long had that statement taken him to read? He felt a certain way in his head, still half-way inside that other place he’d resurfaced into this one from. He hadn’t expected Elias there. He hadn’t wanted Elias there.