#may 2018.

       june & william; suicide squad / shield / crossover verse idk.

    The world was falling – falling apart around her, the ground cracking, shattering, splintering beneath her feet, the weight of it pressing on her shoulders, her chest, stifling and swallowing her whole… She could feel the intent of it, the sheer malice of it, the mirth of the thing inside her head smirking, dancing in revelry as piece by piece that held June together, held her whole and sane, chipped away.  Every day it was a little harder to separate where she ended and Enchantress began; darkness coiled tighter and tighter in her chest, suffocating her and there were moments, so many moments when she felt herself slipping —

    Anxiety sat heavy in her stomach, a rock hard knot that she could not ignore no matter how badly she wanted to, no matter how hard she tried and she hated that it was so obvious – seemed so obvious, at least, to her, as she stared at her reflection in the wide, overly lit mirror in the hotel bathroom.  She had pulled her hair up, and down, into a half ponytail, and then loose, and now, finally, into a bun that sat too tightly, pulled at the edges of her scalp, but she was out of time, or close enough she realized, glancing down to the watch at her wrist as Takeshi’s reflection joined hers, hovering in the frame of the door between the bedroom and the bathroom.  Her gaze flickered up again to find his, lips pressing into a shaky version of a smile as she let out a small, slow breath.  “Showtime?”  

    She would have given anything to stay – to stay here, despite the lingering smell of cheap cologne and bleach that hung, cloying, in the air of the hotel room – to stay here, with him, just him, as if somehow that would actually allow her to forget about the world that waited outside these walls.  The people that waited for her, for her to put on the dog and pony show that Waller would demand of her … of the… creature that lurked, coiled, waiting for the moment, any moment of weakness to strike.  A hand lurched, pressing against her stomach as she fought the wave of anxiousness, the sour sting of nausea that ached in her chest and stomach as she forced herself to take another breath in, and out, turning to face him head on, grateful to see only him and not her reflected image.  She knew that he couldn’t see it; the whisper of smoke, the half hidden outline that lurked in the corner of her eye, that glinted and leered in the reflection of the mirror – the crescent crown, the dark and luminescent skin, superimposed over her own – 

He had long since grown accustomed to the stares (or so he liked to believe) but he could not help but be aware of them if only for her sake. He did not doubt for an instant that she was accustomed to being watched, as much as one could ever become used to the scrutinizing gaze of strangers, but he doubted she was used to the subtle edge of pity that he read ... or perhaps read in to the glances they had received. Beauty and the beast — he struggled to keep his thoughts from spinning out of control into the pit of self loathing that lurked like a whirlpool in his head but it was omnipresent especially in the moments like when he had surveyed the menu; doing his best to guess which items on the menu would come in prepared bite sized pieces. Still awkward in his own skin, but her presence was a balm - a dangerously addictive one for they had known each other for so brief a time and yet already he was enchanted.

The restaurant had been a suggestion given by the clerk at the hotel he was staying at, he knew it was not as luxurious as she was likely accustomed to but he was glad that she had enjoyed it, had enjoyed the time spent in his company and he had been guilty of drawing out the meal as long as he could without being overtly greedy. He didn’t want the night to end, though he knew the voice in his head was to blame. The voice that whispered that she was only being kind, that pointed out that he was old enough to be her father, the voice that whispered that she would smile and wish him a good night when it was over and that this would be just another bittersweet memory for him to play over and over in his head until he had seeped all the pleasure from the memory and was left only with another ember of regret and anger.