|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2016 11:46 pm
Chris Watts || 25/25 || Also gay as hellcontinued from silver hall [2AM]
What trials are there to compare, he wants to say. You have gone through so much more, have had so much time, I've barely had nothing. But the words die in his throat, smothered by the weight of his guilt. Of Thorne standing before him, looking like he wants nothing more than Chris to not feel like this. Chris can't find it in himself to fight it.
"Okay," He breathes, unsteady. It's not an acceptance, but not a lie. Just a statement, to keep the conversation moving. Maybe one day they'll revisit the topic. Hopefully, not at all.
"Where did you hear that?" Chris says back, but there's something hopeful in his voice, something teasing. Something that sounds like back in the apartment, when he wasn't like this, when something in him wasn't broken. When he was whole.
The feeling continues as Thorne laughs, as his thumb strokes his face. It's warm, a comfort, different from before. He can handle him touching him, care in the motion.
Chris is still guilty though, still unable to let Thorne take the fall. He'll accept his care, but he won't let him take the blame. "I should have seen the difference," He says quietly, "I didn't notice at all, not when I came on the nights."
It still burns at him, Is it you? A joke, a trick, something taken and twisted.
It surprises Chris that Thorne accepts his request, but he smiles all the same as Thorne pulls him away from the crowd. It's shy but it's still there, bright and happy to get some time.
"You act like you can't dance," He says dryly, a wry smile on his face. "I'm sure you can. You have the look for it. If anything, I might step on your toes."
Even with his amusement though, it's still clear he's happy to do this. Even for the short time they'll have, he's happy to have this.
Thorne may have led them back here but Chris, Chris has been dancing all night. Some of it willing (there was a pretty redhead who had tempted him), some of it not (the frogs), but all of it had been a learning process. Now though, he was willing to lead Thorne through the dance.
Gently he placed his hand on Thorne's waist, looking up for a second like he was unsure, a little wary. A little afraid that if he moved his hand he would see damage there that he had caused. But the music that he could hear swelled, the signal of the start of a dance, and it gave him confidence, if just for a second to pull Thorne into the first steps.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2016 12:20 am
[ thorne (unmasked) | 25/25 ] : hella gay
Thorne laughs and the sound is wild. As soon as the breeze of night catches him and as soon as the stars above them gleam, his eyes flick to Chris and there is a ghost living in the corner of his eyes. His mouth is a careless half-curve, and gods knows it's because he has pressed everything haunting him to the back of his mind. Back and back and away. He does not want it near Chris. Chris who doesn't deserve it. Who has already been fractured by a creature wearing his face.
Just for this moment. Just for this suspended space in time.
"You should know," Thorne teases softly. His heart aches for this casual encounter. This placating gesture of hand and hip and searching fingers, searching eyes.
But his expression twists softer, softly, as Chris speaks again. His eyes fall and lift. The starlight catches them.
"I - " he starts, and stops. What is he supposed to say? He had seen a journal, once, with Corr's name next to his. He had heard Melany tell him cruelly that he would fade quietly from time. No one would even watch him go. "It was no ones fault. That was what he was made for, after all. All of them."
He laughs again at the switch of conversation. He pretends that this, as with the time in the alcove, the time with Aleksy, the time feeding his soft plant friends, doesn't connect to her. That it is part of a set of memories that can save him from the darkest corners of himself. If only for a second, a minute, frozen in time.
"And you act like I'll care if you do," he teases, "You've seen how graceless I can be. And you're the fool that asked me of all people."
There is an unspoken second half to the sentence. A soft blow. And I am a fool as well.
Thorne still follows him though. Helpless and fond, his smile grows, and he lets out a small sound like a hum.
He twines his fingers more surely with one of Chris's, following the path the teacher carved for him. And they are close, close enough for the heat between them to burn. Close enough that Thorne can hear the uneven song of Chris's breath. His hand drops from Chris's face to his shoulder. With ease, he falls into step, graceful and lupine. He was comfortable being led by Chris, head tilted to watch the blond. Every languid step made him more and more sure, the tune swelling beyond them. But -
His eyes flare to the teachers, a question bleeding into his throat.
"Why?" He says softly, and it isn't a demand, it is hardly a question. "Why me?"
Of all people, why here, and now, and why - why do you do all of this for me?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2016 4:55 pm
Chris Watts || 25/25 || Keepin on gayin
Thorne's joy is infectious and soon Chris is smiling himself, his eyes in the slits that happen when he's far too pleased, almost looking like he's closed his eyes. Hidden among the flower crown already on his head, small pink buds spring to life, not quite roses but there. He can try and ignore what's happened this night for this dance, pretend that they're just at a ball. That nothing has happened.
For this moment, everything is fine.
"Oh should I?" He teases, "I don't remember making any statements about teachers." It feels for a second like it's another night awake, another snapchat conversation. Freeing, casual.
It's for this he's willing to repeat once again, "Okay." To let the train of conversation stop, to go back to the other. He will keep his guilt to himself for now, once day maybe convince Thorne it really was his fault. But not tonight.
"We'll see if that holds true when I do actually step on your foot," He teases back, but he knows that they'll both be fine. Two fools, one offering and one accepting. That had to even out to one person who knew how to dance.
It's easy to lead Thorne through the dance, it only requires half his focus. The other he leaves on Thorne, the way it feels to have him moving with him. The point of contact on his shoulder, the way their fingers were entwined. Close enough to almost feel Thorne's breath, to hear him. Be assured that he was there and real.
The question almost catches him by surprise, but he smooths over his misstep quickly. Keeps them moving while he thinks.
"I... did I ever tell you what you do when you're around?" Chris asks, and it's quiet, a ghost of a sound. A misdirection from his true answer. "When I don't sleep for awhile, I start seeing things. I don't know what's real, I don't know what's fake. It helps to be around other people, they make some of it go away. But you... everything goes with you around. Everything's normal."
He pulls Thorne into the next step, quiet and it's a long moment before finally he admits, "You're my friend, but more. You're company and you're safety and..."
He swallows and the next thing he says is a wisp of a sound.
"You're home."
You're home, just like Shiloh is home, just like Jamie is and Jer and Alg and I can't bear to lose you.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2016 6:47 pm
[ thorne (unmasked) | 25/25 ] : hella gay x10000000
Thorne lets loose a soft huff, an animal sound of joy and fondness. Someone had once asked him if he knew what it was like to be in a free fall. Someone had once told him he was in one. Thorne had wondered, briefly, if they were right. If he was and didn't know it.
Now he knows for sure.
He sways with Chris, body to body, the burning points of their fingers touching like a starburst of energy. A pinprick of light in the vast, vast abyss of space. He feels like the ground has dropped beneath him. And oh - someone had once asked him if he was afraid of falling, and Thorne had said no.
"You made plenty of statements about teachers," Thorne returns, his voice easy and loose, because he wants this - he wants to pretend. He is tired and lonely and if he even touches the ugly wounds inside of his body, even thinks to try, he'll be back beneath Melany's thumb. And here underneath the stars, he doesn't want to let her win.
"But," he adds, his voice rough and low and warm like worn cotton, a candle down to its wick, "I'd like a chance to hear them all again."
For you to tell me more. About anything, anything.
Thorne knows there is a conversation they are not having. One about guilt and fault. Who was to blame here, for everything. For Melany, for this world, for the many ones before. But he lets it drop easily. In a universe where they collide in the aftermath of this (this one? the next?) perhaps one day he'll be brave enough to take it apart in his hands with the teacher.
But for now, he relents.
"I doubt you're that bad," Thorne returns, eyebrows inching upwards, "And even if you were, I'd still take you over someone else." It is flattery, sheer and shameless, his mouth quirked into a mischievous little expression that ghosts through with his old personality. The ghosts still linger, brilliant and burning. But the stars hush them away. Chris hushes them away.
But then Chris answers his question, and his mouth falls and his eyes widen and he is left at a loss, his breath stolen from his throat. He is helpless to do anything but listen, and wonder, and try desperately to remember how to breathe.
Someone had once asked Thorne if he was afraid of falling and he had said no. What he meant was this: there was always an end. You had to hit the ground sometime. Which meant that you could pick yourself up. You could walk away.
But here, now, it feels like the ground has fallen out from beneath him. There is no land in sight. The world spins around him, all of it contained in the warmth of contact between Chris and his hands.
"I..." his voice starts and stalls, an old car engine trying to remember how to work. His head tilts, and he steps closer as they keep moving, until he is close enough to see the pinpricks of light reflected in the teachers eyes.
"Chris," he says, and his voice is a soft tug, a question. He tilts his head up to the stars, trying to find words. "When I was around you - in those times when you came over, sleepless, it wasn't just you that - " he laughs and the sound is helpless. He starts again. "Everything in me gets loud sometimes. And sometimes, I can't think because of it. Sometimes I can't move, can't sleep. But you make it go away."
He moves forward. Tentatively, he places his forehead against Chris's, still allowing himself to be led to the soft melody of a song fading in the background somewhere far away. His hand slides closer to Chris's pulse-line on his collarbone. His heart jack-rabbits in his chest, and he closes his eyes.
"That was why I held on, all those nights I spent here," he admits, like a confession or a sin, "That's why I was selfish, holding onto you then. Now."
He opens his eyes but he doesn't look up at Chris. His mouth holds the words softly, like he's afraid of what they can do. To the teacher. To him.
"You make me quiet," he says, eyes downcast. "I am more when I'm with you. And I don't want to lose you again."
Last night on earth, his brother had said to him once - or had it been him? Confess something to me.
Thorne was not afraid of falling.
But this - this was something else entirely. And he was afraid.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2016 11:45 pm
Chris Watts || 25/25 || Jesus Chris this is gay
When was Chris was younger, much younger, he used to imagine what it would be like to have one of those relationships he read about in the books. Not necessarily romance, though he did imagine about it too, but just about the sort of friendship that lasted through hardship, through adventures and things. Hyejin, he knew, he had that sort of relationship, but what about anyone else he wondered.
What kind of things made that relationship?
"Oh god, don't say it like that," Chris laughs, the sound warm and full, like nothing had happened. Like nothing would happen. A space where the only people that existed were them. "You make it sound like I've slept with them or something."
He laughs once again, but this time it's a little softer, gentle, amused. Something fond, like one would use with someone they cherished. "I think that can be arranged though. I do love the sound of my own voice. Maybe even the chance to retell all my bad jokes."
What he doesn't say is that he loves talking to the other more. He loves that other viewpoint, the lack of judgement he gets for his poor life choices as a teacher. Thorne makes it easy, just talks about alien vodka and doesn't judge Chris when he shows up at his doorstep at 4 am looking like a madman who robbed a teacher and decided to grade papers for them. (Including one incident where Chris had managed to get ink smears all up his arms and on his chin and still wasn't done.)
"Oh, my," Chris flutters, amusement clear in his voice. "Aren't you just full of compliments. Don't take back those words once I accidentally knee you though." He smiles deeply once again though, buds on his head starting to bloom into roses. This moment, more than anything, feels realer than everything else this night had.
Chris doesn't know what to say, what to do after he answers his question. It was something he didn't think he'd ever admit, some small selfish part of him that would have kept it to himself. What if he wasn't thought of the same way, what if he was going to far?
He casts his eyes downward, almost afraid to see Thorne's face during the silence. A reminder to himself that if it went badly, he had already burned his home down regardless. It was something that wouldn't be his ever again.
But oh, he wants it.
He manages to look up at his name, unable to resist the draw. It's still new to hear him say it again, know that he remembers him. It's newer to know that he does something himself, that he helps Thorne as much as he helps him. That when he shows up at 4am he's not a bother, but someone that is important.
He closes his eyes as Thorne comes closer, pressing his own forehead to Thorne's. Savouring the warmth between them, as he shifts his hand on Thorne's hip for the grip to be a little firmer. Not caging, but reassuring. He slows them, not so much dancing now as shifting through the steps. A dance of their own making.
"It's not selfish," He hears himself saying, "If anything I'm the selfish one. I can't leave you alone, I won't leave you alone-"
His voice breaks a little, but he won't open his eyes. Refuses to acknowledge the pinpricks of heat at the edge. He has cried enough this night.
I don't want to lose you again
He opens his eyes then, looking at him in wonder. With hope, with the idea that he can do that. Can be worth of this.
"Do you mean it?" He asks, softly. There isn't doubt in his voice but fear, but hope. Something that wants to know if he's worthy of this, that he hadn't ruined everything by wrapping his hands around his neck. That it didn't die on the floor, in that hallway where there was no one to witness but just those two.
Because oh, this is what he had been looking for. A years old question answered.
What do you think makes it, he had asked Hyejin when they were older, the question still burning in the back of his mind. She had replied, with far more wisdom than was their age, I think you'll know it when it happens.
He knew it now.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2016 4:16 pm
[ thorne (unmasked) | 25/25 ] : amazingly gay where is jeremiah to shout at them
Thorne huffs, animal, a sound like laughter but not quite. He gives into their sway of bodies, the lull and pull of hands and hips and guiding fingers. He could drown in this, he thinks. If what is really below this free fall is water, is an ocean, is an abyss, he could drown.
"Please," he drawls in return, pulling the word through his teeth, "How else should I say it?"
But his eyes are warm embers. When Chris speaks next, he is a rhythmic flame, a burning comet tail, up into the night. Melany might be his cage, but Chris pulls on him like gravity. Thorne cannot refuse him. He would drown before trying. This was a weight on his shoulders that he wanted. This was a heaviness in his chest he did not mind.
"As though that wouldn't only endear you to me more," he returns, husky and amused, dangerous and sly. His words are easy. He remembers this banter, this cusp of tease and flirt. He'd walked these fine lines before. Never allowing himself to sway.
"As though that would make me stop wanting you to pull me into the next dance."
Because Chris is not alone in this. Thorne remembers the hunger for it all. The endless waiting. Wondering every night if there might be a knock on his door or a text message glowing on his screen. A new snapchat. Anything. Anything. Chris doesn't judge him, doesn't try to pull or push at fracture lines. Doesn't try to compare him to perfect storms, to chasing lightning.
He wonders, briefly, if Chris understands what he does to him. Words are that - just words. But this constant lull and pull inside of him, like the helpless path of moths drawn to flames or moons caught in a gravitational pull, it is beyond that. It is something else. He's not sure what, only that he would give anything to burn. Give anything to crash, just to be home, home, home.
And finally, Thorne lifts his eyes and looks at Chris. His heart jack-rabbits in his chest. Confess, he'd once said to his brother. What if this is our last night on earth? His breath softens. He barely remembers that they are moving, that there are stars above them that glimmer in constellations he does not know, and that inside somewhere is a ball that holds them in the palm of its hand.
"More than anything," Thorne says, his voice soft, the warmth of it like steel. "So be selfish. So hold onto me. You've already given up enough." He paused, breathes, breaks a little. "I don't want to leave you alone either. I'm greedy and selfish, and if I - if you let me, if we go home after all of this - I'll hold on too."
He brings both hands to Chris's face and pulls the other down gently. He tilts his head up with ease, presses his lips to Chris's forehead. Presses a confession there. Hopes that if this is the end of the world, at least he has nothing left trapped beneath his skin.
"You're my home too," he admits, truthfully, fondly, helplessly.
How foolish he had been, not to have realized it until now.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2016 7:29 pm
Chris Watts || 25/25 || It's gay enough that archaeologists would try to claim they were "totally straight, no homo" despite tons of evidence
He gives Thorne a thoughtful hum as they sway, thinking but also relishing the moment. It's you, I have you, this is what I was looking for, he thinks, age old question answered.
"More like the way you describing gossiping old ladies, which is practically what I am," He says, smirking. "You wouldn't believe the stuff they say in the teacher's lounge, it's like they think I don't listen."
He's not so much cocky though as just pleased, content. It's easy to fall into the push and pull of their conversations, the easy confidence that he holds around Thorne. No longer the Teacher, no longer a College Student, just... himself. Chris.
"Careful," He murmurs, the sly grin still on his face. "Someone might think you like me, and then what will you do?" He'd never been one to flirt, but with Thorne it was easy enough to try. Easy enough to slip into it and walk a line that he hadn't been likely to before.
"Or even worse, you'll give me illusions of grandeur and well, that just won't do. I am only a teacher after all and a college student right after that. Not exactly the finest of lifestyles there."
He huffs out a soft laugh, pulls Thorne closer to him. Stay, he wants to say, stay. Because Thorne makes him better than who he is, makes the world normal, natural. Lets himself be Chris, through stupid snapchats and even worse conversations and terrible bribery and everything that they've done.
He knows their time is limited but he wants this moment to last more than anything else in this world. The music to continue, this dance to never end, the conversation to keep. They could go on for hours, he knows, has seen in it action. This would be a time more than ever.
His breath stops at Thorne's gaze, caught in his look. The intensity that Chris has never been able to escape, cutting right through him. It reminds him of Hyejin in a way - except where she's all knowing, her gaze thoughtful and calculated, always a step ahead, Thorne's is just honest.
"Are you sure?" Chris asks, but it's more of a rhetorical question than anything. "Are you really sure? I'm so selfish, I won't let go, I-" He stops and just breathes. Looks at Thorne, really looking, before finally:
"There's no if here, there was never an if at all. I'm yours Thorne. I'm yours."
It's true and he knows it the minute it falls out of his mouth, selfish words from a selfish heart. But he wants this, this companionship that was a little more than friendship. To be wanted, to be needed, to be missed.
He lets their dancing stop, lets everything be still. He's easily malleable under Thorne's hands, trusting that he won't do anything to him and-
Oh.
It's not a loud revelation, this one about home, but it one nontheless and it gives him hope. A small flicker, a few more pieces of wood, something he can build up from. The thought that maybe he hadn't burned it down entirely, that he hadn't quite held the match to do it.
It's impulsive but he cups Thorne's face and presses a kiss to his forehead as well, an echo of the gesture. Thank you, it means, it says.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2016 9:47 pm
[ thorne | | 25/25 ] : i put on really emotional piano music for this to be as gay as it is, the archeologists better thank me
"Please," Thorne drawls, soft and teasing, his eyes never leaving Chris's, "What must you hear, you clever sneak? It must be the constant appearance of sleep deprivation that makes you so harmless to them."
His mouth curves softly, into a smile that mirrors only the edge of the warmth burning inside of him. The desperate lull and hum and undertow that threatens to pull his feet out from beneath. He cannot help laughing at Chris's words, at the way he speaks of flattery. Of the way this is as easy as breathing in a way it has rarely ever been for him with anyone else.
"Yes," he hums again, "Whatever will I do when they see that I am enamored? That I am a selfish, selfish creature, pawing at your door? Shouldn't you be the one worried?" He asks it gently, asks it without care, the teasing smirk still raw on his lips. "Shouldn't you be the one to wonder what they say when I come howling your name through the night?"
He tilts his head at Chris. He feels his heart take root in his chest, something heavy and misaligned. He blinks and suddenly his expression shifts.
"Only?" he asks, his voice low and raw and husky. Only, Chris says, as though he is only just a teacher. As though he is only just a student, just someone else to glance over in a crowd. Thorne remembers him vividly with every step that they take, the fracture lines pulling apart inside of him, giving him memories that he had buried deep beneath his bones.
Only, Chris says, as though he were not the only person that looked at every part of Thorne, broken and healed in all the wrong ways, and had accepted it one and the same. Giving and giving, and acting as though he had nothing to give in return.
Thorne breathes out sharply.
"Yes," he says, "so you are only a teacher. And only a college student. You are only my friend, and my home, and you've put yourself through so much for me. You are only a person in a crowd. But I'd search for you in all of them, even if we were thousands of miles away." He tests the waters by stepping closer to Chris, as though there is any more distance left to go. He presses against him, a warm hot heat that burns where they collide, body to body, his heart a drum-line that reminds him that this is real and they are both alive.
"So what if I give you illusions of grandeur? So what if you are only a college student, a teacher?" He pauses, and his voice deepens. His voice burns and holds nothing but truth and unconditional devotion. The sort that doesn't care what the rest of the world thinks.
"So what if I make you understand what you mean to me?"
Because Thorne had spent three months learning what a hand could do when it was turned towards punishment. Melany had pressed the heat and impression of pain into him, in the form of fists and nails, teeth and skin and flesh. He kept that demon close to him. It slept in the corner of his bones. But Chris stands here now and holds him, and tells him in every step what it means when hands are turned towards protection. Towards holding and being held.
Thorne wants him to teach it to him again and again and again. It is a lesson he will never get tired of learning. It is a world he has forgotten, here in Melany's court.
It is a world that existed once, long ago, in knocking knees and elbows, roaming hands and heads pressed against shoulders, easy small gestures that meant nothing more than I'm here. In the way Thorne had pressed his hand to Chris's neck in passing. In the moments of soft silence and rain, the scent of ink and soil heavy in the air.
Are you sure, Chris asks him again, and Thorne lets out a soft smile, his eyes burning bright in the darkness here beneath the stars. They are a strange constellation, he thinks, made up of all of these fractured parts.
"Yes," he says softly, surely, "You could ask me a thousand times, and it will always be yes. And I'll always answer."
Because it's true. Because it's an answer that is as easy as breathing to Thorne. They are a new galaxy breathing. Thorne does not know what they are, necessarily. Friends is a shallow word for it. But he doesn't care to label this strange ember between them. This relationship that was first bought in touches and gestures more than words. All he knows is that he wants it.
Selfishly, he wants it.
Thorne stops breathing for a moment when Chris brushes his lips against his forehead. It is a starburst of contact that sends electricity dancing through his veins, white-hot and all consuming. It is a lingering sensation. It imprints itself deep inside of his bones.
He has only known fists, the taste of blood, for so long. This - this is like relearning a language. Like learning a new dance. He is being introduced to the stars again, the same as when he was a kid. Awestruck and overwhelmed. His body caves into the warmth of it. There is a plea trapped somewhere inside his veins. Don't stop. Please.
Without thought, his hands come up and cover Chris's. He lets them rest against his, fingers pressing into the grooves of the teachers own. He hungers for this point of contact, this starburst of warmth. It grounds him, rouses him. He opens his eyes fully and looks up at Chris, jaw working softly, a soft thrum in his chest.
And then he leans forward, presses his cheek against Chris's own. It is a nudge, soft and gentle, his body tilted inwards against the blonds. His eyes close and he wonders at the words in his throat, at how easy they feel. Just like breathing, just like of all the broken pieces in the world, theirs fit together in a strange and unknowable way.
They are a fence-line, an edge. A path between two questions that Thorne is willing to walk because what he wants is in front of him. What he wants rests on either side. Chris, it is Chris. It has always been him.
"As am I," he says against Chris's ear, an admission just the same as this entire dance, this strange and endless night.
His heart aches so much that he can barely breathe now. He is burning from the inside out. If this confession is as easy as breathing, why does it hurt?
I'm afraid of losing you again, Thorne realizes, does not say out loud, I'm afraid of everything we are about to walk back into. I'm afraid because I want to know where this goes. You and me.
But he only says it again, a soft admission that carries all of those confessions, none of them spoken out loud.
"As am I."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 07, 2016 10:28 pm
Chris Watts || 25/25 || This is getting pretty close to just straight "no homo"
"Clever sneak?" Chris laughs, but replies anyways, "Oh I hear far too much. About students, about lives, once about an affair. That had been interesting." He hums gently, then says, "It probably is, makes them think I'm tame or trying to sleep in the break room. Joke's on them, I don't sleep not because I don't want to."
He would be bitter normally - written off by those are likely to be his equals soon, written off when he's already running a class and practically one of them. But it's not a night for him to be mad about this, not a moment to be angry at all when he has Thorne in his arms, warm and lovely and Thorne. So instead he just smiles, amused, happy and warm.
"Oh, no, they say enough about me as is," He says, teasing, smile a bit sharp. "I have no worries about that. Although you act as though I wouldn't return your affections. That I'd leave you out in the cold." He snorts, but then smiles again, wicked, teasing. "I'm far more worried about your reputation than mine. You deserve the best."
He looks at Thorne in surprise at his change in tone, wondering why the reaction. His head tilts at Thorne, an echo of an earlier gesture, not quite getting what he's getting at yet.
Because Chris is well, nothing spectacular. He lives in an apartment with a cat (who is, albeit, magical) and won't sleep, can't sleep, never sleeps. He grades papers and gardens and drives his adviser to tears with his lack of a social life and sometimes, sometimes he feels useful when he's with Jer and Alg but mostly he's just someone who's there. He'll help but he won't be the star of the show and he's come to accept it, the fact that he's a background figure.
So it's no wonder he's drawn to someone like Thorne, who shines so brightly, who is important. Special. If his life were a book (and sometimes he wonders, with Other Ashdown being what it is and the assortment of powers he's collected), Thorne is someone who'd be a main character while Chris would be a sidekick, maybe. A background figure, who was lucky enough to get a page, to get a scene, get a name.
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Hyejin had remarked once and Chris had laughed. But now, he knew the statement was rather fitting.
Long ago he would have been bitter, the realization sour in his mouth, but he knows better know, he's come to terms with it. Chris is just himself and he'll do what he can, shoulder his guilt the best he will, and help others reach their potential.
But oh, oh does Thorne look at him like he's something special. Someone worth something.
He isn't quite breathing as Thorne steps closer, unable to really comprehend what he's hearing. Because Chris had never, never would have considered the thought that maybe someone did actually think he was worth it. That he was special. Hoped that someone did, maybe, entertained a daydream of it. But to ever have it actually happen?
Chris had laughed but Hyejin had looked at him strangely and said, You'll find someone who thinks differently, one day.
"Don't-" He stutters, strangled, but there's no fight in it. There's no fight as he presses against Thorne, contact hot against his skin. A star burning bright against him, every pinprick of touch fire as he's pulled closer, unable to resist. "I'm not someone-" He restarts, tries again. "I'm nothing special."
His argument is weak against Thorne and he knows it but he tries because he always has to put up a fight. Because there's always something in him waiting, doubting, ready for the moment where it can prove Chris absolutely and utterly wrong. Nothing, nothing, you are nothing, it says.
But he has been given something close to truth, to devotion, and Chris cannot deny that Thorne believes it a million times over. It's there in his actions if not just his words, easily read if someone just tries and it steals Chris' breath all over again.
If anything it had been there all along, in 2 am grading and partners in crime and the silent gestures that were always reminders for each other, ones that said I care, I see you're there. He had been blind and stubborn and unable to see but now he can tell and it's almost scary, this dedication, something he's never been given before. The fear that he could hurt Thorne with it, that someone could use it against him.
But Thorne has placed his trust in him and Chris will too. Chris will, for once, believe that he means something.
He'll do it for the way Thorne smiles at him, for the way he answers Yes so confidently that Chris cannot help but believe him. For how he cannot help but smile back, soft and sweet and shy but happy, there.
He'll do it for whatever they are, something that Chris cannot place but something he would fight for and that is enough. Because he wants to try being someone, he wants to try what Thorne has shown him. The one who thought differently, the one who believed.
His hands are warm against Thorne, fitting together in a way that Chris can't place, a way that feels familiar and right. A puzzle piece settling, something like when he lights incense and breaths in and it smells home, a moment that is satisfying in its completion.
Like the confession in his ear, like the hope that burns through Chris.
It's an impulsive decision but he pulls his hands from Thorne and draws him into a hug, hands fisting into fabric on his back. He's still trembling some as he stands there, as he tucks Thorne under his chin, as he breaths in and can in some manner, smell ink.
Mine, mine, mine, something in him hums. Yours.
"Thank you," He whispers, finally saying it out loud.
For believing, for staying, for thinking I am something more than I am.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 10, 2016 12:34 pm
[ thorne (unmasked) | | 25/25 ] : so ******** gay
There was something easy to fall into here, like the rhythm of a song Thorne had always loved, something in the sound of Chris's voice and the lull of their steps and the warmth that pooled together in the empty spaces between them. It made him feel for a second as though none of this had ever happened. That they were spending another night in the apartment. Another night spent to the sound of pens and wet ink and soft curses, the scent of soil and the heavy approach of rain.
But that was a foolish thought. Of course all of this had happened, or how could they have come to this point in time? It was foolish. Foolish.
Thorne smiles, the edge of it a tease.
"An affair!" He says in mock surprise, his voice rising and falling with ease. "How scandalous. And here I thought all teachers were as well mannered and put together as you." His eyes lidded, the stars catching in their shine. He wanted to stay here forever. He wanted to cut himself on the edges of this moment, burn this memory into his body so he couldn't forget again.
"Well," he adds mildly, "That's alright. I like you far more anyways."
He tries not to be breathless at the next words from Chris's mouth. There is an animal urge in him, primal and raw, that cuts through his body at the idea that Chris thinks that Thorne deserves the best. And that he isn't the best thing that has happened to him for the first time in months. A sharp sound resonates in his throat. He laughs, but it feels winded somehow.
"Oh," he says, his voice low and raw and wicked, "You wouldn't? Haven't you heard what they've said about me?" He breathes again, sharply. "I'm wicked and insatiable. Let me in once and I might keep coming back for more." His eyes lower, his throat constricted. Someone had once told him that loneliness looked good on him as though it were some sort of compliment. That maybe he preferred it, maybe he was good at it even. But they were wrong. Thorne didn't like loneliness. But it was a comfortable alternative to the idea that he might outlive his stay in one persons life.
His eyes raise again though, catching Chris's. There is a sudden, visceral rawness in his words. A husky sound, like gravel or smoke had clustered in his throat, had left him speaking with a shredded voice.
"What makes you think you don't?" He smiles but it is edged in something intense and intimate. "What makes you think you are not what's best for me? Don't write yourself to the sideline, Chris." The expression drops, to one of fierce loyalty. "I will burn my reputation if it means you understanding that you are worth more."
More than me, he does not say, because Chris would argue, you are the one that deserves the best. And this is all I am, all I can ever be.
His chest aches suddenly, pain lancing through him at the thought. Once he had wondered how happiness could feel so large it was almost painful, almost sad. Now he knows. He slides his thumb against Chris's skin, a gesture of memorization, and sighs out. Soft and slow, steadying. The pain doesn't lessen. But maybe it's there for a reason. Maybe it's to make him remember.
A part of him wants to press this feeling inside of him, this happiness that feels so large it hurts, into Chris's palm. Understand that you mean something to me, he wants to say, but he doesn't know how. So he only continues this quiet game of theirs. This thing that he wants to spend more time with. Time he doesn't have, not anymore.
Thorne shakes away Chris's dismissals, his fumbled attempts at dissuading him from what he says out loud.
"You are though," Thorne says easily, says it like it's only breathing, only a fact the same as water is wet and the sky is blue. There is a flicker in his eyes, an open fondness, that ache in his chest come to life in the corner of his eyes.
"You are," he says again. "And even if you weren't, I would choose you. In a hundred lifetimes, I would still choose and tell you." He pauses, laughs, a helpless sound. He feels laid bare, raw and open. But this isn't a night for secrets. "Because I think all this time it was you I was searching for, all those nights alone."
And he allows it, of course he does, when Chris pulls him closer and tucks his head against his chest. His entire body relaxes, arms finding an easy resting place around Chris's back. There are no more empty spaces between him, and he revels in the touch, in the feel of his body pressed into anothers, the sound of a heartbeat that isn't his own and isn't in atrophy.
His head tilts, and he nuzzles the soft warmth of Chris's collarbone, a sound escaping his throat. He wants to still the trembling, he wants to make it go away. Here in this trapped space of time, he wants them to be alright. He wants it to be alright.
Thank you, Chris says, as though he is the one who should be giving it out. As though Thorne is not the one who should be saying it again and again into the hollow of Chris's neck, like a prayer going nowhere. Like a prayer in the dark. He laughs and the sound is sweet and subtle and it hurts.
"Always," he says, to all of the things that Chris's words don't say out loud.
It sounds like a promise.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 10, 2016 10:39 pm
Chris Watts || 25/25 || We've reached max gay
"No, it seems we're are a rare breed," Chris says softly, but he's smiling all the same. Trying to memorize this moment, trying to add it to his collection of everything he has. Make it so that he can't ever forget.
"I would hope," He says, but he's laughing. "I like you too, you know." It falls from his mouth easily, gently, teasing but still earnest and honest.
He wonders what Thorne is thinking in this moment, wonders what he wants to say. If he wants to keep this moment like Chris does, if he doesn't at all. But he says nothing as they stand there, as the music plays on.
"Shouldn't they say that about me?" He whispers, "I keep coming back for you, time and time again. Wouldn't you be tired of me?" It's still that thread of fear, that itching thought that he was bothering him too much. The fear that even after this, he wouldn't be wanted back in the apartment.
That Thorne could somehow see his hands on his throat.
"I..." He says, hesitates. Wonders what he wants to give, wonders what he wants to admit yet. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, opens them. Takes another.
"What makes me so worth it?" He whispers instead, a tremble in his voice. He is afraid of what he doesn't know, of what he could do. He's afraid of what he's already done.
A question for a question is a terrible trade but Chris doesn't know what to do.
Thorne is overwhelming right now, something of joy and fear mixed. Elation and a cold, cold worry that this is all a dream. Something that will slip through his fingers, will disappear when morning comes.
Because Thorne gives to him endlessly, freely, like he has something to give and Chris can't stop him. He's breathless at it all, feeling overwhelmed and out of place and yet like he's something precious, special. Deserving of this, like he didn't do anything at all earlier.
"I would choose you too," He admits, breathless, scared. Open. "No matter what, I would choose you too."
Because it's the truth, a hundred times over, a million times over.
He lets himself get enveloped in Thorne's warmth, lets himself calm down in his arms. It doesn't last long, as the music does one final swell and fades away. As their time is unfortunately, up.
He pulls away from Thorne gently, gives him a look that's sad and searching. A final memorization of him before they leave.
"You have to go," He says, and it isn't a question so much as it is a flat statement. But there's care in it, underlying it.
He cups Thorne's face in his hands, rests their foreheads together for one final, brief moment. "We'll leave here tonight, I promise you."
Be safe, He doesn't say. Come back to me.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
