#railtraced

@railtraced  /  remember this.

When he gets so close, it’s a kiss that Soma expects —— though, they’re surprised that they’re not disappointed when they don’t get one.  Something about the little nuzzle and the laugh that follows — they commit it to memory, promise themselves they’ll make him laugh lots so that no matter how many times they die, they’ll have at least one memory of this sound.  They laugh, too, long lashes hiding her eyes as they flutter shut.  Hands raise to loop around his shoulders, head tilting to steal that quick kiss they’d expected.  It does nothing to quiet either of their giggling.

Warm.  He’s warm.  She —— likes him so much.  Is in love with with all her.  She is good at being in love.  She is better at it like this, so close and so pleased.  Her too - still heart skips.  It’s funny, how much the little affection makes her feel like her body is her and not just a vessel with half of Soma and most of Cruz.  She wishes she had the language to articulate that gratefulness.  She wishes she had to skill with speech to know how to say YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE ME EXISTS.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

happiness begins.  /  accepting.  /  @railtraced

It’s surprise that reflects on their face, first — mismatched eyes go wide, lips parting, head tilting.  A soft sound escapes their mouth.  A strange declaration — a good one, that makes their almost - still heart leap, but a strange one.  Soma is the one that DOES EVERYTHING FOR OTHERS.  even die.  So why would Claire ———

“That’s scary.”  It is.  Soma doesn’t understand why.  It’s not hypocrisy, though they share the sentiment in reverse —- they would open ribs for him, or fill their empty throats with what he loves.  But that is different.  Soma is — not real, or at least not real the way Claire is.  Soma is half a person in a body that isn’t entirely theirs.  Claire simply IS.  It doesn’t seem right, does it?  That Claire should be willing to do for her what she would do for him, when he’s the one that exists.

“I — that makes me happy, it’s just ———”  Ugh, words.  Brows briefly furrow as she closes the gap between them, arms raising to hang over his shoulders; wants to be close.  Feels, somehow, that that will make it easier.  “You — ah.  You’re so real.  I would do anything for you.  Makes sense to do anything for something REAL.”  Soma wonders if that makes sense.  That they are happy, that he would do anything for him, but that they don’t UNDERSTAND IT.  Scarred hands toy idly with the collar of his jack, brushing against the back of his neck.

          “what a waste it was that we never sparred back when we were both at the monastery. i still regret it.” 

notes app poetry.  /  accepting.  /  @railtraced

“I’m sorry.”

Soma knows about being a weapon / Cruz would hate that language, but it’s true.  Soma is a weapon to save, the same way a scalpel cuts and wounds with the intention of healing.  It is a miserable way to be, and while Soma does not mistake him for a SAVIOR — he is not, nor would he make a good one — weaponhood is sick enough all on its own.  It is not fair, and very little is, and for all of Soma’s joy and bluster, they know that.

“Hope can be —— uh.”  They mime cutting something as you’d cut a vegetable on a cutting board.  The metaphor’s not perfect, but it comforts Soma.  A KNIFE DOESN’T NEED TO BE FOR KILLING.  IT CAN BE FOR MAKING, OR PROTECTING, OR LOVING.  Soma must remind themselves with terrible frequency.

& these bones.  /  accepting.  /  @railtraced

Soma wonders.  There could be an end for them, but only at great cost to many others, and given that Soma exists to carry the costs so others needn’t, they suppose that’s the same thing as no end.  Do they want there to be?  Despite all their suffering, Soma does not want to die ———— they think they’d like to stretch on and on to infinity, eternity, always learning and loving some new dawn.  That feels like the kind of life they ought to lead.  Like the kind of thing they’ve earned, if they allow the selfishness of that.

Soma’s peal of laughter when he begins his sets of spins is sweet and surprised --- oh, excellent!  They know of at least a few people who would just DROP THEM the moment they got into their arms, which is fine, of course, but it is SO NICE to be held!  Their body screams less, agony and loneliness and lack of self abating.  Their giggling comes to a stop as his turns do, but the smile doesn’t dissipate in the least.  Arms rise to wrap around his shoulders without Soma seeming to think about it at all.

Can they DANCE ------ ?  They don’t know; they don’t think so.  They certainly don’t remember ever knowing how to dance, but it might be like reading --- the kind of thing they pick up on a little more quickly than all the other things she is having to relearn.  She imagines that means that maybe she knew how to read well before, but --- not that Soma has any way of knowing.